The woman stood in front of her mirror, momentarily disconcerted by her appearance. It wasn't that she didn't recognize herself, it was just that something felt off.
Dark brown hair, cut short, falling at the nape of her neck. Honey colored eyes, with specks of green sprinkled in her iris. Smooth, olive skin. She had her mother's complexion and was thankful for it.
Everything was in its place, no alteration to her face that she could see. No. It was something else.
The woman shook off her feeling of unease and walked into the kitchen, joining her husband. Their morning ritual, having coffee together, was something she looked forward to every day.
Their children were grown and out of the house, living with families of their own. It had been an adjustment, getting used to living with her husband without the company of children, but she was learning to enjoy their time as a couple.
She walked in to find him searching through the kitchen cupboards and shelves. "Honey, what are you looking for?"
"The coffee grinder," he said as he shut the pantry closed. "Don't you always keep it in the third shelf of the pantry?"
The woman, feeling a bit irritated, walked over to the pantry. Surely the grinder was exactly where she left it. She had been putting it on the third shelf for years. That was the coffee grinder's spot. Her husband never looked for things properly.
She opened the pantry and only saw an empty shelf. Confused, she looked at the top shelf. Nothing. Perhaps the bottom shelf. How could one misplace a coffee grinder that was always in the same spot?
Her husband cleared his throat from behind her. "Did you by chance put the grinder in the freezer?"
The woman turned around to look at her husband, "Don't be ridic..." Her voice trailed off as she walked up to the open freezer door.
There, in the ice bucket, was the coffee grinder. "Well, I never." The woman, startled, reached for the grinder. It was ice cold.
Her husband looked at her with concerned eyes, "It's okay love. Maybe you were distracted yesterday morning." He smiled at her gently, putting his arms around her shoulders, he led her to a counter stool and took the grinder out of her hands.
The woman rubbed her temples. "Maybe. I'm so tired lately. Maybe I need vitamins...." She looked around uncertainly, not recognizing her own home for a minute.
The man looked at his wife searchingly, taking in her confusion. Just last week, he had found the milk in the cupboard. The vinegar was found in the crisper. Sideways. He had chosen not to tell his wife of his findings.
He was worried for her. This was not something his wife did. She was always on top of things. Always in control. She was the most organized person he had ever met.
Taking a coffee cup, he poured his wife some coffee and walked over to where she was seated. "Here you go honey."
The woman looked up at her husband, confusion settling over her eyes, "Honey?"
He looked up in alarm.
Her eyes cleared and she laughed, "Sugar, please."
Friday, February 27, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Prompt No. 21 : Road Trip
I walked up to my red BMW, willing myself not to look at my sister. My sister was beautiful. Not to mention extremely smart, she was great at everything she did. Well, almost everything. Currently, she was pretty terrible at being my sister.
We were about to embark on a 10 hour trip to Nashville. Just the two of us. And convincing her to come with me had been quite a feat of its own.
My sister and I hadn't spoken since we were 21. I can't even remember the incident that severed our bond but she did. Or at least, I think she did because she hadn't spoken to me since.
This might be a good place to bring up that we are twins. Not just twins but mirror twins. My sister is literally a reflection of me. And vice versa. I'm right handed, my sister is left handed, you get the point. And like all sisters, especially twin sisters, we used to be the best of friends. Our bond went deeper than anything I have ever experienced. Until my sister stopped speaking to me.
She stopped a few feet from my car and snorted, "This is YOUR car? Marrying up must have done you good."
I took a deep breath to contain my anger. I was always too quick to let my sister get the best of me. And she definitely knew my weak spots.
"This is my car, yes. I bought this car with my own money. I have a job you know." I swiftly climbed into the drivers seat and slammed my door. I was breathing so hard, it was taking all my effort to keep from lashing out at my sister. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her why she hated me. Why was she a bitch every single time we set foot in each other's vicinity??
But instead, I controlled it. I pushed the button to start my car and waited patiently as she climbed in the passenger seat.
My therapist was helping me learn anger management. I could tell it was working. For now.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy. It's just that if you had lived with our mother, well, you would have issues too.
