This story is my happy place; I do not plan on ever finishing it. It will go on and on like a soapie. Might break it up into volumes later.
"Grab a bunch of broken misfits, chuck them in a tribe, add some glitter and loads of weird-as garbage, voila...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
So, women actually do this kind of thing in real life. Crossing my arms, I settle in to watch the spectacle unfolding before me.
And it is quite the spectacle indeed. My mother, the usually quiet, emotionally stinted Rebecca Mayfair, is holding hands with a short, busty woman I assume to be Elizabeth Drake. They are jumping around in circles like a pair of little children. This strange tribal dance consisting of giggling, crying, hugging, and shrieking has been going on for quite a few minutes now.
Our car hadn't even stopped completely when Aunt Beth came screaming down the patio steps and all but yanked my mother from the still-stuttering vehicle right into her embrace.
I always thought scenes like this were only found in 'girly' movies. I cannot remember having had the urge to do that... ever... and my mother... Actually, my mother rarely laughs. Hearing her squeal like a little girl is rather wonderful. Seeing her show any kind of emotion is refreshing. She'd slowly been coming alive since we embarked on our road trip to Briar Cove, the stress lines in her face softening with each kilometre we travelled. Seeing her gradually transform into a different person is fascinating.
I was really nervous when I opened the gate to the Drakes' property for my mother to park our dilapidated old car in the canopied area to the left of the double garages. She assured me it would be perfectly fine, that Aunt Beth had told her to drive right in and park there. To be honest, I had my doubts. Despite my mother's many promises, I didn't feel certain of our welcome at all. Then suddenly, this bubbly blond woman came bursting from the house like a little yellow hurricane, and my doubts began to fade.
And here we are five minutes later, starring in a female coming-of-age movie.
Aunt Beth and my mother's abundant joy finally pops the bubble of anxiety I've been trapped in for months now. Watching these two excited women, my eyes are suddenly burning with silly tears of relief.
I slowly become aware of the alarm that's been going off at my feet for practically the entire duration of the reunion between my mother and her best friend. Jealous of the shrieks and squeals threatening to put his abilities to shame, Little-Piddle is doing his best to pierce our eardrums. Wincing, I pick the dog up and hug him to my chest. Usually, doing so calms his hysterics, but not this time. I adore the fluffy little mongrel, but honestly, his shrill barks can make even the dead cringe in pain.
He'd been trapped in the car with us for over two days; he deserved a big dose of freedom. We all do, but oh, my word, it hurts!
"Shush! Be quiet; they're doing a splendid job all by themselves," I hiss into his ear.
My mother and Aunt Beth stop their re-unification ritual and turn all their attention to me. Not what I'd meant to achieve at all. I cannot remember the last time my mother smiled at me quite like this. It warms my heart, and I smile back. Each shared smile seems to shrink the vast distance between us by one millimetre at a time. Good.
