Some people say that mothers have eyes in the back of their heads. My mother has a window in the back of hers. She parts her coarse red hair into two bunches that she secures, one just below each ear, with braids that look like curtain tie-backs. And she watches.
I see her eyes swivel inside her head and she peers out at me through the glass. Sometimes I think I might hear a clockwork click-click-click as she moves her eyes into the rear position. If I did, I would have time to put back that biscuit, pick up that wet towel, hide that magazine.
My friend Joe thought she was staring at him once but I knew she was looking at me out of her window. I saw the sun glint on the glazing and she squinted against its brightness. I wondered if I could use that tactic against her so that I could do things in secret, but I could never work out quite how to do it.
She is one of those people who never closes the curtains, not even when she goes to bed at night.
I see her eyes swivel inside her head and she peers out at me through the glass. Sometimes I think I might hear a clockwork click-click-click as she moves her eyes into the rear position. If I did, I would have time to put back that biscuit, pick up that wet towel, hide that magazine.
My friend Joe thought she was staring at him once but I knew she was looking at me out of her window. I saw the sun glint on the glazing and she squinted against its brightness. I wondered if I could use that tactic against her so that I could do things in secret, but I could never work out quite how to do it.
She is one of those people who never closes the curtains, not even when she goes to bed at night.
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