Mother's Song| A PRN Short Story

One

Stern, firm, and young with a laid back tongue. The aim is to succeed and achieve at twenty-one.

Bobbing my head as I trudge through the slushy mud engulfed parking lot, I can find happiness within the rhythm thumping within my earbuds. The bright skyline failed to get my attention tonight. A piece of the problem may quite possibly be the hefty fog that has swallowed the top of every skyscraper whole. What does have my attention, however, would be the Los Angeles traffic I am bound to have to endure. The rain is never the only downfall. Something about being so close the stars has always put a litter of molasses in the gas tanks of most cars on the roads.

Twisting the key in ignition, I stare directly at my dashboard as I silently pray to the heavens that my Check Engine light will not be illuminated on this specific night. My car always does get a little funky when it rains. "Come on, baby. Come on, baby." I chant as I listen to my engine roar. My eyes shut. "Mama's got a Twilight marathon starting at nine, we gotta' be there, babe." My eyes open five seconds after roaring up my engine. The light is no where in sight. I am met by own loud sigh of relief.

I lean back in my seat. My phone sits in the passenger's seat as I allow the bluetooth to connect. Kamaal Fareed, more commonly known Q-Tip, has the majority of my interest as his voice continues to ease my wandering brain. The intensity of tonight's storm gives me a moment to think.

Twenty-eight years old without a man, without kids, without any pets, without any sense of direction in life... that would be me. I sometimes wonder, on nights like this, how am I okay with myself? Truth be told, I am not. Guilt has its own special way of slipping into the main function factory of my mind. I, then, wonder the same exact thought almost every time I am down. If my mother were alive, would she be okay with who I am? Would she be proud of me? Is this what the hell she wanted her baby to become? I doubt it. You see, I'm screwed because I need to get myself in order. The only way to do so would be to go in the right direction. Me not having any sense of the correct one, nor having a compass, makes the entire experience unclear. Failure is the only option.

I'm fucked.

As I continue to mentally beat myself up, my music is cut by the sound of my genetic computerized ringtone that Apple has provided me with. I knew I should've bought that new Samsung Galaxy instead. I gaze down to my radio's screen as the name of the hour appears. The sparkling heart emoticon makes it clear to the public, and myself sometimes, that the aunt calling me is my favorite. Traffic slows down in correlation with my arm's extension I go to click the answer button on my screen.

"Hello, Charolette?"

Giggling at the way even my most tech-savvy aunt has her occasional moments, I nod as if she can see me. "Yeah, it's me Auntie Char." Her name is, too, Charolette. She was named after her grandmother for the sake of tradition. I, on the other hand was named after my great-grandmother in the wake of her death. There being two Hawthorne women who are referred to as Char and Charolette is known to confuse outsiders of the family. Usually, when we are both present, I'm referred to as CJ. Charolette Junior, of course.

"I thought I called you but the screen did that freeze thing... these damn iPhones. Look, anyway, where are you?"

I switch lanes to prepare myself to get off of the exit. "On my way home from work," I inform her as I grow curious of what is on her mind tonight.

"Stop by and see your favorite aunt. I got some things I want to show you."

Click.

I always wondered from whom she had adopted the habit of hanging up without giving out a farewell. The idea of her being this way my entire life has slimmed out the list of culprits. As a child, she would say goodbye to me. When I turned seventeen, she told me that I was a grown woman and needed to be treated as such. Two days before my eighteenth birthday was the first time she hung up on me in my face like that. I was borderline pissed off until my mother sat me down to explain that she did it to everyone... every single body.