I mostly thought about our mother. She died when we were 22. Becca and I stopped speaking shortly after.
I wouldn't say our mother held our family together. She was not that type of person at all. Frankly, I'm not sure my mother really wanted kids to begin with. There were moments where she simply could not deal with us.
But then, there were other moments. Dance parties in the living room together while our father was at work. She would pull out all her colorful scarves and we would twirl around together, dancing until we fell into a heap of laughter.
Becca sat up and looked over at me. "Why are you smiling to yourself?" she asked sleepily.
I glanced at her briefly and looked back at the road as I responded, "I was just thinking about Mom."
She rolled her eyes, "Jesus, that woman was a piece of work."
"Becca!"
"What?!" she said as she pulled her long hair up into a bun. My sister could grow her hair longer than anyone I knew. I was obsessed with cutting mine, shorter and shorter every year, but my sister never cut hers. Ever. And it was beautiful.
"Mom was sorta nuts and you know it."
I don't know why I always got defensive about our mother. Especially with Becca. Because I know exactly how our mother was.
As an adult I realized that my mother was not like the other mothers. She was definitely there for us in all the important things. Ballet recitals and classroom parties. Losing our teeth and being afraid of the dark.
But, there was also a part of my mother that was missing. She would retreat for days into her room, windows darkened, vodka in hand. On these days, my mother would be nonexistent. And my father would helplessly watch as she retreated into her darkness.
Even though my sister and I were the same age, I assumed the position of older sibling and made sure she was fed and we were both put to bed at an appropriate hour. Part of me feels like that has a lot to do with my sisters resentment. But she won't speak to me about it so I suppose its hard to tell.
"Mom, had some.... issues... But she did the best she could with what she had. Becca, you know this."
She laughed sarcastically. "Yeah. whatever. Do you remember the time she was on one of her crazy episodes and I dropped her favorite perfume on the floor and it broke?"
I paused, searching for the memory, "Oh my gosh, yes! I thought for sure she would be completely furious."
Becca nodded, " Me too. Except... she wasn't."
Our mother had walked into her bathroom, to find us huddled on the floor trying to clean up the remains of her favorite perfume. We had been so terrified to tell her because she had been locked up in her closet for the past hour. We weren't entirely sure what she would do.
Instead of reprimanding us in her usual shrieking manner, she had scooped us both up and carried us to her bed. Instead of a smack on the hand we got tickles. We laughed until we almost peed in our pants. Then she scooted us out of her room and cleaned up the mess herself.
We were beyond shocked. But, then again, we had grown accustomed to our mother's antics. This was what she did.
She was just crazy that way.
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