Hello, I'm back...sorta. Well, not really. Just..yeah. Hi. It was the muses again...what's a girl to do?
Disclaimer: I do not own them, yadda yadda...I will not make any financial profit, yadda.
Missing
Samantha's mother had always been very good at this moving thing. Well, after all, their family had always moved around a lot, thanks to Samantha's career military father. And Samantha's parents been married for seven years before having kids, and Samantha's brother Mark was born two years before she was. So by the time Samantha was aware of the intricacies of moving, they were all very good at it, indeed.
Samantha's father had to pick out the house. It needed four bedrooms—a master, one for each child, and a guest room for Nana and Papa to stay in for Christmas. It needed, too, a kitchen, a living room, and other basic, necessary things that the rest of the family didn't worry about.
Samantha and Mark, once they were old enough, helped out by going through toys, giving away the ones that they didn't want anymore, and packing up in boxes those they still did. They showed potential buyers around the home, and generally stayed out of their parents' way on moving day.
Samantha's mother had the hardest job: packing. She packed everyone's clothes, making sure they were nicely folded. She packed pillows and blankets, towels and sheets. She packed up everything in the kitchen and bathrooms, in the garage and closets. She packed it all up, and then they got in the car in front of the moving van, and they all traveled to wherever it was they were going this time. She would navigate, sitting in the front seat and reading maps so Samantha's father wouldn't get lost. When they got to the new home Samantha's father had picked, her mother was the first one out, telling the moving men where to put the furniture, helping unload boxes, and generally making everyone feel useful, even though anyone could see she was the one who knew what was going on. Then, when the rush was over, she'd carefully and thoroughly unpack everything, only to pack it up again months later.
Here are the ways Samantha missed her mother after she died: days after her mother's death, Samantha celebrated—or rather, endured—her fifteenth birthday without her mother's homemade cake. There was nobody to watch the fireflies or lightning storms with her in the evenings that summer. When she caught a bad cold in August, her father didn't know what to do. Samantha's first boyfriend broke up with her, and she cried and cried and told her friends it was because he dumped her, but really it was because she knew if her mother was there, they'd be taking all Samantha's photos of the bastard and drawing horns and silly mustaches on them. Chocolate chip cookies didn't taste as good without her mother to compliment them. Sunny days didn't seem as sunny. Rainy days weren't as dark and adventurous. Everything was the same.
And then another transfer paper came in, and they had to move again. But they didn't know what to do. Samantha's father found the house. Samantha and Mark packed up their music, their bedspreads, and books. And then they stopped, and looked around, and waited unconsciously for their mother to finish the job. But she was eight miles down the road and six feet below their feet.
They floundered for a while, and then one day, without any acknowledgement, they started to pack. They packed haphazardly, putting clothes together with pots, if they'd fit, and stuffing forgotten items in the trunk of their car. And they got to the new home, and Samantha started telling the movers—faltering, making mistakes, but trying nonetheless—where to put the furniture, the boxes.
Before her mother died, Samantha hadn't cried since she was six. But she cried after the accident, and she cried now. It felt like she couldn't stop. Her face hurt and felt sticky, but the tears kept coming of their own volition. The movers looked at her oddly, and she had to turn away and wipe her face, clench her jaw, and get back to work.
The movers left, they started unpacking, everything started to feel a little bit normal again.
But that was when Samantha missed her mother the most.
Now you've come to the end,
Please tell me, dearest friend,
If this story you commend
Or would like to apprehend.
(Okay, I admit it, I used a rhyming dictionary. Now review, will ya? Please.)
-Emilie