7:54 p.m. - 2005-11-12
Tonight I hung two blank canvases on the wall. Pristine white surfaces that become vantage points of new beginnings. Windows that open out onto nothing and everything. It's potential. It's anticipation. It's everything that's fresh and new and draws you in with the need to recreate yourself. It's good mojo. Those canvases embody starting over. I want to revel in all that is shiny and new. Run fingers over their cool, undusty, unpolluted surfaces. Press my nose against them and feel the give in the canvas. Breathe deep the slightly chemical scent of jesso. Bask in the white. And start all over.
My mother had eyes the color of warm melted chocolate, framed with tiny laugh lines. Lines that were proof that she knew joy and loved and laughed. Every person who ever met Audrey, no matter how obtuse that person might be, could somehow sense the goodness she embodied. The spirit of true motherhood. Loving and giving and nurturing, like the inevitable hot cocoa on a cold day.
Her smile was as wide, lines there to offer proof as well. False teeth slightly too large for her mouth. Nose a little hooked on the end, like the Wicked Witch. For as long as I can remember, my mother always had streaks of gray in her hair that no Miss Clairol could ever completely cover.
My mom believed I was wonderful. I was the funniest. The smartest. The best girl in school who deserved every single first place blue ribbon in the Science Fair. I miss that feeling of unconditional love and adulation. I miss seeing those tiny lines crinkle and grow more pronounced when she smiled at me with love shining in those chocolate eyes. I miss the hot cocoa. I miss the hugs. I miss arguing over how late I should stay out on a school night. I miss calling her at work just to say Hi and Good morning Momma. I miss ham sandwiches with extra tomato that never ever ever tasted so good when someone else made them for me. I miss smoking a joint with her after Christmas dinner and singing O Come All Ye Faithful with Billie Jo because Mom thought we sounded fabulous and our harmonies were perfect. I miss listening to her bitch about my boyfriends. I miss her bragging about her son in law. I miss her knowing her granddaughter. I miss her horrible sense of style and how she put too much starch on all of her clothes. I miss her getting a little too drunk and embarrassing the fuck out of me some way or another. It usually happened when I was a little stressed about something and I would take it the wrong way, but I would give my life's blood to hear her bitch at me one more time. I miss the person I was when Momma was alive. I want Momma to come home and help me take care of Erica. Momma I don't know what to do with her. She won't listen to me at all and I need you. Anything at all Momma. For just
I see those blank canvases and I want a do over. I want to grab a crayon and color us back together again. Just for a little while.
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