Mama covered her ears with her hands, but I knew she heard me. Tears streamed from her eyes and dribbled from her chin. Part of me wanted to blot her face with a tissue, real tender-like, but the evil me, the girl tired of keeping her feelings bottled up for fear I'd upset mama, was blissful at causing a commotion. Maybe it was cruel to make mama cry, but at least I had cracked her shell and got a reaction. Any response was better than talking to a zombie
April Young Fritz, Waiting to Disappear
family-relationships