When I got home I was so exhaustedly thrilled to be padding around
on fluffy carpet. I was heating up a microwaveable dinner (Why do
people bash on those so much?) and netsurfing when there was a maniacal
pounding at the door. I had locked my mother out. We do this to
each other once in a while, not intentionally, but because we have
starkly staggered schedules and one does not always know if the other
is coming, going, or happily staying. I opened the door, ready to
apologize for our silly common occurrence. It's normally laughable to
us. She snapped at me. "Can you not lock me out? Did you not notice the dog was not there? That the gate was open? All the normal signs?" Truth
be told, I did notice the open gate, but worried that she had forgotten
to close it. The dog she spoke of is our rescued animal who has started
leash training only four days ago. It isn't even a possibility in my
mind that she could ever be "walking" the dog. I stood there,
said nothing, and vaguely flicked my wrist so the door. Almost-slammed.
Shut. It was just enough minimal force to say "What? I lost my grip on
the knob!" in case an angry mother should tear open the door from the
other side, eyes burning through me. "By the way, the garbage needs to be brought in!" She yelled after me. I
went back to the kitchen and started assembling my
microwaveable-and-then-some dinner. The garbage would have to
motherfucking wait. Mom came back in and asked lightly, "So, how was
your day?" I was completely blunt with her. "Bad. It was bad." This wasn't the usual curtly "good." "Bad? Why? What happened?" She sounded surprised and suddenly protective. (Maybe apologetically so?) Usually
when we're home together in the evenings, it's me listening to Mom. I
don't enjoy rehashing details of daily routine. Today was oddly bad,
though. Today was worth rehashing. So I told her how it started
with me being late to pick up the housekeeper. I got stuck in the
traffic of high schoolers trying to beat the bell. After dropping her
off at home I had to head back to where I had just picked her up in
order to start my own daily work commute. I told her how I got stuck
waiting for a train to pass. Then I told her how 30-minutes into my
hour-long monorail ride to work, we were informed that a fire had
broken out at the station before my destination. Being in Oakland,
there would be no continuing service into San Francisco, meaning
hundreds of commuters were stranded. We all filed out to wait for
rescue buses to drive us over the SF Bay Bridge. We ended up not having
to use the bus backup plan, but I arrived at work an hour later than
usual. I told her how my day continued when a strained tension at work
snapped, and though it was calm, it was public, and I was essentially
left to play diplomat. I told her how I was trying to make up for the
morning's lost time and the day's office confrontation/distraction but
ended up losing track of time and got to dance rehearsal 20 minutes
late. Then I told her how I got a splinter in my finger from the
practice space and that was the end of my "How was my day." I
told her "You know, all that stuff happened, and I don't really care,
but it just kept piling on today. I don't really feel for it, though."
She didn't give any unsolicited advice or extra nagging about the
garbage can. We spent the next half hour eating and reading our
individual novels of the moment. I got up and offered her some Nutella
on bread. We kept reading. And I think that's why all the day's
crappy events didn't get to me. Because somehow, deep down, I knew I
could come home and just sit silently with someone. Silent
understanding. Or understanding of the need for silence. Skipping small
talk. Just allowing for one's necessary cool-down. I look forward to reaching that point with someone significant in the future. | 
