Inside, the house was a tornado. It swirled, dark and terrifying, consuming my mother whole. She stood stiff as a board, the open envelope crumpling and shaking on the floor, the letter an earthquake between her fingers. Dad’s overalls swallowed her along with the tornado, leaving the woman inside eaten away by hours on the farm. Her skin, cowering from the winds, drew into tiny wrinkles as freckles raced across her arms. She was consumed by the winds of her heart, and I couldn’t reach through. I circled around the counter, squaring up for a fight. Her lips were pressed together tightly, conferencing on the first blow, asking What if you tried? Huddled together, her eyebrows cowered from her thoughts. Large and blue, wild eyes released the winds that whipped through the cramped space. The weather dulled them over, a veil over her vision, a translucent haze. Behind the haze, something screamed to be released along with the winds. It boiled, rearing its ugly head. At the same time, it was keeping her frozen, trapping her limbs and breath within its terrible power. Then she spotted me, the treasonous son. It was bad news and good news and the world reaching into our farm to pluck me out.
“You did it.” Her voice was terse, void of familiarity. “I didn’t think you would.”
“But I did,” I shot back, “and I applied for scholarships and everything.” She shut her eyes for longer than a blink, trying to hold back the tsunami boiling behind them. While they were still shut, the corners of her mouth pushed into a feral smile. Color ran away from her tanned cheeks, leaving them empty of joy. The hope, still weak and fluttery, bunkered down in my veins, grabbing onto every available thought as armor, ready for an avalanche.
“You’re planning to go?” She asked, accidentally clipping off the end of the word with unspoken emotions. What if you tried?