Smoke & Mirrors

“The U.S. Supreme Court has ruled once and for all, this year, the constitutional guarantee of equal protection under the law gives gay and lesbian Americans the right to marry.” The voice of Natalie Allen from the CNN news channel blared through the TV. She was always on the TV Friday mornings, talking about the latest buzz in US affairs. I always supposed it was because my father found her attractive, but my mother was oblivious to that, she probably assumed it was because my dad was too democratic for Fox News.

“Now the queers get rights, what's next, dog marriage?” I heard her mumbling under her breath as she sat on the couch next to me inhaling her cancer stick. My mother was always that kind of radical conservative, the kind who was god-fearing, confederate loving, and a liberal hating woman- the liberal part never made any sense to me. My father was the opposite, well, sort of. He was hard-working, he preferred the more democratic side of things however he agreed with mom about everything when confronted for an opinion. I guess it was a fear thing, or it was about love. I never thought too hard about it, they were happy for the most part, so why complain?

I finished tying my laces to my shoes and stood up, looking at her as she looked at the TV, the look of disgust and vexation. “Hey mom, I'm ready,” I stated as I prodded at her shoulder. It was almost 8:00 A.M. I didn't feel like going to school, it was summer for everyone else. I had the unfortunate luck of being accepted into the art club and having to go to morning meetings every other week. I mean, okay, it wasn't so bad considering I actually enjoyed art and I only had to stay until noon, but I was never a morning person and meetings that started at 8:30 on the dot did not serve me any justice.

“Why do these meetings always have to be on Fridays,” my mother responded and followed spitefully with, “can you believe this, America is going to shit Tara.” She shook her head and stood up, she put both of her hands on my shoulder and starred at me, well through me. Her emerald orbs shot chills through me, they were beautiful eyes but so full of hate. “Never allow yourself to stray from Gods path.” I always felt so uncomfortable when my mother talked like that, even more so when she put her hands on me. I moved away and grabbed my black shoulder bag that was filled with various sketch papers and pencils.

“Okay, okay, lets go I don't want to be late.” I turned and rushed out of the door.

Sitting in the car alone with my mother was always awkward, we never had anything to talk about and when we did talk it always turned to God or some shit she read about on Facebook and decided to take seriously. She was so pretty but oh-so stupid. I mean, my mother was the type of gal that all the guys waned, physically that is. She had shoulder length blonde hair, piercing green eyes, porcelain skin with freckles evenly dabbled across the bridge of her nose, not to mention she was busty, tall, 5 feet 10 inches tall that is and she had just the amount of chub in all the right places. At first sight any guy would love to swipe her off her feet, but if one were to get to know her they'd probably be scared away by her behavior.

However I, I was my fathers daughter, I had short brown hair, or dyke hair as my mother would joke, I had hazel eyes, pale skin and freckles only on my cheeks- my body type was average I guess, much like my dad. I was tall for 17 year old girl standing at 5'8 but like I mentioned, my mother was taller. I wasn't busty or beautiful like my mom but I did have brains which was good enough for me. I always felt lucky to have gotten more genes from my father, I could never see myself being like my mom.

I could never be the apple that fell from that tree.