❦Zach❦
A knock sounds at the bathroom door, soft, and just barely there. "Almost finished in there, can I come in?" My mom, Roseanne or Rose or Rosie (as my dad calls her), says in that gentle voice of hers. Her voice was like silk yet somehow even softer.
"Yeah, come in." The door knob is turned and the door is opened further as her skinny frame steps in. She's all dark eyeshadow, vibrant red lipstick, and glowing with de-aging serums. She's what a rich husbands wife ideally looks like. A petite build, faux blonde hair, and youthful in appearance. She's an undoubtedly beautiful woman.
"Are you excited?" Shes says shaking my shoulders. If being excited is the equivalent of wanting to just disappear then yes, I am very excited.
"I'm," I let out a long sigh that felt like it was pent up in the deepest depths of my lungs. I still felt no relief though but there was a slight sense of ease once I exhaled. "Okay." Her motherly instincts could sense the tenseness in my shoulders and the shake in my hands.
"Aw sweetie, it's just jitters you'll be fine." Another shake of the shoulders and a split second of looking at each other through our reflections in the mirror. "Now come on, everybody is downstairs."
At times I think I love my mom more than my dad and others I think she's just as much afraid of my dad as I am. She's a "proper" house wife the one that minds every word of their significant other, the kind that insists on sticking to gender norms, the one who'll be damned to lose the peace in a household they've probably spent hours sitting in and slowly decaying inside of. But who am I to say she may be unhappy? For all I know she could be satisfied with things, but satisfaction is not always the equivalent to happiness. Satisfaction could just be the comfortability, for living by him is all she knows.
Sure she has the gals from the country club over for tea or something every now and then and the church ladies and all their sanctified words but she doesn't quite have anything to call her own. I don't see why success isn't plausible for her simply since she's the wife and not the supposed breadwinner, why can't it go both ways? I guess that's just them sticking to "tradition". I just wish she had a backbone at times for me and even on her own behalf, my dad is egotistical enough. However, it still stands that maybe she prefers things this way.
My mom looks alive in pearl jewelry and red and my dad is sharp himself though he's never not in anything short of an Armani suit. Christina looks pretty too with her hair curled at the ends just above her shoulder and a borrowed diamond necklace from my mom, she's in a fitted gray dress with a denim jacket sling over her shoulders. Christina had just cut her hair and though our parents weren't the biggest fans of it when she did it I told her I liked it. Everyone looks nice to sit through a solid two to three hours of kids playing instruments, some of which aren't that good at it. Fun.
I am nervous. I repeat a tap thing with my hands in sets of four. The girl beside me with the bangs in her eyes seems uncomfortable with my constant tapping, not so subtly scooting her chair away. I didn't care because I simply couldn't stop. If I did stop tapping my finger on the wooden chair I might actually self destruct. Am I being dramatic ? Everyone has stage fright but I've been doing performances my whole life. I've been in plays, spelling bees, live chess matches, talent shows (when I was like really young), performances in band camp, you name it and my parents have probably made me do it. I've been the trophy son my whole life to make up for a "screw up" daughter, as my parents have put it time and time again. To them I'm their last chance of actually being the child to do just what they want to put the bow on top of their perfect life.
