almost divorced
“I’m going to the casino,” my mother announces as she whisks on her mascara.
The casino? My mom? She’s never looked so elegant in my life and I feel a pang of admiration for her. She’s stuffing clothes in an overnight bag, barely looks my way and is out the door.
The casino? My mother? The one who doesn’t drink, totally doesn’t gamble, and has never been much for slot machines. She can throw a mean dice roll, I’ll tell you that. She throws her overnight duffel over her shoulder, smelling of glossier’s you, (the only perfume she’ll wear but never buy since I constantly restock it for her). Her phone rings, my mom never answered the phone my whole childhood, it was a running joke between the family. But, even mothers can evolve. I am background noise as she gracefully puts the phone to her ear and struts out. A rush if there ever was one.
I find that it’s imperative for a girl to see her mother this way. Elegance shaded by boldness with a touch of “I’m not taking anyone’s shit.” For good measure of course. I used to curse myself whenever I caught myself embodying her slight mannerisms. “Ugh, I’m just like my mom!” I would say. Looking at her now, witnessing her becoming, I would love to be just like my mom.