ten roses in the impala

feels like we only go backwards (ten/rose)

it feels like we only go backwards baby
every part of me says go ahead
[tame impala]

ten/rose. post-gitf. pg-13. 3193 words.

It had been a day.

When Rose was young, she’d sometimes arrive home from school and find Jackie on the sofa, eyes closed against a droning television. Her moods were never quite discernible in those moments but Rose, growing up as the child of a widow and a single mother, was sensitive to them all. So she’d put on her happiest face, thrust her shoulders back, skip over to her mother and greet her with the brightest and happiest “Hi mum!” she could muster. And though the smile would twitch at the corner of Jackie’s mouth, and though her eyes would sparkle with the exhausted affection only parents feel for their children, she’d wave her gently off and say:

“Oh, love, give me a mo’. It’s been a day.”

Rose hadn’t known what that meant, not really. A good day? A bad day? A busy day? Or something entirely else? But now, taking the long meander back to her room from Mickey’s, it’s all she can hear in her head, her mother’s voice weighed down by the world in a way her youthful ear was never attuned to, saying with the very last of her good cheer, Oh love. It’s been a day.

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