I turned to my sister. "Look, I know you don't want to be here. I know that the only reason you are sitting in this seat is because of Dad. But we have ten hours together. Ten. Can you try not to make it as unpleasant as possible?"
My sister looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. She had these long slender fingers that enabled her to play the violin like no other person I had ever heard.
"Fine. But only for Dad."
At that, we both turned to glance at the back seat. There, in a square brown box, was our father's ashes. The whole purpose of our trip contained in one small box.
I resisted the urge to burst into tears and put the car in gear. It was going to be a long drive.
We were about to embark on a 10 hour trip to Nashville. Just the two of us. And convincing her to come with me had been quite a feat of its own.
My sister and I hadn't spoken since we were 21. I can't even remember the incident that severed our bond but she did. Or at least, I think she did because she hadn't spoken to me since.
This might be a good place to bring up that we are twins. Not just twins but mirror twins. My sister is literally a reflection of me. And vice versa. I'm right handed, my sister is left handed, you get the point. And like all sisters, especially twin sisters, we used to be the best of friends. Our bond went deeper than anything I have ever experienced. Until my sister stopped speaking to me.
She stopped a few feet from my car and snorted, "This is YOUR car? Marrying up must have done you good."
I took a deep breath to contain my anger. I was always too quick to let my sister get the best of me. And she definitely knew my weak spots.
"This is my car, yes. I bought this car with my own money. I have a job you know." I swiftly climbed into the drivers seat and slammed my door. I was breathing so hard, it was taking all my effort to keep from lashing out at my sister. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to ask her why she hated me. Why was she a bitch every single time we set foot in each other's vicinity??
But instead, I controlled it. I pushed the button to start my car and waited patiently as she climbed in the passenger seat.
My therapist was helping me learn anger management. I could tell it was working. For now.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy. It's just that if you had lived with our mother, well, you would have issues too.
I turned to my sister. "Look, I know you don't want to be here. I know that the only reason you are sitting in this seat is because of Dad. But we have ten hours together. Ten. Can you try not to make it as unpleasant as possible?"
My sister looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. She had these long slender fingers that enabled her to play the violin like no other person I had ever heard.
"Fine. But only for Dad."
At that, we both turned to glance at the back seat. There, in a square brown box, was our father's ashes. The whole purpose of our trip contained in one small box.
I resisted the urge to burst into tears and put the car in gear. It was going to be a long drive.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Prompt No. 20 : Cabin Fever
The woman reached for the bottle of Chardonnay and poured until the golden liquid touched the brim of the wine glass.
A drop splashed out onto the counter top. She absently wiped it up with her pointer finger and brought said finger up to her lips.
The Sound of Music blared in the background for the 3rd time that day. Who even knows how MANY times her children had begged her to put that damn movie on. She lost count after the fourth day of canceled school.
A snow day was fun in theory. Images of pajamas and hot chocolate come to mind. Snuggles and naps only happen on the first day. Then the novelty wears off and cabin fever sets in.
Her children eventually tired of crafts and board games. Their one attempt at playing in the snow had taken a turn for the worst when her son had slipped on the ice and bruised his behind. Her daughter, always sensitive to temperature, had whined the entire time about the freezing cold.
The days had gone from snow day excitement to complete, utter madness.
Conveniently, her husband was away on a business trip in Dubai, leaving her to deal with their stir crazy children.
The woman took a deep drink of her wine, savoring the flavor of her favorite Chardonnay. It was only one in the afternoon but she deserved some relief after the morning she had endured.
Her children had awoken at 5am, starving apparently. They had climbed the counters to serve themselves cereal. Which only SOUNDS helpful. Except, she had walked into the kitchen to find her daughter with a bloody knee and Cheerios covering every inch of her floor.
It had taken all morning to pacify her injured child and clean up the mess. Not to mention the milk spilling off the counters.
Yes, she deserved a bottle of wine. Maybe two.
The woman realized that silence had suddenly settled over her house. She grabbed her wine glass and began searching for her errant children.
She walked into her pristine bathroom to find her daughter calmly applying lipstick to her sons lips. It was her favorite shade of red, a Giorgio Armani tube that ran about $40 a pop. She looked over to her counter and saw her YSL Touche Eclat concealer splattered on the white marble and up the mirror.
