Short Story #6 Her Mother, My Mother by Hema Nataraju #shorts

Her Mother, My Mother by Hema Nataraju
Her mother never wore a sari, my mother never did not. Her mother drove a Mustang, my mother walked everywhere, even though I hated being picked up last. Her mother never packed her lunches, my mother packed feasts, even though I wanted greasy, stale pizza from the cafeteria like everyone else. Her mother allowed sleepovers, my mother trusted no one, not even friends. Her mother went on business trips, my mother was… my mother, nothing else. Some nights I wished I could swap my mother for hers. She looked skywards at planes growing smaller and smaller, and wished the same.

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