First 24 hours with mom home, I'm literally counting the minutes and they seem endless. I had gotten used to the house being absolutely quite apart from the luxury cars passing on the street outside, and now silence is a slowly burning fire. The walls are thin here and I know they're listening, so I lean towards them and listen back.
Last night at dinner she pretended to care about how I've been but really only spoke of herself. She went to New York, then Paris, then back to New York, in search of something I guess. That's the part she always leaves out: why. Nothing has a reason or purpose in her life, it just happens.
I'm on the second floor in my room, still listening after sounds and noises to interpret. I think I hear her dancing downstairs, but the music must be locked inside in her head. Apart from her high heels clicking over the marble floors in the hallway it's dead silent.