Road Trip // Short Story

Answer

Growing up, there were three times I was reminded what a useless mother I had.

The first was Mother's Day back in 2005. I was only six years old, struggling to pay attention in class like any other child there. We were making cards for our mums out of glitter and different coloured pencils. But I didn't join in, because my mother is missing and the woman in her place was a stranger to me.

'I think we should travel down to Spain. We could stop off in Portugal, I heard they have some nice beaches'

The next was three years later, around the time my father left for good. My friends had told me about their family histories and how exotic they really are. But when I asked my mum, she shut down and told me never to ask about my past again, before going into a two week depression.

'Alright. What about Italy? You're always wanting to go to Italian restaurant, why not go have the real thing'

The last time was parents evening, 2015, when I had to walk my mother around the school to visit different teachers. I couldn't help but feel embarrassed at her fake smiles and the continuous beat of her heels, which seemed to have replaced her heart. My mother was a shell of peoples expectations and ideal happiness, but below that she was just a woman scared of being hurt again.

'Fine then. We'll travel up to Belgium, quickly visit the Netherlands before continuing on to those other countries with the snow and stuff'