100 Years Project Anthology

my mother standing in the doorway to my room.
“Ellie…” I close my eyes and sigh for a moment, knowing I have to
finish my sentence. Knowing my daughter has a right to know.
“Mum, if I show you me…” her voice is like honey; so sweet. I want
to hang on to every moment of it, “If you show me your notebook,
which I know is full of poems. I’ll show you me; my poems.” I blink
for a moment; wondering if what I heard was true. Does my daughter
really know me better than I know her?
I hand her the papers; she inhales sharply. As I watch her face, my
breathing quickens. I focus on her eyes as they skim over a few pages.
Tears well in them. As she draws her notebook out of her pocket
she smiles slightly. Then she says, “Oh, Ellie, I’m so sorry.”
I love her. She has to know everything. I can’t stop now. So, I continue,
“I’ve been like a foreign land to you. And maybe it’s because
I’ve been caught in the past and you in the future. My life is almost
written, but yours… yours is a blank page.”
I shudder at her mention of my enemy, but then I laugh slightly as I
notice my mother’s amusement at my reaction. “You know, I wondered,”
she says, “Why the top page you gave me was a blank one.
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