Tea For Two

27

Disclaimer: This is part of an original work of fiction. Don't steal it. Thanks. Enjoy. 

~~~

"Hey mom."

My mother's mouth is pressed into the flattest line I've ever seen on a face as she surveys me from ten feet away.

"August Denae, we will talk later."

"Yes, ma'am."

She pats her hair with one hand, the other pressed daintily to her heart, both looking stylishly fragile and holding her purse in the crook of her elbow. As she shifts all of her weight to one hip, she looks expectantly to the cop sitting next to me and spreads her hands, fingers wide.

"Well? Will you please cut that thing off of my daughter's wrists so that I can take her home?"

It's not a request- not really. It comes with the biting and caustic tone she so often uses when she is really quite irritated.

While the cop pulls out a small tool and clips the zip-tie off of me, I find myself glad that we live so close; any more than five minutes with my mother in a small, enclosed space right now could be the end of me.

"Thank you," I say to the officer once my hands are free and I am standing.

"Stay out of trouble, young lady."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come on, August. It's time to go," says my mother. She nods to the officer. "Officer Harris."

"Dorothea," the woman nods in response.

For a fraction of a moment, my mother looks like she wants to catch hold of me by the hand, but as her eyes slide first past the butterfly bandages on them and then up my arms to the speckles of blood on my shoulder, I can see her make the active decision not to. Instead, she places one hand on the middle of my back with delicate pressure and guides me out of the building into the parking lot where our car is waiting in one of the one hour only spaces.

As she pulls the car out into the street heading home, she sighs and starts in on me.

"Imagine my embarrassment when I got that call," she says.

"Mom, I-"

I have no idea how I can explain this away.

"Oh, for God's sake, August. Will you be quiet for once and let me talk?"

I've been quiet for years.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, looking down at my still-aching fists in my lap.

"I just don't know what has gotten into you lately," she begins, briefly checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. "You know it's one thing- being so stubborn about your clothes and your hair; I swear, when you were little, you used to love dressing up and having your hair done. You were like a little doll! And now you dress like a boy and never talk to anyone. Do you know what your grandmother asked me at the wedding?"

I shake my head.

"She asked me 'did August give up speaking for Lent?' As if any of us are even Catholic!"

If this was almost any other situation, I would laugh. Grandma Jean has a strange sense of humor. My mother has a hard time finding it funny.

"It was really just shameful. So it's one thing to be so quiet and pretend you're a boy or something. That's one thing, and I've put up with it. But this-" she sighs- "It is entirely another thing to be so stupid that you would do this. I just have no words to fit this."