Lone Star Mountain abalone

when she saw the boy, something twisted and twirled inside of her. in a selfish way she felt as if she looked upon herself. a boy pretending to be brave enough, strong enough. maybe it was not pretend.

if he was like her, it would never be pretend.

but it is his mother, presumably, who earned a look of brewing blue from her. quick to offer words that might have appeased a kinder set.

did either of us say that? a raise of her chin, a tilt of her head in thoughtful consideration. it was not a kindness to draw this out. yet her pleasure rode upon waves of tension. a reminder of her life.