Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo which means that 100% of my energy is focused on writing the first 1,667 words of my novel. To offset the lack of time and effort I’ll have leftover to post this month, each week I will be posting a story about my experience with my mom’s diagnosis 6 months ago. These stories are pre-written, and will come in sequential order. Once the month finishes up and I get some more time to write, I’ll write the rest. I hope you like them!
“She is my soulmate.”
I looked into my mother’s eyes and watched her mouth form into a smile. Its not every day you get to say those words, with complete confidence, to your mother. Her boyfriend and dance partner Marco sat beside her.
“Well. I would love to meet her!” My mom responded.
I was talking about Chanterelle, the girl who had won my heart and affections just five days before. My mom had heard some pretty far out stories, and always told me I would make a great salesman.
“Its obvious you believe what you say,” she would say to me, “So I have no choice but believe you.”
This story was different. This story was true. It had taken just one phone call to bring Chanterelle and I together, but it would take something momentous to tear us apart.
“I’m so happy for you” my mother beamed at me, “now, hurry up and eat! We need to get to the show.”
Since I was two years old I had attended theater, music, and dance performances with my mom, and tonight the show was a modern dance troupe.
I sped up my eating, shoveling rice, shrimp, and vegetables into my mouth.
“Soulmates, that’s a strong word.” Marco mused.
I smiled.
“It sure is.”
“We’re barely going to make it!” my mom said from the passenger seat as she opened the car door.
She was right. I had gotten carried away with my exposition of love, and we would barely make it before they closed the doors. We had found a spot in the back parking lot usually reserved for crew. This had shaved ten minutes of walking time, and I thanked my mom’s typical parking karma.
I pulled out my cell-phone as we hurried across the back lawn of the theater to the lobby entrance. I opened a new text message and adressed it to Chanterelle:
“My mom wants to meet you soon!” I typed. “We’re going into the theater now, but I’ll talk to you afterwards. I love you.”
The ushers didn’t look pleased as we rounded the bend and threw our tickets at them.
“Front row seats, its good you made it!” the usher said haughtily as she pointed out our seats. We were, indeed, in the front. My mom and I liked those seats best. She liked to see the faces of the dancers and performers, and I liked to see the sweat dripping and flying off of their moving bodies.
I waited, knowing what was coming. Even as the lights dimmed, my mother reached into the brown purse she always carried and pulled out a small tin box. She opened it, took out two small white objects, and held it out to me.
“Altoid?”
She had asked me a hundred times before, sitting in those very seats, and every single time, I accepted.
The announcers voice boomed out over the loudspeaker, and I leaned in to whisper in my mom’s ear.
“I’m so happy we’re seeing this.”
She looked back at me in the darkness, her face as young and smooth as ever, “Me too. Its good to see you” she whispered back.
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