My mother’s face has always shown her emotions well. Even when I was a kid I could predict if she was disappointed, worried, stressed, or joyful. The point is my mom is a readable person, you usually know what she is thinking. This was not the case today. Her emotions were different than I had ever seen before.
Her voice was like a calm whisper in the wind as she spoke. “Follow me,” she said standing in the doorway of my room. Grace got up first, I followed after her and my Mom. We walked slowly, our feet gently pounded on the floor. My Mom leads us to her bedroom at the end of the hall past the living room. The floorboard creaked as we entered the room lit by just a lamp that was next to the bed.
My mom removed the 30×20 inch picture frame next to the door. The picture was of Grace and me in front of the apple blossom tree in the town square. Behind the picture frame reviled a hole in the wall about the size of my shoe. I remember the night when that hole was made. The last fight my parents ever had. The fight that ended with my father’s fist in the wall and a slamming door. The last time I saw my father was so that my parents could sign the divorce papers.
She set the frame on the floor gently. Then she sticks her hand in the hole and pulls out a cardboard tube about 2 ft long. She turns around slowly holding the tube in her hands. As she steps forward to the foot of the bed, she slowly takes what looks like a flag out of the tube.
She gently laid the flag on the neatly made bed, as if to respect it. Nobody said a word for several minutes, the room was silent. Suddenly, my mother broke the silence, “You know you can sit.” We sat on the bed while my mother remained standing.Grace and I stared in shock at my mother’s bisexual flag laying on the bed before us.
To Be Continued…