My Heart's Memory

Memories of Never

"Annie..." I look up to find a young girl with cheerful eyes and blue, short hair.

"Very close, but nope. I said my name's Ann. Can I get you anything?"

She uses the pen in her hand to flip a stubborn strand of hair to the right side of her head, but it flips back over. She tugs at it again.

"Bad haircuts are the devil's work, am I right? Anyway, can I start you off with a beverage or do you need a few minutes with the menu?"

"It's alright," I say handing her back the menu. "I'm actually just here for a cup of coffee, then I'll be out of your hair."

With a soft laugh she whips her head to the left, leaving a cotton candy vibe on her head as she makes her way toward the kitchen.

I run my hand through my own hair and feel how cold the back of my neck has gotten walking from my apartment to this Cafe. I remember having my long, brown locks in high school and miss that curtainy feel and extra warmth around my neck and shoulders.

The warm coffee makes me loosen up a bit. Maybe this pixie cut isn't so bad. I feel lighter, and my waitress has given me a good example on rocking a few inches of color. I pick at my already chipping nail polish and stare at the door. The woman's hurried pace as she enters, leaves no doubt in my mind. Behind that tightly wound scarf and over-sized coat lies my mother.

She reaches the table and has me in her arms before I'm even able to slide out of the booth completely. A muffled "Thalia" comes from behind her scarf as she loosens it and sits across from me.

"Hi, mom." I give her a shy smile and look at her.

"How are you feeling, darling? Any nasty side effects yet? You doing okay?"

She's always been one to cut to the chase. I nod. The procedure I chose has been worked on and shaped to fit clients' needs for many years. I feel pretty normal except for a vague emptiness. No nausea, no anxiety, no headaches. No bad feelings. There's nothing.

Mom won't take her eyes off me. And the way she stares at me makes it difficult for me to imagine why I chose to cut off communication with her for three years. I remember this, being a distant daughter for so long, but there's no reason for it in my mind and no way to pinpoint how and when it started.

"You have questions," she says, looking down at the table.

"I don't even know what to ask, really."

"Well, that's okay." Her smile shows relief. "Let's get out of here, then? I wanna try to beat traffic."

"Yeah, let's go," I say.

On the ride to mom's house I try to keep the conversation going, but the lack of sleep from last night proves to be more persuasive than Mom's words and so I drift off until we are pulling up to her driveway. I'm told to pick between one of the two extra bedrooms she has. I choose the one that gets the most sunlight through the window in the mornings, the one that was my sister's growing up.

"I have to head back to the store, but you know this is your home so I'll let you get settled. I'll see you tonight, sweetie." She's rushing out with garment bags and a heavy, oversized purse before I even get to answer. She catches the door before it shuts with a glamorous boot. "Don't hesitate in calling me if you need anything, Thalia."

"I won't."

⤅...

Each day that passes is the same in this house. I work on my paintings in the mornings with a nice blend of new and old music. And the evenings hold a silence in the atmosphere as Mom and I have dinner together talking about the plans she has for her growing clothing line. The store she's opened up is a success and she'd like to expand her taste to reach other neighboring cities.