Or at least, that’s what mom said.
“Dahlia won’t be back,” she said in a low tone, looking out the window to the fields beyond. “She’s probably found another home.”
That was typical of my mother. So negative. Why couldn’t she say something more positive, like “Well, maybe she will be back soon, ” or even, “You never know… ”
I couldn’t change my mother. If it was warm outside she would say it was too hot. If there was a nice cool breeze she would complain it was cold on her neck.
“Mom, maybe Dahlia is just visiting,” I said, hopefully.
But she just shook her head and walked away.
Nothing could be done about my mother. I had accepted that, after all these years. As a child, I had believed everything she told me, but now I barely listened to her. I was in my own world now. I had friends at school that I hung out with. Cool friends. Ones I could talk to, and share important messages, especially about boys.
Those were things you just couldn’t talk to your mother about.
“I’m going out, mom,” I said, putting on my jacket. It was early spring and the weather was still too cool to go out without a coat. I could hardly wait for the really warm days when I could hang out at the lake with my friends. Those were the fun times.
“Don’t be late,” my mother called.
“I won’t mom,” I replied, already halfway down the walk. “Don’t wait up for me.”