我的艾莉（2）
she anshter is off arten. soon, it ust before i left for college, i screamed at my mother the alie make a glass of iced tea. her face, once so open and trusting， is closed to me. i struggle to think of something to say to her, something meaningful and e she has chosen, that i kno and that i am proud of her. but the look on her face is so mad that i think she might slug1 me if i open my mouth.
one night—after a long period of silence betht have done or said to make her angry hed and said, “mom, you haven’t done anything. it’s fine. ”it is fine—just distant.
somehoo to the day-care center after ether, reconnecting2 the estrangement they felt hters. i hit upon a solution: rescue raids. i n her out of class and take her some hters . on those outings—outings h school, i’d get up to make her a sandether before the 6: 40 bus came.
a couple of times during her senior year i ht, the light off, but before she e of her bed, and she’d tell me about problems: a teacher rade because she . her voice, coming out of the darkness, and questioning.
a fe some of the things i had said, things she had adopted for her o ts. i o to lunch and lean across the table and say hoh tears, bitterss have gone underground. emily dickinson until i say i have alhter your bond reater her need to break ah a difficult time hter but noain, tells me, “your daughter ry that i o over and shake allie. i rounded4!” i feel myself to say that most horrible of all mother phrases: “think of everything i’ve done for you.”
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