"Hi Mommy!" they both giggled in delight.
The woman sighed and drained her glass. She turned around and walked down to the kitchen, reaching for that second bottle of wine.
A drop splashed out onto the counter top. She absently wiped it up with her pointer finger and brought said finger up to her lips.
The Sound of Music blared in the background for the 3rd time that day. Who even knows how MANY times her children had begged her to put that damn movie on. She lost count after the fourth day of canceled school.
A snow day was fun in theory. Images of pajamas and hot chocolate come to mind. Snuggles and naps only happen on the first day. Then the novelty wears off and cabin fever sets in.
Her children eventually tired of crafts and board games. Their one attempt at playing in the snow had taken a turn for the worst when her son had slipped on the ice and bruised his behind. Her daughter, always sensitive to temperature, had whined the entire time about the freezing cold.
The days had gone from snow day excitement to complete, utter madness.
Conveniently, her husband was away on a business trip in Dubai, leaving her to deal with their stir crazy children.
The woman took a deep drink of her wine, savoring the flavor of her favorite Chardonnay. It was only one in the afternoon but she deserved some relief after the morning she had endured.
Her children had awoken at 5am, starving apparently. They had climbed the counters to serve themselves cereal. Which only SOUNDS helpful. Except, she had walked into the kitchen to find her daughter with a bloody knee and Cheerios covering every inch of her floor.
It had taken all morning to pacify her injured child and clean up the mess. Not to mention the milk spilling off the counters.
Yes, she deserved a bottle of wine. Maybe two.
The woman realized that silence had suddenly settled over her house. She grabbed her wine glass and began searching for her errant children.
She walked into her pristine bathroom to find her daughter calmly applying lipstick to her sons lips. It was her favorite shade of red, a Giorgio Armani tube that ran about $40 a pop. She looked over to her counter and saw her YSL Touche Eclat concealer splattered on the white marble and up the mirror.
"Hi Mommy!" they both giggled in delight.
The woman sighed and drained her glass. She turned around and walked down to the kitchen, reaching for that second bottle of wine.
Prompt No. 19 : The Case of the Breaking Plates
My mother broke every plate in the house that day. I suppose it would help if I backtracked to the beginning.
I was just a silly high school kid, hanging out with my friends, smoking pot, eating junk food, watching stupid movies, whatever. Nothing crazy.
I had walked through my front door that afternoon and straight into my room. Immediately, I had emptied out the contents of my small purse and placed a brown envelope into my top drawer. As I was shutting the drawer closed, my mother knocked on my door.
I nervously pulled my sweatshirt off and called out, "Come in."
My mother never knocked. Actually, she never meddled in any of my business so this little visit was a surprise.
"Hey mom. whats up?"
She strolled into my room, looking around slowly, "You should really do laundry, it's piling up in here." At that, she bent over and scooped up a pile of my dirty clothing.
"Mom, no, you really don't have to." I quickly stepped forward to grab my clothing but she turned and walked out of my room.
I plopped down on my bed, completely confused, because my mother NEVER did my laundry. I checked my top drawer once more and satisfied with my hidden envelope I walked to the living room.
I probably should have paid much more attention to my mother's doings but I was engrossed in a television show. Until I realized that she had just walked into my room with a pile of freshly laundered folded clothing.
My heart almost exploded when I ran into my room to find my mother rummaging in my top drawer. She whirled around with my envelope in hand, "What is this?"
My mouth dropped open as I stood there watching her open the envelope and bring the contents up to her nose. "Is this MARIJUANA?!" she whispered harshly,
I nodded yes, still speechless. Her eyes were wide and incredulous, "Where did you get this from??!"
Looking around my room, searching for some form of great answer, I began to ramble, " Its not mine. I swear. It's a friends. I'm only holding it. We got it from this guy Joe. He's really really nice. He works with us. It's not mine. I don't even really know what you do with it."
Her face paled as she started to walk out my room with the envelope, "A guy named Joe?? You got it from a guy named JOE?" she muttered, more to herself than me.
I followed her to the bathroom, suddenly realizing what she was about to do, "Wait..." I reached out for her shoulder.
