Sometimes, when I slip in to the driver seat of my car, I catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror, and realize how much I'm starting to look like my mother. The way the light hits my cheek shows a certain softness and slight sag. No one knows my mother. There's no way for me to know if I'm seeing things, but it has to be glimpses of an older me. An almost imperceptible slackness that will eventually lead to jowls like my granny's. I haven't seen my mother in almost 15 years. I have a hard time imagining what she must look like now. Probably sad and tired.
It's startling to see glimpses of my mother. I inherited her pale skin and plump thighs, but my face has always been all my own. Neither my mother or father can be found there. Yet, here she is, and I suppose she will probably emerge more quickly now, stop being a ghost in the mirror and settle more permanently in the lines around my mouth and the shadows under my eyes. My vanity is suffering enough with this whole growing old business--I didn't really need to be reminded of my mother while it's happening.
As a child, I always hoped I was adopted. Yet, looking at photos of my paternal grandmother as a teenager, I obviously was not adopted. The only consolation being that she was a serious knock-out as a young lady. Sadly she married a mean man, and was the first of my grandparents to die. I loved her dearly, and have never been as close to another relative as I was to her. She made the best scrambled eggs, and let me play with her arm flab (oh, yes, I am completely horrified now by her generosity--letting me tug and slap around her flesh like that). I rarely got to see her since my family only lived near her for the first four years of my life, but I remember how I felt when she held me.
My granny had jowls, and one day I will, too. My fat cheeks have kept me looking much younger than I really am, so it is only fair that one day they will give away my true age. If only my mother didn't have to be a part of that image. So it goes.
Therefore, I'll just have to keep rocking the sexy-red-tights-striped-socks look.
It's startling to see glimpses of my mother. I inherited her pale skin and plump thighs, but my face has always been all my own. Neither my mother or father can be found there. Yet, here she is, and I suppose she will probably emerge more quickly now, stop being a ghost in the mirror and settle more permanently in the lines around my mouth and the shadows under my eyes. My vanity is suffering enough with this whole growing old business--I didn't really need to be reminded of my mother while it's happening.
As a child, I always hoped I was adopted. Yet, looking at photos of my paternal grandmother as a teenager, I obviously was not adopted. The only consolation being that she was a serious knock-out as a young lady. Sadly she married a mean man, and was the first of my grandparents to die. I loved her dearly, and have never been as close to another relative as I was to her. She made the best scrambled eggs, and let me play with her arm flab (oh, yes, I am completely horrified now by her generosity--letting me tug and slap around her flesh like that). I rarely got to see her since my family only lived near her for the first four years of my life, but I remember how I felt when she held me.
My granny had jowls, and one day I will, too. My fat cheeks have kept me looking much younger than I really am, so it is only fair that one day they will give away my true age. If only my mother didn't have to be a part of that image. So it goes.
Therefore, I'll just have to keep rocking the sexy-red-tights-striped-socks look.
1 comment:
You and I see the same ghost. Xoxoxo, amanda
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