Nothing Extraordinary

It was on a weekend. I'm not sure if it was sunny or overcast, hot or cold, but it was Saturday, and the mall was crowded.

My mother was with me.

Mom is a little on the short side. Skinny. Because she isn't particularly noteworthy, she's easily overlooked when she's surrounded by others.

So, we walked down the slick tiles that day in a low-key manner, only glancing briefly into the windows of the shops because we both knew we wouldn't be purchasing anything.

As we walked, I noticed that I began to pay more attention to the people we passed.

With their five-inch high heels and brightly colored clothing, the ladies of the ballroom danced their best moves. Strolling through the streets, men's faces were free of wrinkles thanks to expensive creams.

My heart began to race as a wave of unease washed over me. Even though I tried, it refused to be yanked up and thrown away once it had taken root. It got worse and worse until I could no longer deny it; I was ashamed of my mother for doing so.

I was aware that we lived in a posh part of town. A small, overpriced apartment complex that clung to our county's outskirts was Mom's choice because she knew the schools were excellent.

It dawned on me for the first time that we didn't belong in a posh neighborhood, as I observed the passersby and then my mother with suspicion.

Even without the use of expensive lotions, I was able to see the wrinkles around Mom's eyes and mouth. Cheap, tattered clothing and shoes with worn out soles were all she wore. Her eyes were tired and her hair was too gray for her age after working long hours to make ends meet.

I was mortified when I saw her.

My mother isn't anything special, but she stood out in that moment because she was so ordinary.

I dashed to the bathroom, muttering that I'd meet her at the nearby clothing store. Even though there was no one important around, I didn't want to be seen with her.

To my dismay, Mom wasn't in the store when I finally dragged myself to it.

Due to a lack of other options, I was forced to search the nearby stores for her. Because of the secondhand embarrassment that I'd recently discovered when spending time with her, I was dreading the prospect of returning to her side.

I was completely wrong. In the middle of a high-end department store, Mom was clutching a sweater that looked a lot more expensive than it was.

She told her, "You'll look great in this. Is this something you're interested in? ”

It was way out of my price range. And I was almost in agreement, mindlessly.

I choked on my words when I saw the small, worn-out woman with a wide smile and a sweater in her hands, happy to be giving me something so nice.

Cold water washed over me in a matter of seconds.

Because she spent her money on new clothes for me, hers were worn and tattered. Because she was so focused on supporting me, she always appeared worn out and drained. She didn't care if she looked or smelled fancy; she was happy with me just the way I was.

All of a sudden, Mother was stunningly beautiful in my eyes.

I was ashamed of myself, not of her.

"Are you interested?

"My mother's voice echoed.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."