personal blog: simon
“you got them!” my sister exclaims.
“as promised,” I mutter in return.
“but, why so soon? it’s only wednesday,” Gemma whines.
“don’t make me do this again,” I beg. my whole day has been spinning. everything has become a muddy mesh.
“oh well, it will do,” and then she looks up at me. “you’re soaking wet,” a cry of concern as she finally notices my pitiful existence; although, I haven’t even realized that I was completely drenched, and she rushes to get me a towel, perching the tulips in the sink.
I knew Gemma would be home. the devoted mother and wife; and I cannot recall if she has ever worked, but, it’s the role that seems to suit her. the house definitely looks cleaner than our ever had and peaceful, like a home you want to grow up in.
“she will do well,” our mother used to say referring to Gemma. “she will do well.”
and it seems that she did indeed do well.
“here,” Gemma passes me a checkered towel with some yellow blob character in the middle from one of the kids shows and watches me contemplating on something. “I’m sorry,” she begins, “for pressuring you.”
I wince confused.
“about the flowers,” Gemma clarifies, “about mother’s day.”
“I didn’t come here for your apologies.” it’s something Jacob once said in the most frosty manner to his mother. chills even ran through my skin when his voice carried such pain and low bass… and here I am refurbishing his words with almost exact same resonance.
“about dad…” she abruptly stops. “I know.”
how can she possibly know? it only has been recently that she has forgiven me and we finally had a civil exchange of words. Gemma tried not to use god’s name in vain, but, she has used god’s name between cussing at me on a few occasions prior. Gemma was a happy child and then she became mean, right after our father was sentenced. the truth changed everyone and I didn’t want to talk about our father; at least not today because his words have been battering me all day thus far. “and I certainly didn’t come here to talk about him,” my words waiver a tad. but, then again I never talk about him. it’s easier to erase or at least numb all my nerves and feel nothing… and the air gets thick again.
“okay,” her pitying eyes get to me. “okay… are you staying for lunch?”
“have you been eating? you look skinnier,” as an indication to persuade me to stay.
“yes.” no, but it doesn’t matter. “I got to go,” and I drop the towel on the stool. “tell mom, happy mother’s day,” and for the first time in a long time, I embrace my sister.
she faintly squeezes my arm and pats my shoulder, “will do,” a departing confirmation.
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© simon whittle — second act