Merits

The very last time I saw Mom in the kitchen, I gave a customary yawn despite us having argued the night before. We could not spare the money for a new guitar, she had told me firmly. I, angry about being deprived of a luxury I felt I deserved, had slammed my bedroom door in her face. But none of the previous day's strife when she spoke like always.

"You grow each time you yawn."