My mother always gave me those looks of disappointment. Nothing I did made her happy. It was like she had armor around her heart and it blocked every single loving feeling she had toward me. When I turned thirteen, an official teenager I would say, she stopped laughing with me and painting those beautiful paintings she had flowing through her head. She was my role model. What happened?
"Did you buy the soup I told you to get?" she asked me. Always when I came home, I see her drinking her coffee and making a lip stick stain on the Farewell cup she bought many years ago. Always, when I came home I see her frizzy hair and tore bath robe around her like it was her only shelter.
"No," I said dropping my backpack on the floor and sitting at the table, "the school doesn't pay me until next week." Then, she gave me that face of disappointment.
"What happened to the money you were saving from last week?" I gave her a sad look and she just walked away and turned on the TV. "Sarah , you know we don't have that much money. Don't disappont me again." Those words tried to go through my head like a math problem destined to be understood. I wouldn't let it get to me. I wouldn't let myself understand.