๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ : ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ณ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ .
mom miriam was beautiful, once. what a way to start an entry, right? mr. simmons told me once after class that i had a talent for hook lines. that if i just kept writing i'd become an author someday. i don't know if that's true or not, but i like to think he meant it. but that's besides the point. the point is, miriam was beautiful, once, and i only know this because i saw it in a picture. an old wedding photo of her and big bob. the frame was tucked in a corner, behind all of bob's high school sports trophies and olga's recital ribbons. like some forgotten relic of something that no longer exists.
the first time i saw it, i'd been about seven. maybe eight. i could remember thinking how happy miriam looked โ bright-eyed, glowing. like she had her whole life ahead of her and couldn't wait to hit the ground running. not the worn-out shell she is now, wasting what's left of her youth away on "smoothies" and sleep. sometimes, when i look at that picture, i wonder what her life would have been like if she just hadn't met bob. obviously, neither i nor olga would exist. but i wonder if she would have been happier.
i remember the road trip we took the year i turned nine.
i'd been a brat every step of the way, determined to have a horrible time because it was miriam and we never got along; never really tried to, either. i remember the hot leather of the car seat stinging my thighs and the blistering summer heat as we drove miles and miles away from hillwood with the air conditioning rattling and sputtering along; a drone in the background just loud enough to tune out her country radio. it was one of the only times i'd seen a glimpse of that old miriam resurface. second only to the time she temporarily went back to work when bob threw his back out.
the thing is, i don't know a lot about miriam. i know she went to the 1967 summer of love festival when she was fifteen. i know she married bob when she was twenty. i know she had olga just a few years later. i know she was a rodeo queen before she was a wife. i couldn't tell you her favourite colour or her what her favourite movie is. but i could tell you how she makes her 'smoothies' - frozen berries, milk, and a heavy hand on the rum. she likes mango the best.
what a rotten relationship to have with your mom, right? mom. i can't remember the last time i called her that and didn't mean it as an insult.
i don't really know where i was going with this. i guess maybe a part of me still wants to try, even though i know nothing will come of it. i wonder if olga ever felt this way about her, too. but then again, olga's the golden child. she's never had to fight for miriam or bob's attention. must be nice.
criminy. that sounds so lame.
whatever. it is what it is, i guess.
