Опубликовано внутри Написано в Dirt, Апрель 2004
Teen чернила, Февраль 2002

Кольцо. Кольцо.

Я потопил помытое commode, моим рукам, и dashed в мою комнату уловить мой телефон на свое четвертом и последнее кольцо.

«Здравствуйте!?» Я ответил.

«Hey, Mary, это будет Mommy.»

«Oh, hey, мама. Как вы?»

Был почти неслышимый вздох. «Я отлично. Как вы?»

«Я хорош. Так как все идя?»

Тот небольшой, небольшой вздох снова. «Oh, оно одобренн. Я вызывал вас потому что я получил это email address… Вы можете послать мной сообщение, я не буду ответил, но вы можете email я и оставить мне сообщение говоря мне вызвать вас или что-то.» Она слова близко slurred только та прозрачная мысль, котор она могла быть выпивать увяданный быстро, потому что я хотел его к.

«Oh, о'кейо, охлаждает.»

«Оно 9 oh 2. 8 6 2»

О'кейо… Oh, поэтому это как автоответчик?»

«Нет, вы печатаете его на машинке внутри и вы можете email я.»

«Oh, совсем справедливо. Так оно…»

«9 oh 2. 8 6 2.»

«Совсем справедливо.» Я jotted номера вниз на одном из розового столба своего украсил мой стол.

«6 oh, 7 5. На сети многоточия teleh.»

«Одобренн, получено его.»

«Если вы имеете время tonight, то email я и я вызовет вас последне для того чтобы сказать вам если я получил сообщение. Я не уверен как он полагал для работы.»

Уверенн, я email воли вы. Так как малыши дядюшки Пол?» Моя мама babysat для детей элементарн-школы ее брата 2.

«Oh, они хороши.» Был другой небольшой звук в предпосылке, я смог услышать или возможно после того как я представлен ее молоть молярам или ее губы smacking. «Shelly и Jacob принесли дому их карточки рапорта сегодня.»

«Oh yeah? Так как погода? Оно холод пока?»

Тот небольшой, небольш, делает паузу. «Yeah, наилучшим образом, было 30 градусов это утро.»

«Oh, wow.» Я сказал его, знающ я был покровительствуя дочью калифорнийца. 30 градусов звучали холодными, но поэтому сделал множество вещей.

«Вы знали Grandma и Grandpa Miller пришло посетить?» Я хотел всосать мои слова назад внутри как быстро как сказанное I им. Было трудно крупной сделкой родители моего папаа пришли посетить нас-их сделали часто-но мама хотела увидеть нас последн.

«Oh, yeah, Стив сказал мне. Они все еще там?»

«Нет, они вышли на вторник.»

«Так вы ванты все еще пытаясь прийти вне во время пролома зимы?»

«Oh, я думаю так. Мы все еще пытаемся, но мы должны начать оплатить для страхования легковых автомобилей скоро, или возможно выровняйтесь right now. And then, I went to go take my license test, but they told me I need driver’s training since I’m under eighteen, so now we have to sign up for six hours of classes and it’s more than a hundred bucks for each of us.”

“Yeah.” I heard what annoyed me, but what I liked to pay attention to: those slight, slight personal noises. “Well, I’d really like to see you guys.”

“Yeah, me, too. I’d really like to go down there soon.”

“I’d like to go visit you guys in California.”

“Yeah,” I said, almost uncomfortable. There was what was best for everyone, and then there was what meant a couple of weeks of smiles between welcoming and departing tears.

“Oh, yeah, I wanted to tell you guys… With my disability, you should be able to apply for more grants. I was trying to work it out for Steven, but with you it’d be easier, just to list me as your parent. Because with Dad’s and Christine’s salary-”

“It’s too much for scholarships!” I laughed, and wondered if I should wish to suck back in my comment and laughter, too.

“Yeah. Cause I’m not getting anything. Someone should get something outta my disability.”

I giggled again, pretending her comment was a light joke. My laughter covered those slight noises.

So anyways, could you remind Daddy to get my Section Eight application? I left him a message but…”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You know what, maybe you could get it. Just call up the welfare office and ask for housing authority.”

I scribbled on a pink Post It as my eyes let me know they’d enjoy tears spilling out. “Okay,” I said, thinking I controlled my voice.

“All right, honey.” She yawned in the background. “I’m going to let you go now; I need to get to bed.”

“Yeah, it’s late over there, huh?” I tried to steady my wobbling voice as shady, transparent thoughts of my mother’s, not just lost potential, but wasted and solid talent was made apparent through this phone call.

“Yeah. I need to wake up at six.”

“Well, all right, Mommy.”

“Good night, honey. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Good night! Take care.”

“All right.”

I hung up and went back to the bathroom, to continue my shower. I looked in the mirror as my face began to scrunch, trying to squeeze out the tears. Ridiculous black tears trickled down my cheeks. Earlier that night I had reveled in perfecting my Halloween make up.

I hopped in the shower and sobbed, hardly weeping though. My face continued to scrunch, in sobs and in laughter as I thought cynically about my little moment. I thanked God for Him being in my life; I would have thanked Him for guiding me had my thoughts not been floating around, bumping into each other. My pitiful mother, my pitiful mother, it’s so sad all that could have been of her life, but I know plenty of other people with such wasted potential, but this is my mother, but you’re a lucky girl if your largest problem is feeling sad about your mother, yes, lucky, thank you Lord, I know so many people have it worse than me, but stop crying, oh, now you’re laughing, yes?

My face convulsed more as I realized how uncommitted I was to this moment, this being one of the very few times I cried and wanted to let “it” all out. But let what all out, my mind demanded. Where is this crying getting you? How is this not just a big distraction (oh, the evils of the word!) from all the things you’d like to accomplish?

I knew I’d write this all down, and I laughed, but what might have been audible was drowned by the shower. I bet you’re just clinging to this moment because you just want something to write about, my mind insisted. I laughed and sobbed again.

I got out of the shower and brushed my teeth. I smudged the mist on the mirror so I could see my face. I was always interested in how my face looked before, during, and after a good cry. I liked my wrinkled brow and ruddy complexion against the white, white bathroom walls.

I went into my room and saw my computer waiting for me, waiting for me to process my little conversation-turned-moment into neat, black words.

Oh, but my curling hair can’t wait. Before I blow dried it quickly, I tried to reflect more on my mom’s misfortune, but I’d already mentally and emtionally filed that experience under “Not-Really-A-Big-Deal.” I was disappointed in, but proud of, myself. My, what large emotional defenses you have, I thought. I grinned at my still wrinkled brow and still pink face. It contrasted nicely with the beige, beige walls of my bedroom.