reconsider

him

him;

my mom came home today with the groceries, a smile plastered on her face. for once, she didn’t  smell like alcohol.

“hey, i saw your friend at the supermarket.” her voice is still gravelly and rough, however.

“ma, i have lots of friends,” i say nonchalantly.

“you know—that girl. what’s her name.” then she proceeds to say a long list of names starting with the first letter of her name and i just knew who she was talking about.

the fact that my own mother didn’t know her name reinforced the notion that i should really keep her out of my life now. that i don’t need to remember her. she was always here. in the beginning, for my sister. then she had kept visiting—for me. she wrote a speech for the funeral. she even cooked dinner with us once. and my mom still doesn’t know her name...

i grab my keys and head out the front door. i don't know what i'm doing, but when do i ever?