Miss Morgan, Aaron, Mike and especially Sara were my true family. Picking me up when I didn't want to go on. Encouraging me, challenging me, teasing me, doing all the things a real family would do. The group of friends I had now was all the family I needed.
Any comfort I was feeling in my friendships was pushed away the moment my mother showed up. I let her into my apartment and immediately felt the ball of negativity she brought along with her. She set her bag next to the door and sat on the couch.
“ Still no TV?”
“ Nope,” I responded shortly.
“ Well, what am I supposed to do while you're out being Miss Willow artist?”
“ Whatever you want to do. Go out to the shops or something.” I tried to be pleasant in my words, but I still think they came off pretty rude.
“ I suppose I'll find something,” she said too pleasantly, trying to break the tension.
“ So, did you get everything for our Thanksgiving meal?”
“ Yeah, everything is in the fridge.” I felt like I was walking on eggshells with every statement I said. I never knew what was going to set her off on a warpath. I hated that she could make me feel like this, in my apartment no less.
“ So do you really think that your art thing will get you through the rest of your life? I mean, you don't think you need to get a real job?”
“ It's gotten me this far,” I mumbled.
“ How far is that Willow? You still live in the same town you were born in.”
Part of me wanted to lash out at her and tell her about the great potential I had with the upcoming art show. She still didn't know about the show. Then I decided it would be pointless to tell her anything. It wouldn't make a difference. Nothing I said would make her see that I was actually doing well for myself.
I decided to take her to the gallery and show her my paintings on display. I thought if she were to see it for herself, I wouldn't have to defend my career path to her anymore. She, of course, gave no words of encouragement, simply nodding each time I explained where my inspiration came from. I expected that so it didn't hurt too much.
I was literally counting down the minutes until it was time for her to leave. I didn't offer her my bed, if she was going to come and interrupt my life, I wasn't going to make her comfortable in doing so. It was my silent revenge.
My mother started making our Thanksgiving meal early the next day. If there was anything good I could say about my mother, it was that she did make the best turkey in the world. Somehow the skin was always nice and crispy but the meat was never dry. She peeled and cut the potatoes and got them ready to be cooked when the turkey was near done, and then she found her way back to the couch. Most of the time she read which made it easy to avoid conversation. I spent my time looking through the watercolor book or writing short rants about her being there.
“ Well, why don't we eat now that everything is taken care of,” she said after I had finished mashing the potatoes.
I sat down at the table and started serving myself some turkey. I wished it was already over and she was finally gone so I could concentrate on more important things. She'd only be here one more day and then I could get my life back to normal. She really hadn't done anything out right awful in the last day and a half, I just couldn't stand the way I felt with her around. Every time I would look at her, I couldn't help but feel disgusted.
“ You're awfully quiet Willow.”
“ Not much to say I guess,” at least to you, I added in my head.
“ When you were younger, we used to say what we were thankful for. Why don't we do that?”
“ I must've been really young because I don't ever remember that.” I paused for a moment thinking about past Thanksgivings with my mother. “I do remember you pushing me out of the kitchen while you cooked all day, making yourself a plate and then going to the living room to watch football with your most recent
Any comfort I was feeling in my friendships was pushed away the moment my mother showed up. I let her into my apartment and immediately felt the ball of negativity she brought along with her. She set her bag next to the door and sat on the couch.
“ Still no TV?”
“ Nope,” I responded shortly.
“ Well, what am I supposed to do while you're out being Miss Willow artist?”
“ Whatever you want to do. Go out to the shops or something.” I tried to be pleasant in my words, but I still think they came off pretty rude.
“ I suppose I'll find something,” she said too pleasantly, trying to break the tension.
“ So, did you get everything for our Thanksgiving meal?”
“ Yeah, everything is in the fridge.” I felt like I was walking on eggshells with every statement I said. I never knew what was going to set her off on a warpath. I hated that she could make me feel like this, in my apartment no less.
“ So do you really think that your art thing will get you through the rest of your life? I mean, you don't think you need to get a real job?”
“ It's gotten me this far,” I mumbled.
“ How far is that Willow? You still live in the same town you were born in.”
Part of me wanted to lash out at her and tell her about the great potential I had with the upcoming art show. She still didn't know about the show. Then I decided it would be pointless to tell her anything. It wouldn't make a difference. Nothing I said would make her see that I was actually doing well for myself.
I decided to take her to the gallery and show her my paintings on display. I thought if she were to see it for herself, I wouldn't have to defend my career path to her anymore. She, of course, gave no words of encouragement, simply nodding each time I explained where my inspiration came from. I expected that so it didn't hurt too much.
I was literally counting down the minutes until it was time for her to leave. I didn't offer her my bed, if she was going to come and interrupt my life, I wasn't going to make her comfortable in doing so. It was my silent revenge.
My mother started making our Thanksgiving meal early the next day. If there was anything good I could say about my mother, it was that she did make the best turkey in the world. Somehow the skin was always nice and crispy but the meat was never dry. She peeled and cut the potatoes and got them ready to be cooked when the turkey was near done, and then she found her way back to the couch. Most of the time she read which made it easy to avoid conversation. I spent my time looking through the watercolor book or writing short rants about her being there.
“ Well, why don't we eat now that everything is taken care of,” she said after I had finished mashing the potatoes.
I sat down at the table and started serving myself some turkey. I wished it was already over and she was finally gone so I could concentrate on more important things. She'd only be here one more day and then I could get my life back to normal. She really hadn't done anything out right awful in the last day and a half, I just couldn't stand the way I felt with her around. Every time I would look at her, I couldn't help but feel disgusted.
“ You're awfully quiet Willow.”
“ Not much to say I guess,” at least to you, I added in my head.
“ When you were younger, we used to say what we were thankful for. Why don't we do that?”
“ I must've been really young because I don't ever remember that.” I paused for a moment thinking about past Thanksgivings with my mother. “I do remember you pushing me out of the kitchen while you cooked all day, making yourself a plate and then going to the living room to watch football with your most recent
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