The eight handsome chairs stand like stalwart soldiers around my etched glass dining room table. During the night I sometimes hear them whisper, ‘Where is he?’ ‘ Why doesn’t he come?’ I weep but the soldiers don’t hear me. Dreams, very vivid dreams often wake me. They are usually repetitious and have become so real that I get out of bed, walk barefoot to the dining room and see the chairs filled with guests. My husband is at one end, I at the other. He looks drawn, yellowed. Arnie fades away and my son’s face replaces his. Norman looks just like his Dad thirty years ago. He doesn’t smile to me in my fantasy world. I dim the chandelier lights and silently return to bed.
Tonight I am praying for a new dream, a happy one, one I’ve longed to be a reality. Norman e- mailed me this morning that he is coming to Lake Worth on business and will plan on three days with me, if I want him. I reply with an enlarged font, point 18, red and bold. My fingers fly over the keys. I make lots of errors but correct them all. ‘Want you? Of course, I want you! When?’ He does not reply for two days. I e-mail again and again, call him. No reply. On Friday AOL lights up, ‘You’ve got mail.’ Big deal. I have email every day but this day my eyes stop on ‘Norman.’ I open it first. ‘I’ll be arriving. Wed., Oct. 4, Virgin America, flt. 708 at West Palm Airport. Leaving Sun. Oct.7, 8 A.M. okay?’ I speed dial Norman and get a busy signal, over and over. Out of patience. I e-mail back, ‘Great! Come ona my house. Arms waiting for you. Love, Mother.’
I get busy, walk on air, clean his clean room, make space in the closet where I keep odds and ends. My mood is exuberant. My mind spins. What does Norman like to eat these days? We’ll be dining out except the first night. I’ll go hog wild and prepare his favorite veal parmigiana, gooping with melted cheese. Breakfasts? No idea what he eats. I’ll get berries, melon, bagels, cheese, O.J. with lots of pulp. I shop. I over shop. I want this short visit to be perfect, want to know my busy son, look at old home videos together, share Arnie with him again. My beautician squeezes me in for a cut. Each day of waiting sparkles.
Dreams, night time dreams become reality. When I wake each morning, I am nervous, need half a Valium just to keep myself under control.
From Roanoke friends I have heard how involved Norman is in his growing business and is considering running for state senator. He has many, many friends and some enemies too. These have been silent excuses not to visit me. They are lame ones that don’t work for me.
His arrival is next week. The see saw I am on tosses me high into the blue sky. What is Norman going to be like? What will he call me? As he grew to his teens, he slowly stopped calling me Mom. He changed to Ma and finally called me nothing, starting right in on the little he had to say.
It’s Wednesday morning, Oct. 4. I’ve set the dining room table for two, just to make the morning special. I’m dressed neatly, as usual, in a casual stylish outfit. I chose light green., his childhood favorite color. Heaven knows what it is now. His plane is late. At noon the doorbell rings and I hurry to open the door.
I know the man in front of me is my son but barely recognize him. He has a small goatee and thinning brown hair. His body is strong, muscular, his smile barely noticeable. Oh, my god, I think. He doesn’t recognize me! Have I changed so much? I don’t ask as my mirror has talked to me too often.
Norman puts his briefcase and small carry-on on the floor. He puts out his hand to shake with me but I don’t give him mine. I am already bursting, can’t control myself. ‘Norman, what’s this crap? A handshake?
No hug, no kiss on the cheek?’ I get both grudgingly. I start bubbling inanities. ‘How was your flight? Did they charge you for a blanket? Are you well? Want lunch?’ Norman replies, ‘Not yet, Ma am.’ My hair stands on end. ‘When did you start calling me Ma am, Son? What’s wrong with Ma, Mom, Mother?’
‘There you go, just like always, nagging me. No wonder I don’t visit you often.’ I stand my ground. ‘Are we going to spend three days arguing or have you grown up, care about somebody else besides yourself?
He stays silent.
I cannot control my disappointment, my pain, and walk over, put my arms around him, hold him close. ‘Son, ‘ I say, ‘I’m so happy you are here. It’s been unbearably long since we saw each other. Let’s be nice.’ I shut up but don’t move away from him. Norman doesn’t move either. I suggest we have lunch and seat him at the head table. ‘ I hope you still like my chicken salad. I found sweet white sugar corn for us and I even made my own applesauce. Remember how you loved to lick your bowl?’ ‘Yes,’ he nods and grins. I’ve making your veal parmesana for dinner.’
So, Son, how was your flight?’
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