You and Her | Fiction

This was a moment that was unlike any other moment. It was the first time I saw you. You were standing between the brown cracking paint of the swinging doors. The image of you waved in and out like watching a tv show though the distorted waves. Somehow you created a solidness that I clung on to with my eyes. You were my mother, standing there as if you were stuck or simply engrossed in what someone was saying. I could hear the husky sound of my father’s voice on the couch and the deep potent scent of his cologne I still remember today. 

I was so young back then. Standing, watching you. Not knowing that this was going to be the last big memory of you. Standing out of reach, between two places. The story of your life. You were the threshold that would remain that way for most of my life. That is until I met June. 

June surprised me. She seemed to come out of the ethereal, floating into my life. I mean, I remember a time when I used to dream of someone like her. She simply appeared opposite of me at the neighborhood cafe where I worked. This moment was similar to the one with you. I was mesmerized.  My body casually moved through the motions not giving anything away. She smiled that genuine smile I’m so familiar with now. It was like I was living that experience in two places at once. Being on one side of a doorway as a shift in my reality took place. It wasn’t until later that I realized the symbiotic-ness of all this. 

Later, you were fluffed up by the white sheats of the hospital bed and embraced by its cold metal arms. The weather matched the mood as the snow started to fall again. There was no getting out of this. You whispered stories to me of your life unknown to me previously. You didn’t realize, but you told me about what happened on the other side of that door. 

June stayed with me after you died. She held me in a way I’d never felt before. I cried in a way that my eyes never knew how much they held in before. Then it happened. We were cleaning up the old house that was yours. I stood on the other side watching as her image waved in and out like watching a tv show through distorted waves. I was locked in. All the memories came flooding back. You and her. 

As she pushed through the door, I realized something I’d never really known before. I’m no longer a child. That memory with you shattered as she held me in her arms. We danced that night in the living room where you and dad would sit, watch tv, and gossip about the neighbors - your favorite pastime. 

Later, we sat on the porch looking up at the stars one last time from this very spot. It, this view, this moment, would never be the same. I left knowing, I’m no longer my mother’s little girl.