The Day My Mom Stopped Going to Church and I Grew Up and Became a Bastard.

In Uncategorized on December 11, 2008 at 7:20 pm

She is already angry with me.We are in a hotel room; she is sitting on the edge. Of the bed. Dull shades of white and pink are illuminated when shards of lights slip through the plastic blinds. She doesn’t look down at me with her anger, but gives me her eye-level frustration. I am only a child. Why yell at me? I’ve done nothing that needs correcting.

Why can’t we leave before Sunday?

Why can’t I go to church?

Maybe she was never going back.

Maybe she didn’t need to explain herself. She was a full grown woman.

And with these words I am born. The twists and turns of veins and blood that connect us are chewed in half by her words. I have my own half, it is not hers. And all those pink Tithing envelopes with drawings folded up in my pockets were suppose to be forgotten? You were me and I was you! But now you have your own full grown life separate from my little blossom. And that seed of time we spent as one thing you spit and stamp on! And now I am my own blossom.

I am angry with her just now. Not an eye-level frustration, but a condescending anger. I know what it is. It’s your surgery. You don’t want them to see your new face. You asked what I thought and I cried and cried. You are not perfect. You are vain and greedy. You don’t want everyone to know like I know. But I know that you aren’t my Mother anymore. I don’t need this. Not any of this! Now I am grown up. Now I am perfect.

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