The Motherload
"you know i love you, right?" i blurted out as we carried empty water bottles down the street.
"sometimes i think you don't." she looked over her shoulder, juggling the awkward plastic. "don't cry. you wanted an honest answer." she answered so immediately i knew she'd been waiting to talk about it. "It's not often, but sometimes i don't." We climbed into the car and that was the end of that conversation. She handed me dark chocolate hearts for valentines day and i almost cried at the fact she took note i've stopped eating milk products. I awkward told her about the secrecy and horrors of casein and whey and she nodded like a child, taking note. A black bag lifted from the floor by assistance of her hand and landed in my lap. "this is... the thing... we got you... in palm springs there's this store..." And she went on to excited tell me the backstory to my gift. (there's always a back story, i think she cares more about the story than the gift which makes them mean something even when they don't.) "Truth is not an option." it says on it. Tears welled up in my eyes. She stammered for an excuse in case it wasn't good enough, since i was so silent (she's yet to learn my silence and tears are often more honestly happy than smiles).
She knows who i am. She wouldn't stop talking about how much it reminded her of me and how much she had to get it for me.
She knows who i am. Whether or not she agrees with everything i do, she is still proud that i do it because i need to and that i remain true to myself. She knows i'll figure it out but still worries. It's okay to worry and sometimes doubt, it's safe. It doesn't mean anything bad. I always thought... i'm not really sure what i thought.
We spoke of her first house and what they went through. I asked her about what to do with a toddler that won't eat. We're still dancing around bits and pieces of truth, but the bits are getting smaller and fewer and i know we'll get there. Or at least we'll get away from where we were and closer to where we're going.
"sometimes i think you don't." she looked over her shoulder, juggling the awkward plastic. "don't cry. you wanted an honest answer." she answered so immediately i knew she'd been waiting to talk about it. "It's not often, but sometimes i don't." We climbed into the car and that was the end of that conversation. She handed me dark chocolate hearts for valentines day and i almost cried at the fact she took note i've stopped eating milk products. I awkward told her about the secrecy and horrors of casein and whey and she nodded like a child, taking note. A black bag lifted from the floor by assistance of her hand and landed in my lap. "this is... the thing... we got you... in palm springs there's this store..." And she went on to excited tell me the backstory to my gift. (there's always a back story, i think she cares more about the story than the gift which makes them mean something even when they don't.) "Truth is not an option." it says on it. Tears welled up in my eyes. She stammered for an excuse in case it wasn't good enough, since i was so silent (she's yet to learn my silence and tears are often more honestly happy than smiles).
She knows who i am. She wouldn't stop talking about how much it reminded her of me and how much she had to get it for me.
She knows who i am. Whether or not she agrees with everything i do, she is still proud that i do it because i need to and that i remain true to myself. She knows i'll figure it out but still worries. It's okay to worry and sometimes doubt, it's safe. It doesn't mean anything bad. I always thought... i'm not really sure what i thought.
We spoke of her first house and what they went through. I asked her about what to do with a toddler that won't eat. We're still dancing around bits and pieces of truth, but the bits are getting smaller and fewer and i know we'll get there. Or at least we'll get away from where we were and closer to where we're going.