Page 25 - Contrast2015

me, she would at least listen to her eldest
brother. My hope was misplaced.

“I’m your mother,” she declared. “You are
still my daughter and I will have that authority
until you turn 18. I only have a few more
months left of that. You have to give me this.”
Several times over the years, my mother had
told me she wasn’t really my mother, she was
a friend. My aunt had taken over the mother
role. Because of this, I felt indignant about her
“excuse.” This wasn’t even her own house, it
was my aunt and uncle’s, and she had
expressly disrespected their wishes, let alone
mine.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? Do boys
not just ask you out in the hallways?” My
mother asked me this occasionally throughout
high school. Boys have never asked me out, so
I’ve always laughed at my mother’s insistence
at my supposed beauty. Of course she thinks
I’m beautiful—she’s my mom. But I have to
give it to her—she is the one person in my life
who has endlessly encouraged some parts my
self-esteem. Unfortunately, I’ve never had
much.

My mom called me last Sunday, beginning
the phone call with “You never talk to me
anymore.” I immediately burst into tears.
Talking to my mother is always stressful. We
haven’t seen each other in person since her
graduation visit, although I’ve sent her
numerous pictures since then, and we’ve even
video chatted a couple of times. I haven’t

| 23