Mothers Melting pot: Short story
image from pinterest
My mother had the right idea about self destruction. Being a narcissist the whole world seemed to be soaked into her vigil, worshiping her timeless countenance of ill constructed self narrative. It was about her. Her dagger green eyes, the arrogant tilt of her chin, her Moccha skin and the smile with bladed dimples. Men fawned at her feet, people asked stupid questions just to ask questions in the first place and now at 33 i was still the little girl tugging at the hem of a flowing skirt. Ida Rhodes never wore trousers, they were too masculine for her. Everything had to be everything, and in her orb, the world was me as well worshiping at the foot of a goddess. " New changes." She spoke in her clipped diction, as the car swiped sweat beads of rain in traffic. " A blue car."
"Yes mother a blue car."
" What happened to red it used to be your favourite colour?"
" I'm not sixteen anymore."
"Your hairs still red."
I bit back a rising comment, decided to toss it in as a salad.
" How's husband number three?"
" Pretty on my arm." She patted her fro with a beaming smile, " all those jealous women in the neighbourhood, you should see their crow eyes look at me," she took a gap as a memory lit across her smug expression." Island saw him, it was beautiful, that yellow street hussy,"
"She's not a street hussy." I defended. My mother had a kryptonite, it was the envy that seeped into the distant wounds of a broken heart, she never told anyone about the heart. It made her sound weak, that a man could do this to her, off all the billionaires, politicians, and trust fund teenagers she dated, someone had gotten close enough. Where there was ice, he had destroyed her. His name....father. A penniless drunk, a first love, a bruised eye, a battered lip and psychological mind games. "Has he called recently?" The silence was heavy. I clicked on the indicator, circled the car, weaving through the metropolis that had now become mothers paradise. She knew i was talking about my father. Dad rarely called me and remi apart from to open some half baked discussion about an idea, which needed funding from us. " Friday," she spoke flatly. I was ruining her groove. He was still as handsome as he was when they were teenagers, his deep voice still made her insides throb with loneliness, and whoever shared the bed, was simply shadow. My father walked directly off the page of a glossy Magazine, he modeled for Vogue once, i still remember the leopard print hat, and the hipsters. They looked ridiculous, but he looked good. The other women....always about the other women...who saw, who knew, who heard, as she clipped her arms around his lean frame there was a pride which followed her, as though she had just recieved an Mbe. "What did he say?"
" M.i.a" another flat response. " If someone loved me they'd find a way to keep him out of our lives....for good." Mother had made this request before often ignored. " He makes me feel unlovable. I touch my lips still feeling invisible stitches. " Mother pulled out a skinny Cigarette shoving it in her mouth, lighting it with a match, rather than a the lighter she knew was in the glove compartment. Her fingers trembled, she took long meditation breaths, i bit my lips angrily.
" If he's that bad you wouldn't be sleeping with him still,"
" Sleeping with him," she put a hand to her cheek, the lie apparent in her eyes
" Your so judgemental. I'm the mother. You treat me like a fucking child sometimes," she rolled down the window, letting the cold air slip in like a musk. Outside was chaos. The traffic was making my hands clammy, and the news, the good ironically great yet somehow puzzling news made me grip the steering wheel tightly. I had secret gum rolling in my tongue. Mother hated that. I took a long shallow breath, the way you would if you were preparing to autopsy a body. I could hear a funeral march band somewhere in my mind. I scanned the red dress she had clinging to her lengthy frame, her bosom bounced over it. It was 'strange' they said...neighbours, catty people, she was so beautiful, the way you'd study a painting of a woman. Look at the structures and the ink, dancing upon the page , the contrast of dark and light. My brother Remi had my fathers cleft and his immaculate looks, cocoa eyes that studied you with the intensity of a laser, voluptuos mouth, coffee meets cream skin tone, polite freckles like raisins dotting his flesh, and that mischievous smile. Remi had mothers charisma. Outside it was thick and hot, pedestrians moved with intent, in my mind i wondered about my own intentions. My stomach rotated, back flipped, i felt sick. Sick because i loved her so much, and angry because i remembered the kids at school and how we were treated because of mothers past. They'd called her the escort, the slut, the whore, it leaked into my eardrums as i slid past conversations like oil. I had hated her then, until i'd seen the cuts, heard the sobbing two o clock in the morning when i sneaked into the living room to watch recorded episodes of toon time. Yet, that part of me loathed her, for the childhood i'd missed. " Why this dress?" I gulped nervously "were going to the park."
"Your hiding something." She turned three o clock her eyes narrowed to face me, her eyes dashes now. " Your hiding something." Another shallow breath. The air smelt like ice cream. Things had started to change for us in the early teens when mum decided to upgrade herself, dating politicians, and Olivier Craft, the business Tycoon who had made the rich list. Suddenly neighbours were leaving baskets of fruits, inviting themselves in, children were told to befriend us or sit near the Rhodes kids during all the lessons. I realised the truth was a painful thing to know. None of their daughters or sons had actually liked us, me especially, Remi was sound, he'd always been the majestic one. " I'm pregnant." The Slap was quick as a whip, i put my hand to my cheek.
"You know what mama Ashante said about your line, why would you get yourself in such a mess." I knew what it was really about, the anger resurfaced, with more bite. " She said if you had children you'd die."
My mother leaned inwards to scan for what i knew were potential wrinkles. This wasn't about me, it was about age, and her terror of it. " Did her predictions come true?"
I nodded. " You hadn't even realized i'd put on the weight."
"Quintuplets." Her eyes were like fire.
"Selfish girl you're body can't take such things."
As if it was about me. " I need you to stop lying mother,"
"lying about what?!" she spat already itching to get out of my small Toyota
"Before your next line comes, tell me i need to know where my father is," i returned her loathsome gaze. " I know, i've known for a long time. Not Remi's.....MINE!!" I knew what she'd say next,
"where the fuck are my pills."