Santa Cena
December 14, 2020
My mom and I don’t have much in common. She’s fire, and I’m water. She’s bold and brave and well, I’m not. This disconnect was especially difficult to deal with when I was a child. I would watch her from afar, tiny gears turning in my young mind trying to figure out what was on her mind. I learned a lot from just watching her. When she was upset she would purse her lips in a pout, and it would stay that way until she would calm down.
There was no doubt that my mother loved me. She showed me every single day in every warm bowl of food and every too-tight embrace. But, no matter what I did, there was always something that made us different. My sister, on the other hand, was her mirror image. Pursed lips and all. Our fights would often end in tears, on my part of course. She could cut through skin with just her tongue and it’s been that way since she was born.