Beautiful Tiger

Chapter 6.

Mom picked up on the second ring. I never liked talking on the phone, so she knew it was urgent. Well, I didn't think it was urgent, but by her panic voice on the other end, she felt it was. Maybe, it was because my mom knew me, and she knew very well that I didn't like hearing when the phone sometimes echoes and I could hear my own voice. I didn't like hearing my own voice anywhere else than coming through my own mouth at the time. Even with my mother's terrible sight, I'm constantly texting her rather than calling.

Texting is better, because you don't have to respond instantly. You can even take a few hours to respond. And you can ponder before you send the text, whereas you have to say it almost immediately over the phone, and can't avoid it at any cost. But that's just me.

"What is it, baby? Are you okay? Hello? Sara Olivia Palmer."

"Mom," I croaked into the phone.

"I'm on my way, baby."

"No, no, no. Don't come. It's too early in the morning to drive out three hours. Please. I just miss you, Mom."

She was rummaging around, moving frantically, and I could hear the swishing of water. Her breath went from fast and hitched, to relieved.

"Mom, are you in the tub?" I laughed.

I could almost hear the panic leave her body as a smile appeared in her voice, "Maybe."

"I'm sorry, Mom." I sunk in shame, wiping my tears away that were drying. "I'll call you later then." I hoped I could keep that promise.

"I haven't seen you in two whole months, Sara Olivia. I don't want another phone call," she whined like a child. "It's nice to hear your voice even though you sound like you're distraught and stressed, but I need to see you."

"Mooom," I was smiling now, no evidence that I was even crying minutes ago. "Thanksgiving is a month and a half away. Just wait until then."

"No! Oh, the hell I will! I'm coming there this weekend."

"You could, because my roommate has moved out," I secured my phone between my shoulder and ear. "But I don't want you to, Mom. What will my friends think when you're here in my extra bedroom?"

Lies.

"Your roommate moved out? Why? And when do I get to meet these friends of yours?" There's like a tsunami in the background, and I can tell it's because she's rising from the tub.

"Oh," Lie, Sara. "She had a severe illness that was contagious. And you don't get to meet my friends, mom. I'm 18, not 8."

"Oh. Shucks. I hope you've disinfected everything."

"I did," I fibbed some more.

"Good. And you're not 18. You're 17 and ten and a half months." My birthday was around Thanksgiving.

"Technically, I already am eighteen," I smile, toying with the ring she gave me that was now significant in another way.

"No. You're still a minor, and I'm your mother. So for a month and a half more, I own you. You do as I say," She laughs, and I laugh with her.

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

I glance at the time on the TV, 8:05.

"No. Class just ended. It's break."

"Okay, class just ended five minutes ago, but you've been on the phone with me for almost 20 minutes." I can hear the dissaproval. "Sara, I hope you're not hanging out with the wrong crowd."

If the wrong crowd consisted of one particular jock by the name of Alexander Martin and the terminology: hanging out, had a span of two days, then that's exactly what I was doing.