Flash Fiction
The Things We Do
“It’s 10 pm, do you know where your children are?”
Lisa creeps to her house through the back door. It’s been a long night with her friends and CJ as she tiptoes slowly through the kitchen in her low-cut shirt and tribal and floral print pants heading towards her room.
“You’re up late,” her Mother says.
Busted. She scrunches her nose and rolls her eyes as she sighs. “How long have you been up?”
“I never went to sleep.” Her mother sits in the corner chair of their living room reading a book. “Where were you?”
“Out.” Lisa shrugs.
“With who?”
“My friends, Mom.”
“Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”
She sighs and grabs her forehead. “Because I knew you would do this.”
“Do what?”
“This! Right now, this is what you do!”
“And what am I doing?”
She sulks in her anger and says nothing beaten by her own Mother.
“You know why I do this? Because I love you. Were you with that boy?” she asks curtly.
“Yes, Mom. CJ, OK? He has a name.”
