This Is True Part 1
She was nervous.
She told herself and made others believe that she wasn’t, but, deep down, she knew. She knew she was nervous.
And why wouldn’t she be?
She was seeing her mother today. At 1pm exactly. “It’s been some time now, and I was wondering if you wanted to talk,” her mom had said. As if they had drifted apart because of the stress of work -which, mind you, was big enough to actually be it. But it wasn’t.- or some irrelevant and fixable thing like that. But, it wasn’t work nor were “the kids” -nonexistent as they may be.
So, she was nervous. Nervous, and perhaps a bit late too. But that wasn’t her fault because she hated to be late. No, it was her boss that made her be late to lunch with her mom, and for what? “Could you please send this as soon as possible, please? I’m having lunch with my mother and I can’t be late,” her boss had asked. It turned out that the papers weren’t needed until next Wednesday and he got mistaken, and, by the way, was today some special Mother and Son/Daughter Day or something?!
So she gets out of work five minutes later than planned and she is- yes, she is officially twenty-five minutes late. Which is weird, because her phone hasn’t registered a single call from her mother. Oh, no. What if, what if she left? What if saw that she wasn’t there and left and called to her house to let her know that they’ll no longer be making any arrangements for lunch or dinner or anything whatsoever?!
And the fact that she tried calling her mom and went straight to voicemail wasn’t calming her nerves. This was not good at all.
“Excuse me, Sir? Could you please go any faster?” she frantically asked the driver. Nice guy, mind you. In his mid forties, she figures; he even got the car door opened for her and now she doesn’t remember his name and she’s asking him, almost begging him, to go ahead, please, hit the bus and pass the red light and do whatever it takes to get me to the restaurant on time, thank you.
Ten minutes later, the restaurant was still there, in all its expensiveness and glory. Someone opened the door for her, she barely got to thank them and rushed inside. Straighten skirt? Check. Combed hair? Check. Decent shoes? As much as it hurts, check. Make up? …Crap. Make up, that’s was she forgot! It’s fine, it’s fine. Now she just has to… stop panicking and look for her mother because if she isn’t there -is she still there?- then she has to find her and apologize and forgotten make up would be the last thing on her mind. And, let’s hope, on her mother’s too.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Do you have reservations?”
“Yes. Um, Robinson. I think my mother is already here. Is- is she… Um, is she still here?”
She told herself and made others believe that she wasn’t, but, deep down, she knew. She knew she was nervous.
And why wouldn’t she be?
She was seeing her mother today. At 1pm exactly. “It’s been some time now, and I was wondering if you wanted to talk,” her mom had said. As if they had drifted apart because of the stress of work -which, mind you, was big enough to actually be it. But it wasn’t.- or some irrelevant and fixable thing like that. But, it wasn’t work nor were “the kids” -nonexistent as they may be.
So, she was nervous. Nervous, and perhaps a bit late too. But that wasn’t her fault because she hated to be late. No, it was her boss that made her be late to lunch with her mom, and for what? “Could you please send this as soon as possible, please? I’m having lunch with my mother and I can’t be late,” her boss had asked. It turned out that the papers weren’t needed until next Wednesday and he got mistaken, and, by the way, was today some special Mother and Son/Daughter Day or something?!
So she gets out of work five minutes later than planned and she is- yes, she is officially twenty-five minutes late. Which is weird, because her phone hasn’t registered a single call from her mother. Oh, no. What if, what if she left? What if saw that she wasn’t there and left and called to her house to let her know that they’ll no longer be making any arrangements for lunch or dinner or anything whatsoever?!
And the fact that she tried calling her mom and went straight to voicemail wasn’t calming her nerves. This was not good at all.
“Excuse me, Sir? Could you please go any faster?” she frantically asked the driver. Nice guy, mind you. In his mid forties, she figures; he even got the car door opened for her and now she doesn’t remember his name and she’s asking him, almost begging him, to go ahead, please, hit the bus and pass the red light and do whatever it takes to get me to the restaurant on time, thank you.
Ten minutes later, the restaurant was still there, in all its expensiveness and glory. Someone opened the door for her, she barely got to thank them and rushed inside. Straighten skirt? Check. Combed hair? Check. Decent shoes? As much as it hurts, check. Make up? …Crap. Make up, that’s was she forgot! It’s fine, it’s fine. Now she just has to… stop panicking and look for her mother because if she isn’t there -is she still there?- then she has to find her and apologize and forgotten make up would be the last thing on her mind. And, let’s hope, on her mother’s too.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Do you have reservations?”
“Yes. Um, Robinson. I think my mother is already here. Is- is she… Um, is she still here?”