Mama's Little Origami.

"Mama, why do we have to have friends in this world if they fade away, come back but want only you when you're high? Like they can't have you when you're so low?"

Mama said, "Then those are not friends, my dear. We established that when you were 14, right?"

I nodded.

She added, "The ones who accept you as you are, high, low, sick or brilliant, dead or alive; those are your friends."

"And Family, Mama?"

She sighed. "Family are friends too."

"And lovers, Mama?"

Her jaw locked. She said nothing. I looked at my feet.

"He's a friend mama," I said with a choked on heartbeat. "He wasn't real, was he?"

When I looked up, her eyes were dripping something fierce, her lips quivering.

"You really like this boy, don't you?"

The words came out harsh, but I could tell she was struggling.

I nodded slowly. "Yes...Yes I do."

She swiped her ocean shorelines, brushed away the oak limbs, and took God into battle with her.

I sat down nervously slow, and when I felt the bricks against my back, I closed my eyes.

"Mama. You love Dad, right?"

"Of course."

"Why can I not love Him?" I paused. "You forbid I do anything to be near him--"

"Because he's--"

Inadequate to your hierarchy and standards.

"Mama," I snapped, "You won't accept me. I am not your friend as nor is he. Therefore, are we Family? Or just this string you don't want to cut but the scissors are poised? Sick Mama! You are ill! Lie down and ponder the lies you fed me to believe, the walls you helped build!"

Standing, I felt it shake, the fire rise up.

"When you are more than a cage to my demise, find me, and accept me."

She stood quick.

"I am not a bird if my wings are paper and my songs are just ink stains."