My relationship with my mother consists mainly of intellectual conversation.
We never yell, because there is rarely anything to yell about. I don't typically try anything crazy, and she typically lets me do whatever I want, which isn't much. Sometimes she talks about getting a sleeve tattoo, or dying her hair blue, and I say, "Mom, no," and she says, "Whatever, Shady."
We talk mostly in the car. I don't remember where we were going, but one day, we started discussing an article she had read on facebook.
"Being gay is totally a choice," she decided at a red light. I had an idea where the argument would go, and I sighed, disappointed that my mother was about to be wrong in such a stereotypically-parental way. My mother, however, did not disappoint.
"Like, I had this roommate," she began. "And she was really hot. I mean, she was beautiful. We traveled through Europe together when I was 18, you know? We saw each other naked. We, like, showered together, and stuff."
This was getting weird. "What?"
"You know," she said, waving her hand. "Europe." The explanation seemed to satisfy her. I didn't press the matter any further. "Anyways, I remember there were times I'd think, yeah, I want to kiss your face. I would have sex with you. But I'm not going to!"
"...What?"
"I mean, I just chose not to, you know? I could have. I totally could have. But I didn't."
A moment of silence filled the car as she turned through an intersection. No one spoke, for longer than what is comfortable. "And that doesn't mean I'm gay," she continued. "Just, you know, everybody is attracted to girls sometimes. They're hot."
"Huh," I said, nodding, trying desperately for the conversation to continue intellectually. "Well, you know, to be completely honest, I have to say I have never been attracted to girls."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I mean, girls are pretty, I just, you know, never feel like kissing them. Personally."
"Huh."
We drove in silence. She narrowed her eyes, slowly, and then said, decidedly, "Well, then I think I might be a little gay..."
We never yell, because there is rarely anything to yell about. I don't typically try anything crazy, and she typically lets me do whatever I want, which isn't much. Sometimes she talks about getting a sleeve tattoo, or dying her hair blue, and I say, "Mom, no," and she says, "Whatever, Shady."
We talk mostly in the car. I don't remember where we were going, but one day, we started discussing an article she had read on facebook.
"Being gay is totally a choice," she decided at a red light. I had an idea where the argument would go, and I sighed, disappointed that my mother was about to be wrong in such a stereotypically-parental way. My mother, however, did not disappoint.
"Like, I had this roommate," she began. "And she was really hot. I mean, she was beautiful. We traveled through Europe together when I was 18, you know? We saw each other naked. We, like, showered together, and stuff."
This was getting weird. "What?"
"You know," she said, waving her hand. "Europe." The explanation seemed to satisfy her. I didn't press the matter any further. "Anyways, I remember there were times I'd think, yeah, I want to kiss your face. I would have sex with you. But I'm not going to!"
"...What?"
"I mean, I just chose not to, you know? I could have. I totally could have. But I didn't."
A moment of silence filled the car as she turned through an intersection. No one spoke, for longer than what is comfortable. "And that doesn't mean I'm gay," she continued. "Just, you know, everybody is attracted to girls sometimes. They're hot."
"Huh," I said, nodding, trying desperately for the conversation to continue intellectually. "Well, you know, to be completely honest, I have to say I have never been attracted to girls."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I mean, girls are pretty, I just, you know, never feel like kissing them. Personally."
"Huh."
We drove in silence. She narrowed her eyes, slowly, and then said, decidedly, "Well, then I think I might be a little gay..."
No comments:
Post a Comment