MAMA MIA

It was almost dark when I left my house. Rain was coming down gently like eider feathers. A few umbrellas were opening. My mother had left me another pathetic message, ‘I’ve fallen and can’t get up. Help!’ Even though I chuckled to myself, how could I not go? Maybe this time she really did fall. The driveway lights were on when I got there. The living room shutters were open. I saw her limping to the kitchen and honked just to let her know The Lone Ranger had arrived to save her.

I unlocked the door with the key she had tagged for me ‘mother’. It clinked and there Mom was, dressed in blue satin slax, a tank top and sandals. Her bifocal glasses dangled from a chain in a double twist for security purposes. The frames rhinestone rims shimmered. I gave her the required hug and little kiss on the cheek and heard her grunt. With her legs apart, hands on her hips, she looked angry. Flames reddened her eyes. Her lips curled into a snarl. ‘What took you so long, Geraldine?’ she pouted. Mother only calls me Geraldine when she’s hot about something. Silence is golden but not in this house. Continuing, she questioned me,’Where have you been when I needed you, Geraldine?’ It was my turn to be nasty but I held my temper. ‘Mother, I was out. That’s all. I was doing what I had to do, like to do. I was shopping.’ The room became a morgue of silence. ‘Don’t be so uppity with me, Child. Where were you?’

‘Mother, do you have any of that heavenly fragrant Columbian coffee left? If you do, heat a cup for me. I forgot something in my car. I’ll be right back.’ She’s a pistol, that Mom of mine. Before I reached the door she wanted to know what I forgot and why I was careless in leaving it in the car.

Her rhinestone eye glass frames shimmered in the reflection of the driveway lights. And there she was, looking out the window to see what I would bring in. The small gift box fit into my jacket pocket. A little fib and I told her I must have left it on my kitchen table. ‘Well, mercy me,’ she exclaimed. ‘You must be getting senile. Make notes like I do and you won’t forget so many things.’ Oh, how I love to tease her. ‘Mom, I’ll go out and look again. ‘Here it is. It’s for you. It had slipped under the front seat.’ I handed her the package and she grabbed it like a squirrel that just found more acorns. ‘Gerry.’ I was Gerry again. She made a little curtsy and thanked me, carefully removed the crinkly blue ribbon, rolled it up and took it to the dining room server drawer to join a rainbow of other strings. The yellow polka dot paper came off, was flattened nicely. When she opened the box, the sparkle in her eyes made mine tear. ‘Oh, Gerry, what beautiful earrings. The clip on ones she had been wearing went down her bra. ‘Geraldine, have you hidden the earrings I just took off? That would be mean. Find them.’ I didn’t dare look.

‘Mother, where did you fall today?Were you hurt?’ With a shrug she asked me if she had fallen. ‘Wasn’t it yesterday that I almost broke my hip?’ My visit began to gnaw at me. Depression sometimes overcomes me when I visit her. It knocks my panties off, makes me grouchy, grouchy enough to need a therapist. Last week Dr. Grayson told me that if I get so upset, don’t go more than once a week, maybe longer. He knows the minute I walk into his office that I’m down again, need his help. I was softly told to sit in my usual large leather swivel chair, lean, back and relax. He spun me around a few times, made me laugh.

Then he took me upstairs to our bedroom, undressed me and I forgot about my mother–until the next time.