Okay: A Memoir

• Madeline Macrae, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

Our relationship wasn't normal.
The air was warm, yet not unpleasant on my skin as I waited with my mother at the bus stop. We were close to the beach – the burning hot sand and salty waves were just out of reach. We were going to see a movie, just like a normal mother and daughter would. But our relationship wasn't normal. Our relationship was the odd murmured phone call, making plans but never going through with them. Our relationship was clouded with the smoke of her cigarettes as she relaxed on the couch and said “Do whatever you want. Go for your life!” Our relationship was irresponsible and childlike, because neither of us was ‘grown up’.
I sat precariously on the edge of the seat, anxious to catch the bus. My mother was attempting to make conversation, on the little common ground we had.
“How is school?” she would ask.
“Fine.” I would say.
I could hear the harsh squawking of seagulls as they stole people’s food, and the bubbling laughter of small children. It had only been a few minutes, but my mother was already rolling a cigarette. She hadn't even lit it, but the stench of the tobacco had already filled my nostrils.
“Oh dear,” she said smoothly with her first puff of smoke, like she was joking, but there was no punchline. She was turning her head from side to side like one of those circus clowns, still smoking, mechanically raising her hand back and forth from her mouth like a robot. But she was a robot – that had slowly become self-programmed to depend on tobacco. It was her friend, her constant companion, a relationship more important than the one with her daughter.
Just a split second ago things had been fine – sun shining, birds chirping; the perfect day. My mind was racing, looking for a solution to a problem I could not even begin to comprehend. The smoke was seeping into my thoughts, whirling in my vision.
“Are you okay?” I croaked.
I received a nonsensical reply, another “Oh dear”. I think I should have been the one saying, “Oh dear”.
“I’m taking you back to the motel. Okay?” I coughed out. I was choking on the smoke.
I grabbed her sweaty hand and dragged her along the winding path, she was like a young child having a tantrum.
The calming nature of the beach had been long lost. The air had turned stale; the sky was grey.
Our relationship was not normal.
In the end, I got her back to the motel safely. Things were okay. To me, 'okay' was like smoke; almost like air, almost like fog. 'Okay' had no connotations, it was simply okay.
People say not to grow up too fast. “Stay a kid forever,” they ramble. But sometimes people don't have that choice. Sometimes, they have to accept that they can’t make things normal, they can’t make things perfect, they can't fix other people’s mistakes, but they can make it ‘okay’.