12

Clyden

My brow was wrinkled as I drove to Mommy's house.

This is what I dislike about her: she treats me like a fucking child when I am not. I'm not eighteen anymore; I'm twenty-eight, but she wants me to follow her.

If only my father were here, I know he would understand.

I ignored the stop sign and just kept driving. When I arrived, I slammed the car door shut.

"Son, are you here?" she asked from the living room.

"What are you putting in the magazine about my wedding? We had already discussed it, and my decision was no," I exclaimed loudly.

I can't control my rage at what she just did; I love my mother, but she needs to respect my choices in life.

I didn't let her finish her sentence as she looked at me softly, "child, I'm just doing this for you—-'"

"For me? Is it really for me, or to keep you from embarrassing yourself in front of your friends? Aren't you embarrassed to them because I can't find a wife now that I'm nearly thirty, and you're embarrassed because they might think I'm