My Magnolia Summer

by Victoria Benton Frank

If you were to cut me open, you’d find the water of the Atlantic instead of blood, driftwood instead of bones, and seashells in place of everything else.

I always felt a pang of guilt for not responding to her right away because even though we didn’t get along, she was still my mom. I’d just . . . learned along the way to protect my daily life from her daily distractions.

It took me a long time when I moved to New York to learn that you don’t say hey to a stranger. God forbid you wish them a good evening! But I was in the South now and was reminded that people value things differently here. It’s a kinder and gentler existence.