The phone. The phone is ringing. Why does the phone sound so ominous in the early morning hours? Maybe because only my mother would call at such an hour. I pick up the receiver, not to talk, just to stop the noise. The upside to my mother’s calls is I do not need to respond for at least ten full minutes, sometimes as much as twenty. The downside is those ten to twenty minutes are just the preamble.
She begins the conversation or monologue really, in the middle, as if we had already been talking awhile, leading me to believe she rehearses and calls in the middle of her dress run. She gives me updates on people who seem to be familiar in a vague sort of way; a sister, her husband, their kids, Uncle somebody, not doing well, Aunt so and so behaving badly…
At least nobody died, that would have been headline stuff, and I would have been forced to reflect on the life of the deceased and the shortcomings of my own life. A life so fleeting as proved by the passing of an octogenarian relative.
She was winding down to me, asking me all the usual mothering questions and finishing with, “Was I still taking my vitamins…” Which of course meant my meds… My family believes I am insane, mostly because that is what the doctors tell them.
It takes a while, somewhere between the neighbor’s dog, or goat? and a new recipe for… When I realize it’s May again. She must be wondering if this year will be any different.
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Twisted Sister lit mag 