You and your friends piled into my little car
laughing and filling it with the unmistakable
essence of young adulthood.

The two girls and a boy
(just a friend, Mom)
were practically folded up in the back seat.

You were just doing what almost all teenagers did
on a Saturday afternoon in our sleepy little
suburban village: going to the mall.

The conversation sped from subject to subject
cars, jobs, friends, cars, jobs, friends
and then, to parents.

I glanced in the rearview mirror
as one of your friends complained
about her mother, perhaps a little too unkindly.

Maybe it slipped out before you noticed,
before you understood the impact of your words:
“My Mom’s awesome!”

But I heard.

It took every cell of my being to keep
from looking at you and smiling
as the stripes on the freeway blurred.

But I didn’t.

I dropped you off as requested,
and as I drove away, when you could no longer hear me,
could no longer be embarrassed,
I said it: “Feeling’s mutual, darlin’ Wondergirl.”

Feeling’s mutual