Vivian's High School Graduation, part three

The older woman and the younger woman stood only two feet apart, but a great chasm flowed between them. Their communication had never been effusive or even relaxed, had never relied on continual chatter or even concealed animosity or disappointment, as the conversation in other mother-daughter relationships. Leta might have liked it to be so, but her daughter was far too observant and pensive to maintain an ongoing conversation, and Leta had too many secrets to be that vulnerable to a daughter’s insatiable need to live vicariously through her mother.

That Leta had betrayed her responsibility for her daughter and younger son by depositing them three years earlier on their father’s doorstep, because she could no longer take care of them adequately, clung to her shoulders like some giant vulture, ready to devour any expression of warmth or kindness. More devastating to maintaining any semblance of closeness was that after she left her children with their father, she barely stayed in contact.

In fact, mother and daughter had not spoken in over a month, not since Leta bought Vivian’s dress and gave her daughter the hat that she had made for the occasion. Leta had wanted to make a dress for Vivian, but feared they would not be able to meet frequently enough to fit it.

Leta stood before her very grown-up looking daughter, and her heart ached. Gone was the little girl who liked to watch her every move. Gone was the girl who frequently forgot to wear her glasses when she did her homework at the kitchen table. Gone was the receptive student—in the kitchen and with a needle. Gone was the clever girl who knew when to ask for assistance and when to puzzle it through. If ever Leta entertained thoughts of becoming a companion to her daughter, a friend, an advisor, this moment terminated them.

“Congratulations,” Leta said.

“Thank you, Ma,” Vivian responded, raising her eyes to meet her mother’s.

“I like what you did with the dress,” Leta added, noting the subtle flourishes Vivian had no doubt made to the garment. “Satin?”

“Yes,” Vivian answered, “Grandmother suggested it.”

Leta politely turned and nodded to Vivian’s paternal grandmother Ida, who had assumed primary caregiver responsibilities when Leta took her children to live with their father Ralph. After his divorce from Leta, he had moved back in with his parents, and still remained there, having brought his second wife Eunice into the household as well.

“Thank you for coming,” Vivian said after a short silence.

Leta looked at her inquisitively, but before she could respond, June pushed her way through the members. “Congratulations, Viv!” she cheered and aggressively hugged her older and gentler cousin.

Finally, Vivian gave up a genuine smile, and a moment later, the rest of the family chimed in with their own compliments. Upon conclusion of the jollities, as the rain clouds began to gather and a cool wind started to pick at them, the families registered the time.

“We better be going,” Ida said, “before it starts to rain.”

“So much for our picnic,” Ralph said dejectedly.

His mother gave him a brutal look, and he cowered sheepishly.

“Yes,” Leta agreed, “it is time we all head home. Congratulations again, Vivian, and I will see you for lunch next Saturday, correct?”

“Yes, Ma,” Vivian agreed.

The rain started as the divided family separated to make their way back to their automobiles. Dale waved farewell to his mother, but there were no words, no other gestures, just ducking and dodging the water droplets falling from the sky. As she got into the motorcar and they began the slow drive back to Aaron and Florence’s house in the rain, Leta simply felt alone, more alone than she had ever felt in her life. She was husbandless and childless. This aloneness was a darkness that grew inside of her and would engulf her life for a long time.