This week’s assignment was to write a post about a sound or scent that brings you right back to your past. Ichose my mom and her favorite perfume, Fendi.
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I slammed the phone down, tears stinging my eyes. Before they could fall I pushed away from my desk, too fast and too hard, almost tipping my chair.
“God, she can be so infuriating some days” I mumbled.
I just wanted to talk to her about the day to day stuff, the things that didn’t have a real answer, just ideas bouncing off each other, a place for my frustrations to softly land. Instead, she has advice, and tsk- tsking, words of wisdom that I just don’t need right now.
My friend, Ann just shook her head and tried to contain her giggle.
“I need a minute” I announced and left the office, walking as fast as I could in 3 inch heels, not sure where I even wanted to go.
I walked, past cubicles, around the conference room, into the atrium and avoiding the ladies room, because I want to avoid the questions of well meaning friends.
“How are those gorgeous boys?”
“OOH do you have any fun stories about those boys of yours?”
Well why don’t you ask her? She seems to be better equipped to raise them than me; she has all the answers and the ability to reduce me to a foolish 6 yr old with these phone calls. I am quite sure she’d love to regale you with stories and anecdotes of their days.
Lost in the anger of that thought, a woman hurried past me, tapping on her phone and late for her class.
Just as I thought about taking a deep breath and going back, I smelled it. The sultry mix of sandalwood and amber, a scent that reached into my brain and pulled memories from it as if it were picking apples off a tree, it snuck into my nose and lingered just like that scent clung to her for days, long after she has spritzed and sprayed herself.
Her perfume, that woman was wearing her perfume.
I sat down on the bench next to our fake indoor waterfall and inhaled, the undertones of rose and musk mingling with their top notes. The essence of her in every breath I took. That particular bottle is like an open door to my past, acting like a song when it brings your life back to you with every stanza. Her signature scent, as much a part of her as her eyes or her jewelry, it told her story, announced her arrivals, casting a wide net of fragrance whereever she went.
I remember a day lying on a table, warm blue goop on my belly, basking in the knowledge that we would soon know the gender of the babies we had all fought so hard for. I was stalling the tech, asking her to wait, we needed to wait for her. She pulled open the door, sticking her head out and told us, she’s not here. “Oh yes she is” I answered, “I can smell her”.
Did she know that I used to lay my head on her pillow when she’d be running out of the house, going to start her busy day and shouting back a plea to make her bed? How I would fill my nose with the bouquet of her and carry it around with me all day.
Can she imagine how burying my face in her chest as I nursed my numerous broken hearts helped to heal them faster, the balm of her hugs mixing with her fragrance, offering me something better than medicine? She cannot even guess, how I will forgo giving the babies a bath some nights because she has visited and her love is lingering in the strands of their hair, how I allow them access to my bed and sniff their heads looking for signs of her.
I suddenly feel so silly, so much of the naïve girl she had chided. She doesn’t know everything but she does love me beyond herself. She is offering herself to me in the best ways she knows how, eager for me to grow and learn lessons that she has lined up like those beautiful bottles on her dresser.
I neared my desk; the green light blinking, revealing an incoming call before my fingers could dial her number.
Her voice and mine, merging like only we can, the top notes and bottom scents uniting.
“Mom?”
“Kirst?”
“I’m so sorry.”
Even though I can't tell if it's the tone you meant, I read a very accusatory voice in "Her perfume, that woman was wearing her perfume." As if that perfume was proprietorially your mother's scent and how dare that woman wear her perfume. Which I found amusement in.But great job on this piece. I love the storming out after a call with mother (we've all been there…haven't we?) and then just a whiff of the perfume can bring all the memories of a loving mother. Wonderful!
So very sweet!
That was so vivid! Great post. I felt like I could smell her as well.
I loved every word of this piece. It was so vivid and beautifully written. I was right with you from the point of anger at the start to the calm in the middle and the forgiveness at the end. Great post!
What a beautiful tribute to your mother. I have some of the same issues with mine, but she means well. And is really an amazing mom. It's just hard to live up to an amazing mom, isn't it? We're pretty lucky.I thought the way you talk about her perfume announcing her arrivals was very effective–I can imagine snekli the perfume before seeing her. That whole paragraph was powerful.Great job!
