The 11th Generation

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I'll see you when I get back. The sentence rings in my ears still to this day, a lie, one that my father told me. It was the last thing he ever said to me as he left the imprint of his damp lips on my forehead and headed out the door in his favorite navy blue suit that fit him well. It was the one he wore on special occasions, it was the one I always loved most on him. As our wooden front door clicked shut he was gone, forever.

I propped my elbow up on the table in the kitchen, my hand cupping my cheek as I begin to silently gaze out the window at the willow tree in the distance of our backyard. I continue to think of memories from the past and of things I'll never get to experience again. I think of how my life for the past few months has been stuck in an interminable rut I cannot seem to get out of.

"Charlotte?" My mother soft voice startles me from my zoning out. I shift my attention from the window toward my mother. I beam at her piercing green eyes that have specks of gold in them, they're identical to my own. My mother, once a beautiful woman, now has dark purple bags under her eyes from exhaustion and wrinkles that cascade around the corner of her eyes making her look older than she is. For the past few weeks she's stopped wearing makeup, without makeup it she looks pale and sick. I don't know if she stopped putting it on because she's tired and lazy or because she no longer has anyone to get pretty for. Three distinctive lines on her forehead begin to reveal themselves when she aims a concerned expression toward me.

"Are you okay?" Her voice almost like a whisper. I notice her eyes are no longer looking at me, but passed me. She's looking out the window to see what I was staring at. She knew what I was staring at and knew why I was.

"Just fine," I give her a weak smile. I lied. I'm not fine, but I wasn't in the mood for talking, not today. She didn't give me a smile back, I can see pain swimming in her eyes as her look melts me away. She knows I'm lying, just like I know she's lying when she puts on a grin every morning.

My mother and I exchange the same conversation everyday, the pitch in her voice always worrisome. My mother asked me if I'm okay, I lie and say yes and she goes on her way. She knows I'm lying--she knows. I've reached the conclusion that she doesn't know how to respond, how to comfort me. Our relationship won't win first place in a mother-daughter contest, but I'm okay with that. The feeling seems to mutual, we want to be close but neither of us know how. She fails to relate to me, but then again I don't know how to relate to her, I don't know her interest or what she likes to do, and I'm not exactly a girly-girl like she is. I don't like make-up and I never liked playing dress up or dolls. It was my brother who formed a special bond with her--I'm glad they have that. My bond will always be linked to my father the one true person who understand every nook and cranny of my mind. Therefore, my mother was never one to help me with my problems, even now, it was always my father who helped me through anything and everything and ever since he died I haven't opened up to her. These past few months I've just kept my worries bottled in, I've kept her closed off. I know she tries her best and that's all I can ask for, but I'd be nice to open to someone—I just can't. She stares at me for a few more seconds in silence, it's like she wants to say something, I'm almost begging her to initiate some type of response--but doesn't.

The white laundry basket is resting on her hips, she hikes it up to her chest when it began weighing down at her side. All I can do at this point is continue to stare, and that's what I do—stare back at her back at her. She opens her mouth slightly and inhales and I lean, sticking my neck out in anticipation for words to fall out of her, instead she takes a deep breath, shakes her head slightly thinking I wouldn't notice and leaves me alone to my thoughts. She takes her laundry basket into the living room as I turn my head to watch her fold the clean clothes.