I leave for college in five days. Five days that are bound to be extremely short and entirely painful.
As much as I feel stifled by the town that I live in, I am just as dependent on the ones that I love within it.
My mother, in particular. My mom is my best friend and one of the best people that I know. She’s the first person I want to talk to when the things within my chest near the point of exploding. And I don’t quite know what to do without her.
And I’m sure it’s mutual. If not for the emotions and the memories and the basic connection between mother and daughter—than at least for the fact that she’s never gonna know who the hell is singing on the radio.
“Who is this, Liv? Who is this? Is it Coldplay? Is it The Professor?”
“No mom. It’s Radiohead. That song you’re thinking of is called The Scientist anyway.”
“I knew that! I knew that!”
I cannot count the number of times we have had that exact (and I mean down to the punctuation) exchange before.
She’s hopeless sometimes.
Whatever is this poor mother going to do when she no longer has me sitting beside her with my sneakers on the dashboard? Who’s going to distinguish the Citizen Cope’s from the Honorary Title’s? The Mirah’s from the Camera Obscura’s? The Death Cab song from the entirely different other Death Cab song? She’ll be lost without this knowledge, I know it for a fact. She will sit, unaided, in her vehicle, racking her brain for song titles and band names. Leave assured that every song was, indeed, Coldplay’s “The Professor.”
I feel like I can’t leave my mother in this position. As if perhaps I should stick around a little longer, make her flashcards and sit on the couch doing band-naming exercises.
I owe her more than to leave this home when she is stuck in this state.
Then again, maybe I’m just reaching and it’s just time to move away like I wanted to in the first place.
Before I realized that I had so much stake in staying right here, spewing off band names forever, safe in the warm embrace of a passenger seat.