This is another post in a series, about a woman named Amara. Every Friday I will post another segment in this story.
After what seemed like an eternity of waiting for her memory to tell her why she drove to this parking lot, Amara thought to herself, ‘maybe I should just go back home, since I cannot remember why I am here.’
She placed her right hand on her key, preparing to turn it to start the car’s motor, as she glanced around the parking lot one last time for an indicator of why she was there. “Is that … ?” Amara whispered as she looked at a woman coming through the front doors of the building in front of her.
The woman was perfectly coordinated from her clothes to her bag, to her jewelery, to her shoes to her make-up. It would be difficult for anyone to not notice this perfect looking woman. Although she looked perfectly put together, with the greatest of care, she did not look approachable, nor did she look happy. “Why it is! That is Joy.” Amara was excited, relieved to see her youngest child, her daughter.
With great excitement, Amara grabbed the handle of her door, swung it open, yelling “Joy”, as she almost levitated out of her automobile.
Joy heard her mother’s voice, and focused her eyes in search of her. As the two locked eyes on each other the stresses that they had each been experiencing that day disappeared. There was a relief, and even a oneness as they looked at the one that each of them needed most. This moment of oneness was rare for these two, so genetically close. As early as when Amara discovered her unplanned pregnancy, from which Joy emerged, there was tension between the two. From that was a colicy first year, a defiant childhood, and teen years of feeling disappointment in each other.
The two were a pair of contradictions. Amara the ‘get your hands dirty’ mother, and Joy the ‘I don’t like to get my hands dirty’ daughter. Amara, whose life was one surprise after another, and Joy, whose life appeared to have turned out just as she had planned.
“Oh there she is, finally! What is she wearing?” Joy muttered to herself, just under her breath.
“Mother, you finally made it!” She yelled back, while standing on the steps of the professional building.
Amara headed straight for Joy, not taking her eyes off of her adult child.
“Mother, you will need to shut your car door.” Joy shouted to Amara, while positioning one hand on her hip, still not moving a foot towards her mother.
Throwing her hands up in the air, Amara sighed and smiled self mockingly, as she jogged back to close the driver side door of her archaic Olds.
As she quickly swung the door shut, she had not moved her body out of the way in time, and slammed the door hard against the inside of her right knee. “Damn it!” she yelled, as she bent over wincing and reaching for her throbbing knee.
“Mother, come quickly, we are late for the appointment,” Joy yelled, not having seen the injury that had just occurred.
“I’m coming dear,” Amara responded through clenched teeth, as she straightened and hobbled to the steps where Joy was still standing, with one hand still on her hip.
“For goodness sakes, I just have to be the most clumsy person on the face of the earth,” Amara was muttering under her breath, as she reached the place where Joy stood. The look of relief gone from her daughter’s face was replaced with a more familiar look, one of disdain, one of disappointment. Amara’s heart sank. After a lifetime of looking into her daughter’s eyes and seeing that same look of disdain looking back at her still hurt her like nothing else on this earth. For Amara, the pain in her knee was healed by the daggers she was thrown by her first born. No bandage, no salve could heal that hurt.
itsawonderfilledlife 