Read Online Space by Emily Sue Harvey - Free Book Online Page A

request, that she wash up after smoking, fell on deaf ears.
    I noticed because first on my daily agenda was a hot soapy bath, deodorant and a dusting of bath powder. I dressed in clean, appropriate clothing. Next, I applied a minimum of makeup to look nice. A light spritz of Bill Blass completed my toilette. All this occurred in less than an hour. Then, putting aside further obsessing on appearance, I was ready for anything that presented itself during the long day.
    Our differences here loomed as deep and wide as the Grand Canyon. This had not always been so. At one time, Faith’s stunning beauty caused passing male drivers to veer off the road at times. Faith’s fastidiousness in her grooming habits prevailed until her slide into drugs.
    The mother in me had difficulty holding my tongue at times. Yet, I’d learned, by now, to choose my battles carefully. And as ridiculous as it sounds, this one ranked rather low on the scale compared to others.
    The goal now was to save Faith from this alien she had become.
    Her worst enemy.
    Drug rehab, I now realized, was only the beginning. Chances of relapse loomed as thick in the air as cluster bombs’ poisonous smoke.
    Besides, any mention of better sanitation merely drew more defiance.
    â€œMom? Help me? Please?” she repeated, a nudge that set my teeth even more on edge because it was, even in
its polite wording, a command. Something about it recurled my insides into a pulsing ball of protest.
    â€œHey,” I swiveled in my desk chair to peer at her, “I don’t ask you to help me with things I can do for myself, do I? Why can’t you carry your own load, Faith?”
    Now, this battle was pretty high on the scale. So I dug in.
    â€œI don’t need a lecture right now. Okay? I’m in a hurry.” She grabbed her things, clearly agitated, yet speaking in that lofty tone exclusively hers. Then, in a blink, it changed to petulance. “Why are you so mean to me?” The inner-child’s bratty head popped up.
    That hit me like a cannon blast. “ Mean? ” I stared at her incredulously. “Faith, I’ve chauffeured you all over the county this week, taking time away from my work. I don’t think that adds up to mean!”
    â€œMom,” she squared off and peered at me with a disbelieving light in her blue, blue eyes, “what’s more important, work or family? Huh?”
    â€œHah.” I swiveled back to the computer. “Depends on who’s asking that question and in what context.”
    â€œI know your writing is important, Mom,” she threw over her shoulder as she sauntered away, “but does it have to — ”
    â€œLook,” I stopped typing, took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “This is my life. I need a life, for crying out loud!” I heard the shrillness creep into my voice. “I have a deadline here, and I’d like some respect and some danged space!”
    â€œStop shouting at me,” she said so calmly I wanted to hit her.
    I call it Faith’s rebound tactic, when she veers a situation from herself to use against her antagonist. “I thought
we were going to be more polite to each other and now you’re shouting at me again. So much for niceness.” Now that she’d gotten in the last word, a virtue in her book, she self-righteously spun on her heel and stomped up the stairs muttering.
    Repeatedly , meanness filtered clearly through the jumbo-mumbling.
    Shaking with frustration, I took deep breaths to level out my staccato pulse. Don’t know why she could get to me so — so fiercely. Over and over, I would dissect and analyze.
    It always added up to a whopping honor issue.
    I’d always honored and esteemed my own parents beyond measure and didn’t quite get it with the current generational irreverence. At least, I blamed it on a generational curse. Made it easier to shake off.
    Outside, on the porch, I found her planted like