Mom/me

     Will my mother be sitting beside me when she's dead?  Like she is now while I'm driving and she says I made that turn too quick and should have waited for that car to pass by?  I hear her voice so often when I least expect it.  Don't buy that roast; it's too expensive.  That dress is much too revealing for you to wear to the reunion.  What have you done to your hair?  You look like a boy!  Aren't you going to call your aunt Marcella soon?  What about all those thank you notes?  Shouldn't you be losing a little weight--you could be pregnant with that stomach of yours.  Sometimes I can't remember the difference between what she actually said and what I think she said.  It doesn't matter.  Her voice cuts through all the same.  How old do you have to be before it stops?  I'm _______.  Wouldn't you think that it would stop by then?  When do you get to be your own person?  When she dies?  She's ninety and doesn't show any signs of letting up with the judgements.  Does she really need to do that--sit next to me while I drive?  She has a life of her own; now I want mine.  Let me drive ninety miles an hour if I want.  Divorce my husband if I want.  Love my neighbor if I want.  Cut my kids out of my will if I want.  Run naked through the woods if I want.  Yell "shit" and "damn" and "I hate you" if I want.  I may not choose to, but I just want the option. I want to make the choices; let me be free; let me. Me,me,me.