As I grew up, I gradually noticed a group of women among my family were tightly knit together and were hanging a lot, usually playing bridge or cribbage and smoking cigarettes together. They were my aunts, grand ant, godmother a couple of their cousins and even friends of the family.
Strangely, they all looked and sounded alike. Raspy voices reminiscing of gravel and molasses. Permed curls. Phlegmy mouthbreathers. As my mother took me to their places to visit when I was a child, they would request their share of kisses. Their shaven upper lips always stang my pristine cheeks. This is some of what they had in common.
They all died of breast cancer.
0 commentaires:
Post a Comment