The Smell of My Mother’s House

Your mom sounds like my mom and I inherited it I think

Jake Owensby

A mixture of perfume and stale cigarette smoke hung in the air. Breakfast dishes lay jumbled in the sink atop several night’s dinner plates and a variety of utensils. The half-full bag in the kitchen garbage can had been tied off but not yet taken out.

mom and kidThat was my mom. She had taken too long to get ready for work at the deli counter of a nearby grocery. So she had dashed out of her little apartment, promising herself to make the bed, to pick up the towels, to gather the clothes strewn on the floor, and to tidy up the kitchen once she got back home.

It was the same promise she made most mornings. A promise she usually didn’t keep for days on end. After a couple of weeks, she would lose herself in a cleaning frenzy, commit to keeping a clean house, and the cycle would resume.

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This entry was published on May 15, 2017 at 9:53 pm and is filed under Guest post, Nostalgia. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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