My mother's normally calm and pleasant demeanor squished and contorted into an all-consuming anger: nostrils flared; eyes flashed closing into slits; lips quivered and slurred almost-unintelligible words that spewed into the air like a volcano releasing its ash and fire to destroy and consume everything in its path; hands were balled fists as she crouched forward, daring me to repeat what had somehow torn her heart into shards and darkened her sunny and bright images of who she thought her daughter could become -- aren't you going to be a teacher? What kind of a role model will you be now? -- and I could only watch this destructive metamorphosis of her face and body, the mask of love blackening, the knife-like eyes slicing into my body, so shocking that to this very day I am still haunted by her power to transform me from her loving girl to this disloyal beast, but then, in the quiet tension, she released a deafening sigh of hot air, her body expanding and then purging the fire, her eyes opening wide to reveal the remnants of a fiery, lava-filled abyss, until I was so small then, just burnt chaparral and charred hillside, hoping for relief, sputtering out a faint mom -- just chill -- it's only a tattoo.