When I was a teenager and my mother would pick me up from school or a friend’s house or theater practice, she would not drive directly down Lambert Road or even LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!, drive down the behemoth of Whittier Blvd to go home, she would drive down the tiny side street of La Cuarta. It took twice as long to get home on this residential street with a stop sign on EVERY SINGLE CORNER. But my mother insisted on driving this way home. Every. Single. Time. My sisters and I rolled our eyes so loudly in the back seat you would have thought we had a flat tire. And my mother would explain cheerfully that the houses were prettier on this street, or it was a more relaxing drive or didn’t the Jacaranda trees look beautiful in the spring. I’d look at my watch and tap my foot, fold my arms and sigh VERY LOUDLY as if it would make her drive any faster so I could get home and spend the next two hours on the phone with my boyfriend who I just saw at theater practice five minutes ago.
© 2024 Shemaiah Gonzalez
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