OCR Text |
Show Inside Out, 4 college students who ride the bus in the morning and afternoon, and then there are a lot of dirty, sloppy-looking people who I guess can't afford cars. And, of course, people like me whose parents wouldn't let them get licenses. But this mom and daughter didn't seem to fit into any of those categories-at least the mom didn't. Maybe they were going shopping. Maybe the mom was insisting that the girl buy some decent clothes. If my mom were alive, would she take me shopping? Would she say, "This scarf looks really good with your eyes?" Leslie always wanted to take me shopping. That'll be the day. The lady leaned over and said something to her daughter. The daughter rolled her eyes and looked out the window. If Mom were alive, would I be rolling my eyes at her now? Whenever I see people fight with their moms it really bugs me. I guess it's kind of like the way my aunt Ginger who never could get pregnant always used to yell whenever she saw people driving around with their kids on their laps instead of in car seats. Ahh, there it was, the wave of grief. After four years, I was familiar with the way one could hit suddenly, like some killer tsunami hitting right when I finally thought I'd reached high ground. It felt kind of good to let it wash over me now-a relief, as if I'd done my duty for the day. Someone tapped me on the back. I turned around to see a mentally-handicapped girl. "You're crying! Are you OK?" "I'm fine," I said, feeling my face get hot. I turned to look out the window. |