What could excite the most
Boring of Mothers?
Lacking hypothesis –
Unshouldered my headphones–
Grateful because
Geometry’s a notorious paralytic –
Playing the
More interesting
Guessing game.
“We won Powerball?”
“Your sister! Your
sister’s coming home!
To get MARRIED!”
Invisible Mirabel –
ten years my elder
Unseen lo these
Eight years at least.
I barely remember her.
Lifetimes ago.
“Why?”
Mom – never invited in –
Unable to break my force-field
Leaned against my door.
Thin edge of the wedge
Is an article of her religion.
“It’s all forgiven.
Making up for the past.”
Who can make up for the past?
Especially when they’re so busy making UP
The past.
Mirabel just wants a free wedding.
Mirabel was ALWAYS
Always always always
About the money.
That much I DO remember.
“Who’s she marrying?”
“I think his name –
Something like Rupert Golden.” Said mother –
“I couldn’t ask her to wait while I got a pen.
Said she’d send details. She’s so fussy about
Snoopers.”
Everyone loathes snoopers, I thought because
Everyone loves to snoop.
It’s addictive.
People usually won’t
Reveal themselves without help. What
Mirabel really hates is
Accountability.
I know it –
We’re all that way at first till
Forced to grow out of it –
Taking our medicine;
Surviving
Tongue-lashings
Dressings-down,
Bad grades –
Teachers who hate you
Disappointing boyfriends
Etc. etc. etc.
Most of us move on.
“Rupert Golden sounds so unreal,” was my
Only contribution.
Mom gave me her
“Like you’re the expert” face.
But fourteen year olds DO
Know everything.
Then we start to forget because
We’re distractible.
Mother sighed gustily –
Almost obscene – I
Looked away, politely
Embarrassed for her. She said;
“We’ll be a whole family again
First time in – ages.”
Just so Mirabel can leave us
One final time, I thought –
Cynical me.
It’s all coming back to me.
Attuning to Mirabel – she’s the one
Who made me so cynical –
Looking for groupies –
“Murble”
I called her
When learning to speak,
She was my dazzlement,
Goddess of my
Dappled infancy.
Parents may be incomprehensible and
Downright nonsensical.
Caring only for appearances –
Pretense
Our manse is
Copacetic.
That’s why we – the
Ungratefully sane –
Greet their
Lectures on truth-telling with
Stink-eye and sour-mouth.
“When’s this happening
Happening?” I asked a fair question.
“Unsettled,” says Mom.
“She wants your help buying The Dress.”
“Me?” Here’s something unexpected.
Amazing adventure, in fact.
Up to that second I’d been a
Peeper, a commentator, a satirist
Unthankable critic of
Our Family Drama.
Now I’m color coordinator?
Was there a choice buried in this?
“You’re her only bridesmaid so your
Dresses must match,”
Mother pronounced –
Completely unrealizing
What idiocy she spoke.
Mirabel had certainly
Not sacrificed
Edge.
“You travel tomorrow
and both come back Sunday.”
These plans were
Gobsmacking.
How had she been inveigled
Into agreeing to this
By a kid on the outs
Unseen in eight years.
I could see she wasn’t quite happy.
Something was niggling.
Probably the fear that
White slavers will get me
It’s usually that.
“Unless… maybe I should drive you?”
I alerted like a drug dog.
Time to finish Mirabel’s work.
This was nothing less than
A prison break.
There’s a first time for everything
Grab it when you see it.
“I’ve taken trains before,”
I said maturely, suppressing my
Own edge; announcing –
In case she’d forgotten –
“I’m fourteen years old!”
“But it’s the city,” wailed my Mother
Both of us panicking
For different reasons.
“I’ve been to the city,” I said,
Blessing disgusting school field trips
I’s tried to get out of.
“I know where things are.”
“She’ll meet the five o’clock.”
Mom’s face was a study –
Obviously wondering
In what hell had she agreed to this?
Some strange woman
Calls up my Mom
Securing more freedom
Than I’d ever managed?
It’s a gift.
Keep the horse’s teeth out of it.
“It won’t even be dark,”
I said blithely,
Knowing that, after white slavers,
Parents dread darkness.
“So that’s where she lives? In the city?”
Rumors of international travel reached us
when Mirabel’s modeling died.
(I recall her yelling that fashion
Is shit.) And
All this time she’s been
Twenty miles away?
Mom still seemed unhappy,
Realizing how few facts she’d extracted.
“Maybe it’s where Rupert lives.
I’ll trust your good sense.”
First time for everything!
Who trusts Mirabel,
Under what misbegotten star?
Someone needs to commit
To some serious snooping –
And I’m the right person with my
Fierce curiosity to
Ferret out truth.
That very night a person
Calling himself
Philip Valerian
Accosted me on Instagram.
But I was well-trained
Media savvy –
I shut him right down.
Alysse Aallyn 
Leave a comment