The young woman had a purse across her shoulder and a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in her hand as she slowly made her way up the hill.
A slight breeze lifted her light brown hair off her shoulders and suddenly her mother's scent was all around her. Her mother used to wear a perfume oil that had this slightly sweet scent with just a hint of spiciness. The scent was so subtle, you would catch it when you least expected it. Was it jasmine? She wasn't entirely sure.
She recalled lying directly on top of her mother as she lay stomach down on the floor reading. Her mother was always reading a book. A trait that she loved and tried to adopt as much as possible. In her memory, she was just a small child, lying with her chubby face, snugly, in that small place between her mother's neck and shoulder. She would wrap her arms around her mother's neck and breathe in the scent, attempting to be as still as she possibly could so as not to disturb her.
The young woman reached the top of the hill with the stone that had her mother's name engraved on it. There was already someone present at the stone. Her sister, sitting crossed legged on a red plaid blanket.
They acknowledged one another with a warm embrace and settled on top of the blanket side by side.
The young woman laid the bouquet along the base of the stone and looked at her sister, " You know mom was allergic to flowers?"
Her sister nodded. "Yeah, she used to make dad buy her some all the time though. And she would die sneezing for days after. "
The woman pictured her mother, dark hair and red lips. Always red lipstick.Their mother used to let them wear her lipstick when their father was away. They would rummage through her makeup tray, tubes of every shade of red imaginable. Her favorite color to wear.
Her sister looked up," Do you remember how mom used to always wear red lipstick? She had perfect lips for it."
The young woman took her sisters hand in hers, " I was just thinking about how she would let us play with her makeup."
They were twins and even though that weird psychic thing didn't exist between them, they were always on the same wavelength when it came to their mother.
Both of them slowly laid with their backs on the ground and looked up towards the sky. White fluffy clouds in all sorts of shapes were scattered across the powder blue. Her sister pointed at a cloud, "Rabbit."
When they were younger, their mother would take them on picnics and then they would lay on the ground, watching the clouds, trying to find the shapes in the sky.
This was their tribute to their mother. Every year, on the anniversary of her death, they would picnic with their mother and look at the clouds.
The young woman wiped a tear from her eye then pointed at the sky, "Marshmallow."
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