(no subject)
#6 is named...
Mischief
I heard a thrash at my door. “Not now,” I complained. I asked who it was and the response was my moms. “I need to talk to you. Right now.” I gathered my things and watched her roll to her side. I opened the door, stepped out, and cautiously closed it tightly behind me as to not alarm my eagle-eyed mom. I appeared discomfited. I couldn’t stand still, or could hardly stare straight ahead. I’d been sweating. My face smelled of hair, my hands of jean. My heart raced, my arms trembled, and all I could taste was mischief.
“I know what you’re doing in there, and I don’t like it at all. Not in my house, and especially not at fifteen.” Throughout the entire encounter, my fists were clenched. I wiped my saturated hands on my jeans. My mouth dried and I felt uneasy. My mom’s glare froze me in place. I stuttered for words, but nothing worthwhile came to me. An awkward silence fell between us, and the slow sounds of spring caught my attention, drawing me away from thought. Seconds felt like hours, minutes like days. My mom had a way of drawing things from me. Cut-to-the-chase comments, followed by a disappointed walk away, her back en route for my eyes. But I played dumb.
“What do you mean? We were only taking a nap.” I explained, as she drew from a pack of cigarettes.
“Well, there’ll be no laying together with that door closed over,” she snapped.
“Mom, come on…” I continued. She countered,
“No! Now leave it open or Janis won’t be allowed over anymore,” as she dragged on off the cigarette. I kept my act going and stormed off with a mumble. I darted into my room again, only this time with the door cracked ajar. I watched her pretend to wake up, and then gaze at me. There was subtle laughter in every inch of her face. As if conjoined our faces lifted, and we drove out a sigh of relief.
Even years later I can remember that day. It was one of the best days of my life. We shared something. Something we’ll forget, but only in a long time from now. We'd spent a lot of time together, none of it I'd regret. You're gone for now, but I'll meet with you later.
Mischief
I heard a thrash at my door. “Not now,” I complained. I asked who it was and the response was my moms. “I need to talk to you. Right now.” I gathered my things and watched her roll to her side. I opened the door, stepped out, and cautiously closed it tightly behind me as to not alarm my eagle-eyed mom. I appeared discomfited. I couldn’t stand still, or could hardly stare straight ahead. I’d been sweating. My face smelled of hair, my hands of jean. My heart raced, my arms trembled, and all I could taste was mischief.
“I know what you’re doing in there, and I don’t like it at all. Not in my house, and especially not at fifteen.” Throughout the entire encounter, my fists were clenched. I wiped my saturated hands on my jeans. My mouth dried and I felt uneasy. My mom’s glare froze me in place. I stuttered for words, but nothing worthwhile came to me. An awkward silence fell between us, and the slow sounds of spring caught my attention, drawing me away from thought. Seconds felt like hours, minutes like days. My mom had a way of drawing things from me. Cut-to-the-chase comments, followed by a disappointed walk away, her back en route for my eyes. But I played dumb.
“What do you mean? We were only taking a nap.” I explained, as she drew from a pack of cigarettes.
“Well, there’ll be no laying together with that door closed over,” she snapped.
“Mom, come on…” I continued. She countered,
“No! Now leave it open or Janis won’t be allowed over anymore,” as she dragged on off the cigarette. I kept my act going and stormed off with a mumble. I darted into my room again, only this time with the door cracked ajar. I watched her pretend to wake up, and then gaze at me. There was subtle laughter in every inch of her face. As if conjoined our faces lifted, and we drove out a sigh of relief.
Even years later I can remember that day. It was one of the best days of my life. We shared something. Something we’ll forget, but only in a long time from now. We'd spent a lot of time together, none of it I'd regret. You're gone for now, but I'll meet with you later.