The Ascension

I graduated a year early, but somehow my parents, especially my mom, think I am defective somehow. If they could exchange me for a better version of myself, I’m sure they would. Thank the Goddess graduation from high school is in my rearview mirror. “Not really, although I was thinking we could go over some of the brochures when we get back from Aunt Chelsea’s.” I tell her so as to avoid any more of her agonizingly lame questions. It seems as though we can’t just keep things real. What I really want to tell her is that I grew up in daycare, never really knew her or my dad, and trying to figure out who I was during that time, was difficult! The challenges I faced as a child I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but I never tell her the truth because it would hurt her too much. It seems as though ever since my mom started working part time almost two years ago so she could spend more time with me, I have become her project, and she is constantly trying to figure out if there is something wrong--which there isn’t. Despite my bizarre, and somewhat deranged childhood, I feel as though I have come through it all better than expected. I love my mom dearly, and the last two years have been a dream come true for me. She and I have so much in common. Things I never noticed about my mom, her patience, kindness, and the fact that she doesn’t judge anyone are now manifesting in my own life, and I’ve never felt closer to anyone. And given the fact that I don’t really have a relationship with my dad, because his priority has always been work, not family, she is the only real parent I have now. Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad--well really it’s a love/hate thing--we’ve just never had a really good relationship. “How is Taylor?” she asks, with that gleam in her eye that always makes me giggle. Taylor was my first friend here in Baltimore, and my mom has always thought of us as the ”it” couple, however we have never been more than friends, so this particular topic always makes me giggle. It’s been a running joke between my friends and I. To keep my mom happy I tell her all is good. She looks over at me as though she knows I’m being dishonest, but I paste my typical I’m-so-happy look on my face and she relents, although she stares me down for a good 20 seconds. I look at her and, say, “Mom, driving 101; keep your eyes on the road.” She continues to look at me as though she can read my mind, and then eventually turns her head forward. Well, at least now I can assume that she is a safe driver. “I can’t wait to get to Aunt Chelsea’s house. By the way, why doesn’t Dad like her?” I ask her, knowing full well what the answer is going to be, but it is definitely time to shift the focus off of my life. “Well you know your dad, Miranda. And your aunt is just too ’out there‘ for him,” she says with what sounds like annoyance in her voice. “Why is that?” She looks at me with a gleam in her eyes, “It’s the witchcraft, Miranda.” She does this funny thing with her hands like it’s supposed to be scary but only reminds me of jazz fingers. A brief synopsis about my aunt; she has been a yoga instructor for over 20 years, in fact, she owns several studios, but my dad thinks that because she is in tune with the earth, and a very spiritual person, she must be a witch. “Yea … Dad is kind of like that. He doesn’t believe in anything he hasn’t read in a textbook.” I know my words are dripping with sarcasm, but my dad is so judgmental about things he doesn’t understand. She looks sad suddenly, like there is something she wants to tell me but doesn’t have the courage to. “He is still your dad, Miranda.” I sigh. ”I know, Mom. I just don’t get how different we are. It’s hard to take in sometimes.” “By the way, how are things going with your friends?” she asks me, trying once again to divert the conversation back to me. Thankfully I have learned her tricks over the past couple of years and know when she is trying to sway the conversation back to me. “My friends are great, but you already know that, so why are you asking?” I ask deadpan. “I’m just curious, honey. I just want to know if you are having any issues with your friends.” “Why would I be having ‘issues’ with my friends? If I were having issues with them, we would work them out, and that would be that. You were a teenager once, you know how it works.” “I do know, and that’s why I ask.” Again she is being vague, and I can tell. I decide, once again, it is time for a change of subject. Out of left field I say, “I can’t wait to get to Aunt Chelsea’s house; I always feel at peace there. She’s an amazing woman.” “She has that gift, honey. Learn from her.” I have a feeling my mom knows more than she is letting on but I let it go. “Enough talking,” I say as I lean over to turn on some music. Thankfully my mom not only tolerates but loves my choice of music, and as we’re singing along to “I Stand Alone”, I look over at her for a change, and realize she is the beautiful woman I hope I will someday become, without the egocentric husband. It’s then I suddenly see a bright light out of the corner of my eye and then everything goes black.