Last Times

Last Times

By: Becca Bates

“Mom! Mom! Look at me!”

I looked up for the thousandth time, and smiled as I watched my five year old daughter Sophie do a little zigzag along the bike path. Even though her “tricks” are things any basic bike rider could do, it's so special to watch her look so proud of herself as she performs them for me.

“Wow, honey! You’re doing so great!” I called over to her. She flashed her radiant smile at me, and did a few more tricks while I cheered her on.

“I’m going to be a professional bicyclist when I grow up!” she announced to the world. That was the last fall day that it was warm enough to go bike riding. I supposed I would just have to wait a few months for her next bicycle performance…

“Mom? Mom?!” an exasperated voice brings me back from the ten year old memory.

“W-What?” I ask, trying to remember what Sophie had just asked me.

“Can I sell my bike or not?”

“Why would you want to sell it?”

“Mom, I haven’t ridden that thing since I was five. I don’t think I would even fit on it anymore.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” I say with a sigh. Of course a high schooler wouldn’t fit on a bike built for a little kid. “Maybe you could use the money to buy a bigger one.”

“What would I use a bike for? I’ll be driving next year.” Is it really next year Sophie’s going to be on the road?! “Besides, I need the money so that I can get tickets to that concert my friends and I are going to.”

“A concert? Where? Who’s performing? Will there be an adult there?”

“I don’t know, it’s like somewhere around here. Hedi’s mom is taking us.”

“So who’s performing?” I ask again.

“Some new band or something. Mom, I really need to know if I can sell the bike.”

“Sure, whatever you want, honey,” I sigh again. “I really want to know more about this con-”

“Thanks, mom,” she calls, already on her way to the garage to get the bike. I watch her go, sadly, and turn on the old CD player, needing something to fill the silent room. The old disk inside plays a tune that sends me right back in the past.

“Mom, I’m bored,” six-year old Sophie pouted, throwing herself dramatically on the couch.

“Is that so?” I asked as I carried a couple of boxes that had just been delivered into the house.

“Mhm,” she said, crossing her arms to emphasize her mood.

“Well, I think I just got something new that you might like,” I told her with a smile. She sat up, interested in what it might be. I opened one of the boxes and pulled out a brand new CD player.

“What’s that,” she asked curiously.

“It plays music,” I explained. I set it up on the table by the couch, and place a CD in it. Fun, fast, and catchy music began to fill the room. Amazement broke out across Sophie’s face. Giggling, she grabbed my hand, and forced me to dance with her. We created the “Sophie-Mommy-Dance” to go with the song, and we would dance it every day after Sophie came back from school. I wish I had known which day would have been the last so that I could have enjoyed it more…

Screeching guitars and booming drums echo from the upper part of the house. I don’t know how long I had been sitting there listening to Sophie’s and my song, but it appears that Sophie is now up in her room blasting the loud cacophony of sounds that she calls “music”.

I quickly make my way upstairs, and knock loudly enough on the door so that she can hear me.

“Honey? Could you turn that down a bit?” I ask loudly, trying my best to sound polite.

“Fine,” she half groans at me, and turns the volume down.

“Sorry about that,” she says.

“That’s okay,” I tell her, happy that she at least apologized.

“Mom, I’m on the phone,” she says in a low voice.

“Oh,” is all I reply with.

“Sorry about that, my mom just made me turn down my music,” she finishes her sentence to whoever she’s talking with. “Anyway, what crazy thing were you going to tell me?”

A part of me wishes that it was me on the line that she is talking to, but I suppose I should be happy that she has great friends that she can spend time with. I just miss the days that I was that friend who she always spent time with. The friend who would listen to every little detail about her day. I walk back downstairs, and go look out the backdoor window to see the sunset. My eyes end up falling on the swingset that Sophie and I would spend our afternoons playing and sharing stories on.

“Mom, do the roller coaster thingy again!” Sophie begged me, and kicked her little legs in excitement.

“Okay,” I agreed, and waited for her to slow down enough. I grabbed the base of the swing, and slowly started to push it back and up while making little clicking noises with my tongue to make it sound like she was going up on a roller coaster. I watched as her face brightened with excited anticipation, and once she was high enough I dropped the swing and ran out of the way. Sophie screamed with joy as she soared down, then up, and back and forth on the swing.

“Again, again!” she cried, still laughing from the little tummy tickles she got when we did “roller coaster”.

We did it a few more times before she started to get dizzy, and let me carry her over to the bench under the big tree in our yard.

“You’re the best, mom,” she murmured into my shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” I said, and kissed the top of her head.

BANG! I jump, and wheel around to see Sophie walk away from the cabinet she just slammed shut.

“Young lady, what do you think you are doing?” I ask, angry at how noisy she has been tonight. She ignores me, and starts to walk back upstairs.

“Hey!” I call after her.

“What?!” she demands angrily. I am about to give her a piece of my mind when I see tears glistening in her eyes.

“Sweetie, is everything alright?” I ask, now worried about what is wrong.

“I’m fine,” is the only answer she gives before turning away from me again, which tells me that everything is anything but fine.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask tentatively, worried that it will just make her angrier if I offer to help.

“No…” she says, but then she turns back around, and comes over to me. I sit there and hug her for a moment while she cries. I don’t push her to talk about it. I just hold her in my arms, doing my best to comfort her. Finally she looks up at me, wiping her eyes.

“Taylor just told me that Angela just got asked out by Howard.”

“Oh,” is all I can say again, not entirely sure why this would make her cry.

“She said yes, but she knows that I like Howard!”

Now she’s back to sobbing into my shirt. I feel bad for her. Teenage drama is the worst, and kind of confusing.

“Well, she doesn’t sound like a very good friend,” I say, rubbing her back soothingly.

“She’s fine most of the time, but sometimes she’s just- ugh.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” I tell her.

“It’s alright, I guess,” she says with a shrug. We sit down on the couch for a while, and talk a little every now and then, but it’s mostly just me holding her.

“Thanks, mom,” she says after a little while.

“Of course, sweetie. I’m always here for you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say, and I make sure to treasure this moment in case it’s the last time that I share something like this with my little girl.