~ an excerpt from a life
Some days, my mother prefers to read, ignoring my presence. In those moments, we are adrift. Mother and Daughter slip past one another, like ghost ships in the night. I fail to tow her back to now, to us, to me.
Today she stares off into the distance, a novel in hand. Her eyes close. She pauses. Much like Alice, she owns a slice of ‘Wonderland’. Her eye’s view of life is from an artist’s perspective, each lost or found scene, a painting. Stormy skies smear indigo grey to turquoise, her oceans, cerulean. The universe handed her this gift, both a blessing and a curse, the ability to meddle with clarity.
Her eyes open. She is ready to return.
Mom shares a story. A story that sticks. It links to my father. I listen as we time travel back to the mid 60’s. Years dissolve age and I see her, lounging on a deck chair. She wears white pedal pushers and an indigo sweater, her hair swept back beneath a knotted silk scarf. It resembles Pucci; it isn’t. Beautiful as she inhales on a cigarette. I watch her exhale. Smoke ribbons curl on the breeze.
you are here for the story
Two people in a room, one reading can really shut the other one out.
Mom is a passionate reader- still. She reads a novel a week (without glasses). Her mind is fierce. Into stories is where she chooses to go when she is tired, stressed, or seeking diversion. Some days I wait her out. Other days I accept this as my cue to exit. And then there are the days when she tells stories from our lives.
I wish I could share this particular story in its entirety, to show its beautiful ending. Perhaps.
Thank you for your wise words and follow.
Someday maybe I’ll get to read the ending. Keep writing!