Too late, I watched her flush the contents of the envelope down the toilet. She whirled around to face me, satisfaction on her face and stormed out of the bathroom.
I stood there, mourning my loss silently when I heard glass breaking in the kitchen.
Peeking around the corner, I saw my mother breaking every single one of her plates. With a smile on her face.
I was just a silly high school kid, hanging out with my friends, smoking pot, eating junk food, watching stupid movies, whatever. Nothing crazy.
I had walked through my front door that afternoon and straight into my room. Immediately, I had emptied out the contents of my small purse and placed a brown envelope into my top drawer. As I was shutting the drawer closed, my mother knocked on my door.
I nervously pulled my sweatshirt off and called out, "Come in."
My mother never knocked. Actually, she never meddled in any of my business so this little visit was a surprise.
"Hey mom. whats up?"
She strolled into my room, looking around slowly, "You should really do laundry, it's piling up in here." At that, she bent over and scooped up a pile of my dirty clothing.
"Mom, no, you really don't have to." I quickly stepped forward to grab my clothing but she turned and walked out of my room.
I plopped down on my bed, completely confused, because my mother NEVER did my laundry. I checked my top drawer once more and satisfied with my hidden envelope I walked to the living room.
I probably should have paid much more attention to my mother's doings but I was engrossed in a television show. Until I realized that she had just walked into my room with a pile of freshly laundered folded clothing.
My heart almost exploded when I ran into my room to find my mother rummaging in my top drawer. She whirled around with my envelope in hand, "What is this?"
My mouth dropped open as I stood there watching her open the envelope and bring the contents up to her nose. "Is this MARIJUANA?!" she whispered harshly,
I nodded yes, still speechless. Her eyes were wide and incredulous, "Where did you get this from??!"
Looking around my room, searching for some form of great answer, I began to ramble, " Its not mine. I swear. It's a friends. I'm only holding it. We got it from this guy Joe. He's really really nice. He works with us. It's not mine. I don't even really know what you do with it."
Her face paled as she started to walk out my room with the envelope, "A guy named Joe?? You got it from a guy named JOE?" she muttered, more to herself than me.
I followed her to the bathroom, suddenly realizing what she was about to do, "Wait..." I reached out for her shoulder.
Too late, I watched her flush the contents of the envelope down the toilet. She whirled around to face me, satisfaction on her face and stormed out of the bathroom.
I stood there, mourning my loss silently when I heard glass breaking in the kitchen.
Peeking around the corner, I saw my mother breaking every single one of her plates. With a smile on her face.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Prompt No. 18 : Lunch Date
"I'll have the Cobb Salad," I said as I passed the menu to the waiter.
"Same for me," said Sara.
She promptly turned my way, focusing on my ring finger. "So. Tell me EVERYTHING."
I smiled coyly. Sara and I were finally meeting up for a lunch to celebrate my engagement. I hadn't seen my best friend since she had given birth to a tiny human that required every inch of her attention. I loved that kid but I missed my best friend more.
I opened my mouth to begin my story and Sara's phone rang shrilly.
"Shit. Sorry, Tanya, it's John. He's at home with..." her voice trailed off as she answered her phone.
Her forehead crinkled as she answered, "Hey" loudly.
I looked around the restaurant. It was fairly empty but it would soon start to fill up with the local lunch crowd.
'What!?' She shrieked. I looked at her sharply. Sorry, she mouthed in my direction.
"Did you smell it?" she questioned. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
"John. JUST smell it. Yes, I'm serious."
I smiled weakly as a couple was seated at the table right next to us.
"Look, if you're not going to smell IT, you're going to have to tell me WHAT it LOOKS like. I don't even care John, just DESCRIBE it to me,"
I suddenly realized where this conversation was heading and I could feel my face start to heat up from embarrassment.
The restaurant was steadily filling with diners as my best friend discussed her baby's diaper situation in a cavalier fashion. Rather loudly at that.
"It's WHAT color?! Jesus. John, did you poison our child?"
I giggled nervously as the gentleman to my left cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow in my direction.
"Sara," I hissed sharply, attempting to get her attention.
