Lets do lunch! – If you could have lunch with anybody, who would it be and what would you like to discuss?
If I could have lunch with anyone, at all, it would be my mother. Our lunch would so be full of tears and love and tragedy, Shakespeare would be proud. If I could sit across the table and look into eyes that are blue versions of my own, smile with a smile that is the same sort of crooked, maybe I would find some peace. She would have none for the period of lunch that we share. I would bombard her with questions, seeking the answers to all the things I only half know.
I would ask about the cancer, how it hurt, how she felt and what kept her fighting for so long. I would tell her that I didn’t mind having to bathe her. I would tell her that playing with her tray of perfumes, jewelry and makeup made me feel closer to her after she passed. I’d tell her about the bottle of perfume I keep because it smells like her, even though it smells horrid on me.
I would ask her about her youth and solidify those stories from the wanderings and imaginations of a young girls mind. I would ask her about Robin and Sweetycomes and Joe and my dad. I would ask her about her mother and her father, her aunt. I would ask her about her dreams and why she didn’t chase them. I’d thank her for showing me love and passion and silliness can all exist throughout the pain in one’s life. That those little things were what made life worth living.
I would ask her about when she was raped for the second or third time, this time by a police officer. I’d tell her that I learned about it in a terrifying journal entry I read when I was 15. I’d shed more tears for her than I did that night. I would ask why she felt she had no power, no recourse. I would thank her for teaching me to be vigilant about my safety.
I would ask her about her art. I’d show her my own.
I would ask her what she thought of me and my brother and what we have done with ourselves. I would ask her if she was proud.
I would ask her to hold me. Just for a little while, like she used to. To run her fingers through my hair and trail her nails down my arms. I would give anything to have her arms around me again.
I’d make her laugh, ask her to dance, let her listen to CeLoGreen and Adele and see her light up when she heard the fun and soul in the music.
We’d order wine and crab with pasta and dessert. I’d tell her how I miss her. I’d thank her for giving me a moment. I’d tell her how even as I miss her, my life wouldn’t be what it was if she was alive. That it was okay, because the woman I am now is someone I think she’d like.
I’d ask her to stay, knowing she couldn’t.