My mother was the pregnant teenage, the "cautionary whale" that old movie warned against. I was the thing that brought hate on her, that lost her her home and family, that essentially ruined her life. I was also what got her kicked off the cheerleading squad, the one only Aunt Rachel ever mentions.
My mother loves me. Even though I'm the reason her beautiful blond hair is shot with grey, and because of me she'll never marry a nice man and grow old with him. I know she loves me because she tells me so, and in the way she brushes my hair and listens and tries, even though she is no example, to keep me on the right path.
But the only time I think maybe my mother regrets me is when she sees her old yearbooks, the ones from before me, where she is wearing that small red skirt, her legs and stomach hard with youth. More than that, she sees what could have been, if I hadn't "come along, the mistake worth making." She look so mournful, like she lost a family member. In a way she did, it symbolizes the whole life she had lost.
And that is why I went out for cheerleading.
At first she didn't want me to. She sat me down and told me how no matter how fun it seemed, no matter how much I want to be cool, it was hard, hard work and people would be judging me and if I wanted I could join soccer or band or anything and I didn't have to prove anything-
I cut her off there, when she started to get a little to close to the truth.
"Mom," I assured her. "It looks like so much fun! Those cute little uniforms!"
That was such a lie I almost lost it. Unlike her red and white costumes, my schools were neon orange and black. Nothing that looked good with pale skin and brown hair. I wish I had my moms golden hair, soft and elegant and cheerful. My mother says be proud of that. It's the only thing of my father I will ever have.
She sighed, and I felt bad for giving her something new to fret over. It would join a long list behind rent, food, clothes, and my future. "Did I make you want to do this? Am I living my life through you like one of those freaky pageant moms?"
"No, Mom!" I swore. "It's just a way to make new friends, try something new… you know!"
She smiled, and reached over to where I was sitting on our worn out corduroy couch. "Alright," she agreed. "If it's what you really want."
So I joined the cheerleading squad, with its all inclusive freshmen policy. Which is lucky, since it turns out I can barely touch my toes and my voice doesn't carry. Every day I staggered onto the field, bored and restless before the coach even arrived.
I hate almost everything about it. I hate the tiring practices, the high kicks and splits. I despise the short, embarrassing skirts. I can't stand performing at games, feeling guys imagine that skirt on their floor.
The one thing I love is when I'm thrown in the air and I see my mothers face, for she comes faithfully to every game. She doesn't look tired or worried. Her mouth opens wide and she laughs as I fall, smile tacked on and skirt riding up. She claps and cheers and screams, and I do not regret one moment of those long hard practices or one word of the nasty cheerleader politics.
I love my mother, so I went out for cheerleading.