She held up her hand as she loudly spoke into her phone, "John, I'm coming home. I KNEW it was a mistake to leave you alone..."
She mercifully clicked END and stood up as our sever was delivering our plates.
"I'm sorry Tanya. I have to bail. MAJOR baby crisis. I hope you understand..." she trailed off as she slipped her coat on and ran out the door.
I looked up at our confused waiter, sighing deeply.
"Check please."
"Same for me," said Sara.
She promptly turned my way, focusing on my ring finger. "So. Tell me EVERYTHING."
I smiled coyly. Sara and I were finally meeting up for a lunch to celebrate my engagement. I hadn't seen my best friend since she had given birth to a tiny human that required every inch of her attention. I loved that kid but I missed my best friend more.
I opened my mouth to begin my story and Sara's phone rang shrilly.
"Shit. Sorry, Tanya, it's John. He's at home with..." her voice trailed off as she answered her phone.
Her forehead crinkled as she answered, "Hey" loudly.
I looked around the restaurant. It was fairly empty but it would soon start to fill up with the local lunch crowd.
'What!?' She shrieked. I looked at her sharply. Sorry, she mouthed in my direction.
"Did you smell it?" she questioned. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
"John. JUST smell it. Yes, I'm serious."
I smiled weakly as a couple was seated at the table right next to us.
"Look, if you're not going to smell IT, you're going to have to tell me WHAT it LOOKS like. I don't even care John, just DESCRIBE it to me,"
I suddenly realized where this conversation was heading and I could feel my face start to heat up from embarrassment.
The restaurant was steadily filling with diners as my best friend discussed her baby's diaper situation in a cavalier fashion. Rather loudly at that.
"It's WHAT color?! Jesus. John, did you poison our child?"
I giggled nervously as the gentleman to my left cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow in my direction.
"Sara," I hissed sharply, attempting to get her attention.
She held up her hand as she loudly spoke into her phone, "John, I'm coming home. I KNEW it was a mistake to leave you alone..."
She mercifully clicked END and stood up as our sever was delivering our plates.
"I'm sorry Tanya. I have to bail. MAJOR baby crisis. I hope you understand..." she trailed off as she slipped her coat on and ran out the door.
I looked up at our confused waiter, sighing deeply.
"Check please."
Friday, February 20, 2015
Prompt No. 17 : A Vegetable Composition
Chef rolled up his sleeves as he surveyed the restaurant. Every table was set up immaculately, silverware and glasses held not a smudge or trace of lint. His 6 pm reservations were chatting nonchalantly over pre-dinner cocktails at the bar top as they patiently waited to be sat.
It always gave him a bit of jitters to see those first guests. That first order was always an indication of whether or not the night would flow smoothly. Although, his perfectionism would not allow the night to flow any other way.
He turned back to the line and made a quick inventory. Everything was in place, garnishes piled in ceramic bowls, his favorite whipper was set up with the preferred tip, tweezer tongs, and spray bottles.
"Chef, order up." The first order had been placed.
This first order of the night had been one of his first menu inceptions when he had been creating recipes for his restaurant. It was an ambitious dish in its simplicity. Merely a platter of vegetables.
He almost preferred working with vegetables over protein. There were so many complex flavor profiles to create with fresh vegetables. So many different ways to break down the bitterness and toughness and turn it into sweet and caramelized goodness.
Chef sourced all his vegetables from local farmers, only choosing the best. Everything was in season and grown on a farm that he trusted. It was the only way to keep the menu true.
He reached for the solid, polished wood block on which he artfully arranged his composition of vegetables. He sourced these slabs from a guy in Portland. Artisan handiwork at its best, the wood slabs were polished until their rings shown prominently through, a story in itself. The perfect canvas for his vegetables.
An arrangement of parsnips, rutabagas, beets, celery root, red cabbage and onions started to take place as Chef swiftly positioned each vegetable in their place.
These root vegetables were not your ordinary flavors. Chef sous-vide each vegetable overnight, breaking down their solid state in to something one only dreams of. Sous-vide cooking was one of his preferred techniques to use. It always amazed him how taking something, vacuum sealing it, placing it in a water bath and cooking it evenly at a controlled temperature could yield such moisture, such precious textures. Some people called this molecular gastronomy, but to him, it was just second nature.
