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Refusing to make any form of eye contact with me, my mother drummed her index fingers against the steering wheel as an inkling that she was gradually growing impatient of the bottleneck on the road. The red luminescence from the traffic light and the street lights reflected the pool of tears that were rapidly filling the brim of her eyes, as I couldn't help but feel a hint of culpability.
It's only been a day since she had overheard my confession to Connor, and since then, she would constantly compose absurd excuses to remove her presence from her two daughter's sight. My mother had been suffering from dysthymia ever since my father disappeared and was supposedly committing adultery, but I had noticed that the symptoms had dramatically intensified. And it was too late to reverse the clock - it has been three years, after all.
She slammed her foot against the accelerating pedal, ferocity evident in the hasty movement. The sluggish vehicle we were tailing behind had a tendency to randomly stop, stimulating my mother to yell with a blare of the horn, "God, do you even know how to fu-"
Flustered by her poor choice of language, she corrected, "I mean, freaking drive? Go get your licence checked out!" Obscurity resumed shortly after my mother's road-rage, as I sunk into the seat with a sigh. Memories flooded into my mind, as just last week, I chose to speed past numerous red lights to the hospital in time for my best friend. Oh, how my head aches at the agonising scenes.
The car in front eventually switched lanes, as we continued on our journey to Casey's Dance Studio without further interruptions. The silence became unendurable, as I twiddled my thumbs and raked a hand through my hair out of habit. Not even the radio was buzzing, as I was restricted by the seat-belt and was forced to take in the view of suburban residences and buildings that whizzed by in nothing but a blur.
Hauling into the desolated parking lot, my mother continued to give me the silent treatment, a few muffled sobs were all that I could possibly perceive. I wish I could study her mind and the thoughts that were processing and churning like cogs inside of clocks. I wish she would just converse with me, because I was beginning to anticipate the worst.
My eyes fell on a Holden. An impaired and rusty old Holden to be precise. Thank God she was still lingering around the studio! The owner of the vehicle was completely unaware of the events that had occurred recently, and I thought that maybe it just happened to be the ideal occasion to inform her on all that was sitting on the tip of my tongue.
Bursting the door open and unbuckling my seat-belt, I uttered with an unexpected rush of zest, "Yeah, well see you Mum! I know Connor's absent, but I'm still going to make the most out of my lesson!" And with that established, I emerged out of the seat and into the crisp atmosphere that was somewhat moist due to the downfall of rain yesterday.
Shrugging the bag onto my shoulder, I ascended the marble staircase with a skip before halting dead in my tracks when the back of Kirsten's head came into view.
Her chestnut brown hair was creased, caused by the elastic that was previously holding her hair up in place. Her simple but elegant choice of dance apparel perfectly complemented her slightly curvy body, and at that moment, she rotated on her heel and flashed a smile and a wave in my direction.
Wrapping a hand around the handle, I entered the facility with a greeting, "Hella Kirsten." Her grandmother was tittering lightly with the receptionist, as she said, "I'll see you next week Jeanette." Snapping her gaze towards me, she nodded her head, "Oh, hello Ebony! Kirsty, I'll be waiting in the car for you, okay?"
The darkness of the night sky swallowed the white-haired woman whole as she stepped outside and headed towards the Holden. A flashing beam of a car signal was noticeable, as it shifted to the left onto the main road. Simultaneously recognising it as my mother's car, I sighed. She just steered back home without a single farewell, even if it was just for an hour and a half. I knew she didn't love me as much, but her condition was severely concerning.
YOU ARE READING
The Opposite
Roman pour Adolescents"I am made up of nothing but deceits and untruthfulness." I never exactly knew what my father meant by The Opposite. It was a two-word phrase that he would consistently use as a form of correlation to assist me in the struggles I had thought of to b...
