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Beer, Mothers, and One Hell of a Revelation

i can always say that i'm mad at my mom. for whatever reason i'm angry, no matter how petty, i can always trace it back to her just being HER (CAPS for lack of italics). and i understand that that's just how it is sometimes. i've known since i was twelve that my mother and i are maybe one inch off of being EXACTLY the same; although if you know both of us on deeper levels you would beg to differ.

my mother knows i write, she knows that i sing constantly to the music forever in my head no matter what i'm doing, and most of all, she knows that when i have an idea or evn the slightest notion of a few words that could maybe possibly fit well together, i NEED to put it on paper or else i get absolutely nothing done. she probably knows that words and passion that can be clearly seen are my two ultimate vices. I know that she says she used to write just like me and i wish she still did.

this is enough to bring us to january 3rd, 2012, an hour or two before dinner time. my mom is happy, making turkey for hot open sandwiches, and drinking beer. the first thing i notice is that she's drinking but she's also happy, so i know nothing's wrong. my mom only drinks when she is happy for good reasons that i won't get into. the second thing i notice is that she's not drinking Guinness, but my dad's Bud. it strikes me as weird, because she only ever drinks Guinness, but i brush it away. she's drinking but she's happy, so everything's fine. it's all good.

i was cleaning off the table as fast as i could so i could get back to homework, the computer, and ultimately Neo, but when i went past her she caught my arm. the chunky Skullcandy headphones she had borrowed from me to listen to Adele were around her neck instead of on her ears, and some sentimental song that reminded her of something was playing loud enough to hear. i frowned, not knowing what to expect.

"Maggie, don't be too much like me. Sometimes it's not a good thing."

tears were in her eyes and i asked her, why? what's wrong? but she just shook her head and let me go.
i figured she must have thought of grandma, but i still felt...wrong.
maybe five minutes later i was still cleaning off the table, her words in the back of my mind and nearly forgotten, when she stopped me again between the t.v. room and the kitchen. since i had been...distracted, let's say, by the t.v., she looked at me accusingly and told me to clean off the table.
"I am-!" she put her hand up to stop me.
" You know how you're always saying you've been-" she splayed her fingers elaborately an inch from my face,
"sure ma..." she laughed at my expression and so did i.
"Well i've been inspired." mom wiggled her fingers again. "so clean off the table."

she came back as i was making pasta and handed me a sheet of paper. i can't truly say that i thought anything; my thought process just stopped entirely, like i was so focused on being in that moment of understanding that i could do nothing else. so i read the note that was a page and a half long and listened to the song play from the Candies around her neck.

"Maybe it takes a few beverages to realize this..."

with that simple piece of paper, we shared the best moment i can ever imagine, because right then, i understood that my mother wasn't just like me, she had BEEN me; and that teenager who felt everything more than she should was still there - it just takes a little nudge in a strange, old direction that is seldom looked back on among adults and may sadly never be taken again.

i'm still not sure what happened - tears fell; long, tight hugs happened; and for the very first time a mother and daughter looked through the same eyes - but i know that whenever i am mad at her, i will find that note tucked into the pocket in my notebook, and things won't be so bad.

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