Love this…love it. I have SO many memories relating to smell. My mom used (and still does) Nivea face cream-that I also use now, and I will forever associate that smell with the warm morning hugs from my mother.
Wow…My dad and I have an odd broken relationship as well but I know that he loves me despite it all.I loved how you wrote about this prompt.
You captured this well – the way we can go from love-to-anger-and-back to love when it comes to our loved ones. Great job.
I love how a familiar scent can take us back in time.
what a complicated memory you pulled out, but you wove the story beautifully with the descriptions of the perfume. The emotional effects, the flashbacks, the glimpses of now.. really well done. My heart caught in my throat at the end. thank you for visiting my blog and commenting, I wouldnt have noticed you were there on the dance floor watching that night
*HUG*
I think everyone has had that conversation with their mother- although I suspect that being the son makes my experience a bit different.
Awww that's so special! My mom and I have a close relationship but she can occassionally drive me natty with her perfection as a mom!!Great memory!
I love this post.
Ack! Soooo emotional. This is a beautiful post, love. Beautiful. Scent is such a strong holder of memory. It can knock you sideways when you least expect it.
I loved so much about this piece! I love how you wove the perfume through it all..even ending with…"Her voice and mine, merging like only we can, the top notes and bottom scents uniting. " That catches the essence of a mom/daughter relationship so well.I was touched by how you recounted laying on her pillow after she left the house then flash forwarded to when you wouldn't bathe your babies after she had held them so you could still smell her scent.You're a wonderful writer! Thank you for sharing this! Thank you also for stopping by my blog and commenting!!
Awwwww. Nice.
Oh, I love it. LOVE it. First of all, whose mother doesn't make them sometimes feel like a child again, with chiding and advice (all unsolicited). But then that feeling of mom love, and all the hurt goes away. I hope, hope, hope I can be this to my girl.(Between this and her comment about lipstick never hurting anything, I think I would enjoy your mom just as much as I enjoy you!)
Wow, didn’t know I’d happen upon this tonight and feel the tears well up in my eyes. I lost my mom unexpectedly 2 years ago and you can imagine how the smell of her favorite Donna Karan perfume can take me back. I kept one of her body lotions and I take it out every now and then to “feel her” with me. And although I don’t know the names of the perfumes she had when I was very young…you know, those inexpensive Avon perfumes that moms wear because they were affordable when raising young, growing children with many needs…a whiff of one of her empty perfume bottles (that she kept because they were pretty) takes me right back. When I cleaned out her closet after she passed I found a t-shirt on the floor. I brought it to my nose…took it all in…and just cried. I quickly sealed it in a ziplock bag so that I can revisit my memories through the scent of the perfume on that shirt. Who knew what a gift a crumpled t-shirt on the floor of a closet could be? I’ll never forget the scent of my mom. I’m glad you appreciate it now while she is with you. I imagine our children will be sharing these feelings about us one day…
HI Amy
first, thank you for stopping by and saying hello.
next, I am so sorry about your mom, I actually lost my dad very suddenly in 1996 when I was 26 and I know that to this day, songs,his cologne, Bill Cosby or Star Trek can still bring me to my knees when I think of him.
I think that what you did with that shirt is amazing and a gift really, that you can keep with you and revisit (and cry) those memories. I am the “other half” of my mom and so I know that if she were gone I would feel like you do and I know that her perfume, even fleeting scents of it, will take me right back.
I know that our children will feel this way about us, I know that they will remember us and what brought them comfort from us, I’m glad of that.
it was so nice to meet you Amy, I hope you’ll visit again or just keep in touch with me. I am always here if you need/want to talk.
I will be around, for sure, thanks for your sweet reply. Grief is something nobody can possibly understand until they’ve experienced it…and it’s why I understand that even 16 years later thoughts of your Dad can bring you to your knees.
I can already tell that my 9 year old daughter and I will be like you & your mom…she’s more like me than she should be, lol;)
I look forward to us getting to know each other, I’m so happy you found my blog when you did.