Taming Wildflowers

Ella:

“Are you done crying?” Mary, my step-mom raised one of her sharp eye-brows and taunted me. I looked up to find her staring at me by the door. At 48, she thought she was no less than Elisabeth Taylor. Wearing a slinky pink night suit putting her surgical breast implants on full display, I doubt if any part of her was real.

This was one of the usual days where she would remind me how wretched and unlucky I was for the family, not that she ever had anything nice to say.

But for me today was Cecelia, my mother’s death anniversary, when my world turned upside down exactly 12 years ago in 2007 after she passed away from a long standing battle with cancer. I was only 13 years old, still too young to understand and grasp the reality of the situation.

Wiping my tears off, I wrapped my night robe, got up from the bed and started walking out of the room.

Where do you think you are going? Mary stares at me asking the question as she puts her hands on her hips to emphasize her point.