17 Versus 42 August 12, 2017 – Posted in: Short Stories
Why does Mum have to turn everything into an argument? I can’t find my new red shirt. It took a lot of persuading to get her to buy it for me and it’s exactly what I want to wear today. So, obviously, I ask Mum if she knows where it is and then what happens?
“Your shirt has been washed, Michelle. It was put in your bedroom yesterday. Maybe the reason you can’t find it is the amount of stuff on the floor. I thought I told you to tidy up on Saturday. What happened?”
It takes patience living with my Mum. There’s only the two of us and she does work hard, but that’s is no excuse for bad temper! And she’s not even done yet!
“And I’m going to stop ironing your clothes when they just end up on the floor. I work long hours, I’ve never liked ironing and it seems to be a positive waste of time ironing clothes that you won’t hang up and that get so creased and crumpled as soon as I’m done.”
Mum can create stuff out of nothing! And if that’s not bad enough I can see she’s gearing up for worse.
“In fact, you’re old enough to start taking responsibility for your own clothes. Do your own washing and ironing from now on, Michelle. Then you’ll know where everything is without asking me in that special tone of voice you use. If your clothes stay crumpled, it won’t matter to me. Yes, the more I think about it that seems like a really good idea. And another thing, Micelle…”
Oh no. What will she come up with next?
“… I don’t even feel like buying you new clothes when they end up on the floor, unwashed, uncared for, lent out or just plain lost.”
How does it start with a perfectly reasonable question about a misplaced shirt and end up with me doing the laundry and getting no more new clothes? So I’m standing here like, hello, I still don’t where my top is and she’s going on and one.
“And I don’t like how you look at me when we have these little discussions. You ask me a question that I can’t possibly know the answer to and the fact that your top is lost becomes my fault. I’m sick of it.”
She takes a breath, and I give her another look. Yeah, I know it’s going to piss her off big time. I’m betting she’s still not done, but where could she possibly go to from here?
“And another thing…”
OH MY GOD, here we go again. I can’t wait to see what she’ll come up with next. I lean against the doorway, hands on hips, and she doesn’t disappoint.
“… I don’t like that new boyfriend of yours picking you up without stepping foot in the house. I want to meet him and see what he’s like. I’m not happy with a boyfriend that you don’t want to introduce to me, or worse, who’s not prepared to meet me.”
So we’re off the subject of clothes and on to boyfriends. With any luck, if I bring Craig inside to say hi, she’ll forget all about the washing and ironing, and especially me buying my own clothes.
Am I going to end up like her? All these stupid arguments. She’s fine for ages, then she starts on something minor and turns it into something major and makes my life hell. I don’t have time for this. I still don’t know where my shirt is, and no way am I wading through those clothes on the floor.
Craig will be here soon. I’d better find something else to wear and meet him outside. He can take me away from all this!
And quickly, before Mum sees the tatts and realises how old he is.
By Jill Batty
From “Byline 2016”
An anthology of poetry and prose from Tauranga Writers