Reading with My Mom – A Short Story

I love spending time reading with my mom. Some days she would read along with her book, but most of the time, she would just listen to the book as I read it to her.

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon when the world outside turned into a watercolor painting, all smeared shades of gray and blue. Luckily, inside our cozy little home, warmth and excitement brewed over the promise of adventures locked within the pages of our favorite books. My mom and I had settled into our usual reading nook, a fluffy corner of the living room with a vibrant patchwork quilt and a little side table stacked high with our beloved novels.

“Have you chosen our treasure today?” Mom asked, her eyes twinkling beneath thick lashes. She placed her own book down—a massive volume called “The Enchanted Forest,” which I suspected was filled with imaginary creatures she liked to dream about.

I nodded enthusiastically and held up a book stacked on top of the rest. Its spine cracked, and its cover faded. “How about ‘The Goblin’s Treasure’?” I suggested. It was an old favorite filled with mischievous characters and glittering jewels.

“Excellent choice.” She grinned, nestling deeper into her plush armchair while draping the quilt over both our laps. It felt like a warm hug in this chilly weather. I opened the book, my fingers grazing the familiar pages, inhaling the sweet scent of printed paper and ink, a smell that always felt like home to me.

As I began to read, my world transformed into a landscape of vibrant colors. I narrated with gusto, transforming into the lead character Elly, a brave and clever girl who stumbled upon a hidden map to a goblin’s lair. By the time Elly met her first challenge, the tricky riddle of the goblin guard, Mom was completely entranced.

“Wait, wait! What’s the riddle?” she exclaimed, her unfocused eyes sparking with curiosity.

“Okay, here it goes.” I dramatically cleared my throat. “I have keys, but open no locks. I have space, but no room. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. What am I?”

Mom’s smile widened as she leaned closer, her fingers tapping in anticipation against the quilt. “Hmm, a keyboard!” she shouted, half-smiling, half-pouting as if she could snatch the answer out of thin air.

“Correct! You’re brilliant.” I cheered, and she laughed, a sound more beautiful than any sweet melody. We shared an unspoken joy of being together, wrapped in laughter and stories. As I read on, her laughter would blend seamlessly with my narration from defeating goblins to discovering hidden treasures. Our imaginations soared through the brilliance of our shared adventure.

Soon enough, the rain tapped rhythmically against the window, creating a backdrop for our whimsical expedition. My voice became a magical spell, conjuring images of long-lost treasures and clever goblins, while Mom sat, completely absorbed in the world we created together.

And there it was—day after day, whether she joined me in reading alongside or simply listened. The time spent with my mom immersed in stories morphed into something beyond mere hours. It became our cherished tradition, a sanctuary away from reality, where laughter echoed, hearts danced, and love soaked into each page.

As I closed the book at last, I looked at my mom, who sighed contentedly. “More, please?” she asked, and I knew that as long as we had our books, we would have endless adventures to share, rain or shine.

***Thank you, members of my Chatting with Sharon Facebook Group for all of your suggestions. This is Debra Pruss’ first sentence suggestion.***