The Summer I Learned to Dive - By Shannon McCrimmon Page 0,2
the spelling bee for my school in sixth grade. It was opulent and rich, making me feel like a princess eating amongst dignitaries.
“That sounds perfect. Thanks Mom,” I said. I started humming along to the music and then abruptly stopped, thinking about what it would cost her. “It’s expensive though,” I began.
She shook her head. “It’s worth it,” she said, her face glowing, the happiest she has ever been. “And you can wear my black dress.”
I loved her black dress. I had envied it for a long time. Fashionistas would call it a classic, an Audrey Hepburn dress. It would make me look like a young woman on the threshold of adulthood, instead of a teenage girl going out with her mother. My more-than-blah wardrobe would not have sufficed for Chateau Martin. Wearing my mother’s dress made the evening more than perfect.
“Thanks Mom,” I said smiling. We started singing again. I wondered if the day could get any better.
We walked into our home, a town house in Tampa, Florida, a warm and large city that rests off of the Gulf of Mexico. It’s all I’ve ever known. My dad died in a car accident when I was two years old and my mom has taken care of me ever since. Things were tough at times because money was scarce. Her menial salary at her secretarial job barely covered my private school education even though I received a partial scholarship. “You need this to get into the best colleges,” she would say when I worried about the money she spent on me. “This is going to help you achieve your goal of becoming a doctor.” Her sacrifice was financial; mine was social. While the other kids in my school were going out and having fun, I spent countless hours studying for the SAT so that I could get a better score, a score worthy of a prestigious college. It’s a shame to say, but all of my childhood years have been a blur, passing by so quickly. I don’t recall any memories that I’ll look nostalgically back on once I’m older.
“We have a few hours before we have to be at Chateau Martin,” she said sitting down on the couch taking off her shoes. I sat down next to her and leaned my head back against the couch cushion relieved it was all over.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave,” she said. I titled my head forward and looked at her.
“I’ll visit every weekend,” I said, feeling guilty.
“It won’t be the same. You’ll become too busy with school.” She touched my hair slightly and frowned.
“It’ll never change, don’t worry.”
“It’s fine, Finn. I’ll just miss this, the two of us. It’s always been you and me, and I’m going to miss that.” She smiled and then stood up walking to the kitchen.
“It wasn’t always just us. Dad was with us for a while,” I said loud enough for her to hear me. We rarely discussed my father. I was baiting her. I wanted her to say something I suppose, to have some type of reaction about him.
She sighed and walked back into the living room. “You’re right. He’s been gone a long time though, Finn. I guess that’s why I just think of you and me.”
“Do you think Dad would have liked my speech today?” I asked turning to face her. I was so curious about my father. I didn’t know much about him, only the little things she told me. I had my images of him, of memories I wish were real. But deep down, I knew that what I remembered about him was just a fabrication I created because I was desperate to know him. On a day like this, I wanted so badly to have him in my life.
“Of course. It was a good speech, especially the quote,” she said trying to make a joke, but I knew she was serious. It had been her idea and she wanted credit for it. I didn’t say anything else. I sat quietly wondering how the day would have been had he been there. I daydreamed, picturing him and her in the audience applauding loudly, standing up and cheering for me; my parents and my grandparents embracing me, taking numerous pictures of me trying to capture the day. Secretly, that’s what I wanted. I wanted what everyone else had today— family members supporting their loved one. I was thankful I had my mother, but I wanted more.