Far From The Son

Exploring new ideas of what it means to be a good mother eases this writer into a life that doesn't orbit around her child anymore. A brown-skinned woman with close-cut hair is standing in a metal room, facing a metal door. Millions of miles away from Earth, this door is all that separates her from lightless, airless space. Her teenage son watches her through a glass pane from the adjoining hallway. The woman’s mind is made up. She injects blood oxygenator into her thigh and pushes a button; the door slides open. Barefaced and suitless, she shoots out of the ship like an arrow through the vacuum between stars.