I remember being introduced to my mother, shortly after my ninth birthday.

My mother didn’t appear like the image in my head. I won a mirror in Sunday school once for a memory verse contest. I put my wits to good use back then, to surpass the other kids to contend for prizes – in the name of the Lord, of course. The mirror had an illustration on the back of an angel guiding two kids across a crumbling bridge. The older kid was a girl and the younger was a boy. There was a storm brewing in the background, shown by ominous clouds with a flicker of lightning. A small little cottage was there, too, what must be their home in the distance.

I cast the parts in my mind. I was the older girl, of course, watching over my sister. And Lisa could be the boy, I had no problem with cross-casting so long as I wasn’t the boy. (Hey, after all it was MY mirror and my memory verses.)

The angel was my mother, I imagined it so and so it was. I knew very little about her, only that her name was Carol and that she had blonde hair. Grandma, her mother, was very stingy with details about her or my father. Looking back it seems she was ever the harbinger of bad news. ‘Mrs. McLain is your teacher, I like your sister better, your father was trash and your mother would have thrown you in an orphanage if it was up to her.’ Good-news-Grandma, always eager to pop my balloon and turn the hose on my parade.

So, again, my mother didn’t quite look like the image in my head or on my mirror back. She had the long blonde hair, but her was a thin and straight, pulled back not flowing. Her face wasn’t as soft and her nose was a little pointer than I’d envisioned, more like Grandma’s than I liked. Despite all of this, I was ecstatic. My mother! After all this time! Finally I would get to know my mom and be freed of the evil granny’s hold for a while.

Things Progress
Lisa and I went to spend the weekend with Carol and her husband, Paul. He was a dark haired woolly man with a beard and mustache, tall and lean like my mom. They looked good together and seemed to get along really well. Once in their apartment in Greensboro, we got presents – My Little Ponies and crayons. My pony was Bluebell, a cornflower blue pony with little lavender flowers on her butt. Lisa’s was Cotton Candy, a pink horse with white flowers gracing its rear flank. My crayons had a silver and gold in their collection, a first for me. I was mesmerized and wondered if they were made out of real gold and silver.

I remember the house they were in – it was a duplex. The walls were white and there were owls everywhere, not real but in every other conceivable form. They were made from seashells, rocks, ceramic, painted, carved, pottery, realistic and cartoon looking. All of the stared at me, inspecting the new arrivals and not hinting at either their approval or disdain. Much like Paul’s expression, they remained reserved and almost standoffish.

We were returned in one piece to our grandparent’s house Sunday afternoon. We pranced about with our new horses, but we had to leave the crayons behind, perhaps a bribe to get me back later, I guess. I had stuffed the silver in my pocket to admire while I was gone. Not because I thought it had any monetary value, but as a reminder of the weekend. In case I never saw my mom again.

And just like shown on my mirror back, there was a storm gathering force in the background.

To be continued … soon.