I meet my mother in a local park.
The word sounds strange when I look at the stranger sitting beside me. She stares at me. I stare at a little boy learning to bike-ride.
‘How have you been?’ she asks at last.
‘Fine,’ I respond. And it’s true. For eighteen years my life has been good.
I wonder what she feels, meeting me now.
I cast a furtive glance at her face, seeking familiarity. Are our noses similar? Our eyes?
I give up and we hug, stiffly.
‘Let’s meet again, soon,’ she suggests.
‘Sure,’ I lie.
Written by Alanah Andrews