Writer’s Workshop: A goose, my mother and I

The prompt I chose is the ode to my mother. I’ll be the first to admit that I am not very close to my mother. I know, shame on me. What I am about to divulge to you, is very, very personal. I actually have no idea why I am even writing this.
Well, I do actually. I wanted to do the vlog prompt, but I have a zit on my chin right now, so that idea is shelved. 
I am not writing about my high school job because, well, I didn’t have one. 
Also, writing about a former crush? Eeeeek. 
I did run away from home once – straight to my grandmother’s house, and my mother drove me there. 
So, er, that leaves me with the Real Housewives prompt and the ode to my mother.
I choose my mother.
I have many childhood memories that involve my mother. But they’re not the rosy, my-mom-is-a-saint type memories. However, I won’t go into the time she waved a huge knife at my sister and I for drawing on our legs with lipstick. 
Kidding.
Anyway, on to my ode. (Do you see how I’m dragging this out?)
My mother used to drive us kids around all the time. All. The. Time. She had to get us to school in the morning. Pick us up in the afternoon. Drive us to extra classes. And piano classes. To swim classes. Out shopping. To my dad’s office. To my grandmother’s house. 
Therefore, it was inevitable that one day she would run over a goose.
That’s right. A goose.
Who keeps geese in an urban neighborhood anyway?
Someone did and one of their geese escaped. And ran right under my mother’s car. I was in that car. 
Imagine if you will, my horror.
My mother stopped the car, said some choice words (or maybe she didn’t, my memory doesn’t serve me well, but it seems apt at this point in the story that she did), looked out briefly, and we drove away.
Yes, we did not stop to check if the goose was dead. It was an outright hit and run. I’m pretty sure that’s a crime in some countries.
We were silent in the car for a couple of minutes. 
I said, “Mommy, I’m pretty sure we just hit and killed a goose.”
“No, I did not see a goose carcass. There was no blood. I think it just ran across the road and we might have ‘bumped’ it.”
“I’m pretty sure we hit it, Mom. I felt the thud.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s fine. It ran off, didn’t it?”
Did it? To this day, I have no idea if we did indeed kill a goose.
My mother assured me that we did not. And I believed her. After all, mothers tell the truth all the time right?
Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy. Love you!
Me, Mommy and Sister
Alison

Alison

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