Martha Meade

I think the warm weather makes my mother angry, but that’s a theory best left untested. Regardless, she has been in funk as of late and it’s past time she shook it off.
    My mother and I are polar opposites. As she puts it, “if she said ‘black, I’d say white.”
    Personally, I think her color choices are bland. Why the hell would we be talking about black and white, anyway? What kind of conversation is that?
    Which might explain why we don’t really talk.
    In fact, we don’t do a lot of things.
    She doesn’t shop with me (She doesn’t like the look of the stores I go into, their music, or their scent) and I don’t needlepoint with her (I have no interest in needlepoint.) I don’t like watching movies with others, so family movie nights are out, and she doesn’t watch the same television shows I do or read the same books.
    It would seem that I just can’t get anything right.
    I am a bad daughter — I really am. It doesn’t matter that I try, that when I give her the option of picking out a place to eat or what I will wear to my senior pictures, I am thinking about her, thinking that she might genuinely want a say.
    But, as she has had to remind me time and time again, she doesn’t — that she is too concerned about me to have opinion. And I am once again reminded of my failings as an offspring.
    Sometimes I wonder if, if my mother and I had a better relationship, if I would walk at midnight. If I would feel the need to sneak out and.....escape it all.
    Something tells me I wouldn’t.
    And gaining those nocturnal travels might be an acceptable exchange.

The End

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