He drizzled the parsnips with an oil infusion of its own juices, sprinkling grapefruit segments and fresh watercress leaves on top. Each bite would be an explosion of sweet and tart flavors. Taking his whipper, he dolloped parsnip puree next to the roasted parsnips. This puree was otherworldly, its texture like butter, smooth and creamy, it melted in your mouth.
Crimson beets were charred to a crisp in an open wood fire, invoking the flavors of the wood, topped with finely chopped parsley. The beets would be crisp on the outside, tender on the inside with a deep smokiness.
Wedges of red cabbage were braised until their leaves were almost falling apart, still retaining a slight crunch yet perfectly tender. Their flavor was slightly acidic, with sweetness coming through from the sugars that had been broken down into submission.
Rutabagas typically had a mild bitter flavor, but not Chef's rutabagas. He seared his rutabagas so they had a beautiful brown crust then braised them until every single inch of bitterness was removed and all that remained was earthy richness.
Chef stood back, pleased with his efforts. He held up his arm, hand in fist and a slight girl in black stepped forward to deliver the wooden platter to the designated table.
He heard another order come through. "Fire table 33."
It always gave him a bit of jitters to see those first guests. That first order was always an indication of whether or not the night would flow smoothly. Although, his perfectionism would not allow the night to flow any other way.
He turned back to the line and made a quick inventory. Everything was in place, garnishes piled in ceramic bowls, his favorite whipper was set up with the preferred tip, tweezer tongs, and spray bottles.
"Chef, order up." The first order had been placed.
This first order of the night had been one of his first menu inceptions when he had been creating recipes for his restaurant. It was an ambitious dish in its simplicity. Merely a platter of vegetables.
He almost preferred working with vegetables over protein. There were so many complex flavor profiles to create with fresh vegetables. So many different ways to break down the bitterness and toughness and turn it into sweet and caramelized goodness.
Chef sourced all his vegetables from local farmers, only choosing the best. Everything was in season and grown on a farm that he trusted. It was the only way to keep the menu true.
He reached for the solid, polished wood block on which he artfully arranged his composition of vegetables. He sourced these slabs from a guy in Portland. Artisan handiwork at its best, the wood slabs were polished until their rings shown prominently through, a story in itself. The perfect canvas for his vegetables.
An arrangement of parsnips, rutabagas, beets, celery root, red cabbage and onions started to take place as Chef swiftly positioned each vegetable in their place.
These root vegetables were not your ordinary flavors. Chef sous-vide each vegetable overnight, breaking down their solid state in to something one only dreams of. Sous-vide cooking was one of his preferred techniques to use. It always amazed him how taking something, vacuum sealing it, placing it in a water bath and cooking it evenly at a controlled temperature could yield such moisture, such precious textures. Some people called this molecular gastronomy, but to him, it was just second nature.
He drizzled the parsnips with an oil infusion of its own juices, sprinkling grapefruit segments and fresh watercress leaves on top. Each bite would be an explosion of sweet and tart flavors. Taking his whipper, he dolloped parsnip puree next to the roasted parsnips. This puree was otherworldly, its texture like butter, smooth and creamy, it melted in your mouth.
Crimson beets were charred to a crisp in an open wood fire, invoking the flavors of the wood, topped with finely chopped parsley. The beets would be crisp on the outside, tender on the inside with a deep smokiness.
Wedges of red cabbage were braised until their leaves were almost falling apart, still retaining a slight crunch yet perfectly tender. Their flavor was slightly acidic, with sweetness coming through from the sugars that had been broken down into submission.
Rutabagas typically had a mild bitter flavor, but not Chef's rutabagas. He seared his rutabagas so they had a beautiful brown crust then braised them until every single inch of bitterness was removed and all that remained was earthy richness.
Chef stood back, pleased with his efforts. He held up his arm, hand in fist and a slight girl in black stepped forward to deliver the wooden platter to the designated table.
He heard another order come through. "Fire table 33."
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Prompt No. 16 : Clouds in the Sky
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."
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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