𝙲 𝙷 𝙴 𝚁 𝚁 𝚈

08

15:47

THURSDAY

SANTA CARLA

A MOTHER

The morning is anything but bliss today; the giant ball of gas in the sky has taken on a more ruthless persona than the last two days and it cooks my skin into a blistered red mask. My converse clad feet carry me from the cafe once again, pastry in my left hand, Cherry red in the other. With the back of my hand, I wipe away the layer of wet salt that's swelling over my forehead; it's gathering along my cheeks and upper lip, but I try to ignore it. My teeth work at the remainder of the croissant and I lick away at my chapped lips. I lower my head for a moment, gaining the strength to continue about my day. The sun is my worst enemy right now, new york had never been this deadly, though as I look at the swelling crowd of large families and elderly couples, I note that they are not suffering the same as I am. They are wearing shorts, vests tops, and sandals, some even in bikinis. I watch through squinted eyes as they laugh and live their lives with much more ease than I have now.

I'm finished up for the day at Max's tape shop; he had approached me with an eager eye early this afternoon and encouraged me to go and explore the city. After denying the offer several times, without him backing down, I decided to give in and take the rest of the day off. Now, along the boardwalk dressed in nothing but a white vest and denim shorts, I glare at everybody through my Ovza's. I'm not encouraged by the people's enjoyment, though I suppose a part of me may wish that I could be. I give in and pressed the back of my fingers against my cheeks and upper lip, collecting the sweat that has been bothering me since the start of my stance. The heat has rid of my appetite and I throw the remaining pastry in the bin further down the boardwalk; it's times like this that I wish I had lived here for longer. Perhaps I'd have a friend, or maybe even two. Not being able to withstand the heat any longer, I take a swift turn left and make my way back to the tape shop. I'm aware that I will receive a comment from Max, though I'm not discouraged by him. I make my way back inside and I'm hit with the relief of the air con against my skin and through my hair. I continue on and aim for the mini-fridge behind the counter that Lucy is now working behind. She eyes me for a moment.

"Didn't Max tell you to take a break?" She questions me with her silky voice.

I reach down and open the refrigerator to grasp the first thing that I can see, "It's way too hot out there."

It feels as if it's an excuse; perhaps it's the heat or maybe it's the fact that I really have nothing better to do. Lucy and I had never really spoken. She seems sweet, like a mother that everybody needs and that makes me feel uncomfortable.

She looks at me for a moment and I pull my weight up onto the counter before biting the top off of the glass bottle with my teeth. Her hand is on her hip and as she speaks again, I let the fizz of the coke soothe my dry mouth, "Honey, I know you don't really know me and I don't know you, but something tells me that maybe you need a friend?"

Her comment catches me off guard for just a moment and I swallow the liquid in my mouth. My eyes drop to the ground just for a moment, "What gives you that idea?"

"Well, I don't know." She turns towards the counter and continues to label the piles of tapes that she was working on before my arrival, "I'm a mother of two, I suppose I just have a sense for these things."

Something in me allows me to relax just for a minute. Her words hit me like spitfire, though it's calming. A mother. Is that what mothers are supposed to do? Have a sense that their children are lonely? I think for a moment and I'm unsure of my next move; I don't open up to people, though something about this woman makes me feel like I am allowed to do so. I take a sip of my coke and rub the condensation from the glass with my thumbs. I catch a glimpse of my cigarette between my fingers, unlit, that I had forgotten I was even holding, "You like being a mother?"

For a second, I think my question shocks her. Her eyes snap over to me and her mouth opens and closes as if she doesn't understand how to respond, until she smiles, "I wouldn't change it for the world."

Her response unsettles me, though I'm completely aware that it isn't her intention. She must have noticed the shift in my mood because she looks at me with concern; her eyes brows tied together above eyes that glimmer with empathy.

"Sarah." She states my name as if she is going to scold me, "Where's your mother?"

When I don't respond, she questions again, "Do you have any family, Sarah?"

Again, for what seems like too many times, I glance down to the ground that my feet dangles over, "No one but the old woman. Got no clue where she is though."

The air between us is thin and an uncomfortable silence falls upon the two of us; a young man wearing a yellow star wars shirt approaches the counter asking to pay for his movie and Lucy takes his money. She places it in the till gives him his receipt and thanks to him before she turns to me. Her eyes shuffle to the right as she thinks for a moment, "Would you like to come home with me? Max has asked me out to dinner and another woman's opinion on an outfit would help me millions. I know nothing about fashion these days."

I look at her and think about my options. Getting close to someone, or anyone at all isn't what I came here to do at all. A million and one thoughts are rushing through my mind; my trust issues overpowering me as they usually do. Overpowering. They're in charge, taking the wheel as they always do, and steering me away from anything that may put me out of my zone. I feel caged for a second and then I remember, being caged is what she did. It's exactly what I'm trying to get away from. It's not what I want.

"Sure."

She smiles at me and presses her palms together, "Oh, goodie. Thank you. I get off in an hour and then we will drive back, how's that?"

I say nothing and nod, though I don't have time to respond when Max rounds the corner with a bag filled with dog food. He looks at me, "I thought I told you to take the rest of the day off?"

"Don't worry, I'm not working. Just got nothing better to do." I shrug and he rolls his eyes at me.

"Kid's these days." He chuckles as he unloads a bag of dog treats and passes one down to thorn, "Out of control."

Both he and Lucy laugh together, "Yeah but they dress better."

I watch her and for a moment, I think about my own mother. She's nothing like Lucy; mine has a smoker's cough and skin that's yellowing. I look down at my Malborough red between my thin fingers and I begin to dread that I'm turning out just like her.