Bojackthoughts - Tumblr Posts

Those parties, they were really something. There were skits and magic acts and ethnically insensitive vaudeville routines and the big finale was always a dance my mother did. She had a beautiful dress that she only brought out for these parties and she did this incredible number. 

It was so beautiful and sad.

Dad hated parties. He’d lock himself in the study and bang on the walls for us to keep it down but he always came out to see Mom dance. He’d linger in the doorway, scotch in hand and watch in awe, as this cynical, despicable woman he married...took flight. And as a child who was completely terrified of both my parents, I was always aware that this moment of grace, it meant something. We understood each other, in a way. Me and my mom and my dad, as screwed up as we all were, we did understand each other. My mother, she knew what it’s like to feel your entire life like you’re drowning, with the exceptions of these moments, these very rare brief instances, in which you suddenly remember...you can swim.