| General Fiction posted April 5, 2022 |
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Estranged Mother Meets the Prodigal Daughter
The Reunion
by Seville Bates
The rusty gate opened to an unkempt yard adorned with overgrowth and annoying dandelions. The old concrete steps leading up to the porch were cracked and unstable. Cats of all sizes and breeds scattered from around the faded welcome mat that lay at the entrance. The battered door displayed a dirty peephole with a knob held together by loose screws. The house was dilapidated and unfit for habitation.
Was this the right house? The Mexican, sitting on his porch, stared at me, as I peered through a vacant property, facing his house. "If you're looking for the old woman, she moved to the wooden, two-story on the corner," he pointed. So, here I now stood, on a porch at 223 Spring Street. I heard voices of a man and a woman, just beyond battered door. I took one long and deep breath, and then I exhaled. I rapped with some trepidation. "Who is it?" she said. "It's me, Laverne", I responded. It got real quiet. As the door opened, my heart fluttered, beating anxiously. There she stood, my mother.
The rusty gate opened to an unkempt yard adorned with overgrowth and annoying dandelions. The old concrete steps leading up to the porch were cracked and unstable. Cats of all sizes and breeds scattered from around the faded welcome mat that lay at the entrance. The battered door displayed a dirty peephole with a knob held together by loose screws. The house was dilapidated and unfit for habitation.
Was this the right house? The Mexican, sitting on his porch, stared at me, as I peered through a vacant property, facing his house. "If you're looking for the old woman, she moved to the wooden, two-story on the corner," he pointed. So, here I now stood, on a porch at 223 Spring Street. I heard voices of a man and a woman, just beyond battered door. I took one long and deep breath, and then I exhaled. I rapped with some trepidation. "Who is it?" she said. "It's me, Laverne", I responded. It got real quiet. As the door opened, my heart fluttered, beating anxiously. There she stood, my mother.
Was this the right house? The Mexican, sitting on his porch, stared at me, as I peered through a vacant property, facing his house. "If you're looking for the old woman, she moved to the wooden, two-story on the corner," he pointed. So, here I now stood, on a porch at 223 Spring Street. I heard voices of a man and a woman, just beyond battered door. I took one long and deep breath, and then I exhaled. I rapped with some trepidation. "Who is it?" she said. "It's me, Laverne", I responded. It got real quiet. As the door opened, my heart fluttered, beating anxiously. There she stood, my mother.
 Recognized |
This is a story told to me by a friend. She ran away from home at age 16. It would be many years later that she would go searching for her mother. Both had lead turbulent lifestyles; however, their reunion was sweet and joyous when they reconnected in 2003.
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