[Theatrical Muse] Response
Mommy/Mummy
“We won, Mummy. Margaret scored the winning goal, but I got two in there and loads of interceptions and I bet you would have loved it,” she said softly, grinning a little. “I think you would have too, Dad. It was a really good game, but Aunt Lavinia had to stay late at the lab and missed it.”
Sarah Jane shrugged slightly, pulling her leg out from under her. The grass was cool today and comfortable to sit on, even in the knee-length pleaded skirt of her school uniform. Her jacket was off and on the ground next to her rucksack and for as far as she can see, she was alone here. It was the way she liked it best.
Except right now, she wished more than anything that she wasn’t alone. It was a contrary thought; Aunt Lavinia was waiting down in the car at the bottom hill gate of the cemetery. She could have easily accepted the offer of company but she had declined. She had thought she was strong enough to face this alone.
Ten years ago, her parents had been killed in an automobile accident. Less than ten hours ago this day, was the mother-daughter picnic at Caterham School for Girls and a stark reminder of what Sarah Jane lacked. Normally her aunt filled in the role, always spoiling her rotten annually at the picnic. This year, like with her last field hockey game, Aunt Lavinia had an appointment at the lab and Sarah was forced to go to the picnic alone.
It was absolutely horrid.
“…especially when Katie Wellington poked fun at me for being at the picnic alone,” she admitted. A couple of tears escaped from her eyes and she wiped them away. “She’s new and uh, oh trying to fit in, I suppose. And maybe she didn’t know but she’s such a horrible cow, Mummy, and I despise her. I shoved her and yelled at her and that’s when Ms Jones interfered. I think she was sort of surprised that I could act like that.”
Sarah Jane laughed dryly, a small grin forcing its way on to her face. By most instructors at her secondary school, she was considered a bright and promising pupil but her penchant for bending the rules was starting to become more and more evident.
“She deserved it though, because you do love me. Oh, well, you did. And Aunt Lavinia does and instead of being cross and scolding me, she brought me here and said that I was to tell you everything. That no one understood like a mother.”
She leaned forward, rising to her knees as she traced the engraving on the tombstone. The letters were perfectly formed, each less than a centimetre deep with edges dulled from repeat caresses. How many times had she come to these two graves to trace the letters in an attempt to feel closer to her parents? Too many times, she thought.
Alice Tent Smith, it read. Born December 7, 1929 Died May 14, 1961. Beloved wife and beloved mother, may she rest in peace. They were words just as etched in her memory as in the stone.
“But you’re not here,” Sarah continued a few moments later. She moved her fingers from the letters to push back at her bangs and sat in silence again. “You can’t give me a hug and you can’t tell me it’ll all be alright and sometimes I really don’t like you for that. Or Dad. I know that Katie wasn’t correct and that you both loved me, but it isn’t easy sometimes.
“It’s absolute barmy to think otherwise, but it’s not easy to be fifteen and motherless.” She sighed. This was the truth, wasn’t it? Sarah Jane never honestly had many complaints about her life except one. “Aunt Lavinia is great, but it’s still not the same. And I don’t think it ever will be.”
She inched closer to the grave stone and rested her head against it, closing her eyes. The grass wasn’t as soothing as a hug would have been and the stone was cold. But it was the closest thing she’d ever get to a hug from her mother. It wasn’t necessarily an easy prospect to contend with.
“I miss you, Mummy.”
“We won, Mummy. Margaret scored the winning goal, but I got two in there and loads of interceptions and I bet you would have loved it,” she said softly, grinning a little. “I think you would have too, Dad. It was a really good game, but Aunt Lavinia had to stay late at the lab and missed it.”
Sarah Jane shrugged slightly, pulling her leg out from under her. The grass was cool today and comfortable to sit on, even in the knee-length pleaded skirt of her school uniform. Her jacket was off and on the ground next to her rucksack and for as far as she can see, she was alone here. It was the way she liked it best.
Except right now, she wished more than anything that she wasn’t alone. It was a contrary thought; Aunt Lavinia was waiting down in the car at the bottom hill gate of the cemetery. She could have easily accepted the offer of company but she had declined. She had thought she was strong enough to face this alone.
Ten years ago, her parents had been killed in an automobile accident. Less than ten hours ago this day, was the mother-daughter picnic at Caterham School for Girls and a stark reminder of what Sarah Jane lacked. Normally her aunt filled in the role, always spoiling her rotten annually at the picnic. This year, like with her last field hockey game, Aunt Lavinia had an appointment at the lab and Sarah was forced to go to the picnic alone.
It was absolutely horrid.
“…especially when Katie Wellington poked fun at me for being at the picnic alone,” she admitted. A couple of tears escaped from her eyes and she wiped them away. “She’s new and uh, oh trying to fit in, I suppose. And maybe she didn’t know but she’s such a horrible cow, Mummy, and I despise her. I shoved her and yelled at her and that’s when Ms Jones interfered. I think she was sort of surprised that I could act like that.”
Sarah Jane laughed dryly, a small grin forcing its way on to her face. By most instructors at her secondary school, she was considered a bright and promising pupil but her penchant for bending the rules was starting to become more and more evident.
“She deserved it though, because you do love me. Oh, well, you did. And Aunt Lavinia does and instead of being cross and scolding me, she brought me here and said that I was to tell you everything. That no one understood like a mother.”
She leaned forward, rising to her knees as she traced the engraving on the tombstone. The letters were perfectly formed, each less than a centimetre deep with edges dulled from repeat caresses. How many times had she come to these two graves to trace the letters in an attempt to feel closer to her parents? Too many times, she thought.
Alice Tent Smith, it read. Born December 7, 1929 Died May 14, 1961. Beloved wife and beloved mother, may she rest in peace. They were words just as etched in her memory as in the stone.
“But you’re not here,” Sarah continued a few moments later. She moved her fingers from the letters to push back at her bangs and sat in silence again. “You can’t give me a hug and you can’t tell me it’ll all be alright and sometimes I really don’t like you for that. Or Dad. I know that Katie wasn’t correct and that you both loved me, but it isn’t easy sometimes.
“It’s absolute barmy to think otherwise, but it’s not easy to be fifteen and motherless.” She sighed. This was the truth, wasn’t it? Sarah Jane never honestly had many complaints about her life except one. “Aunt Lavinia is great, but it’s still not the same. And I don’t think it ever will be.”
She inched closer to the grave stone and rested her head against it, closing her eyes. The grass wasn’t as soothing as a hug would have been and the stone was cold. But it was the closest thing she’d ever get to a hug from her mother. It wasn’t necessarily an easy prospect to contend with.
“I miss you, Mummy.”