When my mom returned to my grandparents’ house after work I
met her in the dining room and embraced her. My head rested on her stomach. She
smelled strongly of perfume and faintly of nicotine. Her parents didn’t like
her to smoke. She smelled like home. I stepped back and adjusted her skirt. She
wore it high-waisted, belted just below her bra. I pulled her wide band,
elastic belt down as I said, “That’s
not your waist! This is your waist!”
She always let me. She always left it that way the rest of the evening.
No comments:
Post a Comment