Sunday, Apr. 21, 2019
12:20 p.m.
<< [ The Opposite of Telepathy ] >>
Jealous. I couldn't describe what occurs between me and my own mother as anything approaching telepathy.
Words I would choose instead: Difficult. Stilted. Littered with misunderstanding and pain.
The last trip I went on with her, my mother crossed her arms, tea cup poking out of one hand. I, three cocktails in, mentioned playing with the babysitter after our wedding. And then again at Thanksgiving.
My mother said, in reference to my sexual escapades, complete with disapproving head shake, "I was thinking you sound so much like your father," and started to walk away.
"Who's fucking fault was that?" I hurled at her. She kept walking.
"Was that my fault? Did I choose dad as a life partner? And then stay married to him for forty years even though that was a terrible decision?" I shouted down the hall after her. Older little brother told me to stop.
"Oh no wait, that was you."