My Mother

Written by: julie heckman

Barely breathing, I looked for her
throughout the house like a rabid 
dog in a cage. I found her on the 
sofa in front of the TV, learning 
quickly she was always there at
3pm for her program.

I remember the bliss of lying in bed 
with her, holding me tight in the evening
until father put an end to it. Mother had 
beautiful olive skin and a sculpted Roman
nose. She used Clairol,  looking like 
Venus or the headline photo of Vogue.
 
She only went to Parent's Day once. 
I was elated until I saw my artwork
hanging next to Arnold Smith's. His 
was astonishing and mine, mediocre 
at best. I was embarrassed and was
happy that my parents never attended
another school function.

I worshiped my mothers kindness
and her neatness in the kitchen and 
her smokey brown eyes. Sometimes
I thought she was psychic but the 
fantasies never really came true
and just disappeared like bits of 
broken glass.

Julie Heckman