A real life runaway tragedy.
The woman whipped back the curtain and scanned the landscape on the other side of the heavily frosted pane with a frustrated sigh, feeling obviously bitter about the fact that her body could not resist the urge to look out there again with desperate hope. She knew deep down that the goal she clung to tightly with hope was not going to come to fruition in reality.
Despite the odds stacking up against the situation, she was unable to accept the prospect of her luck finally completely running out; despite the fuzziness of an exhausted mind’s eye, the woman could vividly imagine the scenario of her daughter’s safe homecoming:
The wild-eyed and over-alert girl, returning from yet, another teenaged hiatus from responsibility and accountability for the chaos that seemed to accompany her everywhere. Barreling herself mindlessly up the flooded walkway to the stoop in the pouring rain – over-stuffed bags slung sloppily over either shoulder, hastily packed garments trailing limply behind; her grinning face confirming how totally disinterested and unaware of the Hell that had consumed her mother since the last time anyone had seen the girl.
It had been like that every time that the Gods smiled upon the woman with the gift of another indefinite bout of time with her only child; the anger that a mother feels towards her returning runaway dissipates with every step closer to a materializing ghost, and has completely evaporated by the time she embraces her child again. Now, to the tired and anxious woman, such a presumptuous reunion seemed to be lifetimes away. In defeat, tears rolling heavily out of her swollen, dark blue eyes, the mother smoothed the flap of the curtain back in place over the cold pane of glass – blocking out the rainy emptiness beyond.