Do you hear what I hear?
Mom called the other days to say there is a mourning dove who flew behind her washing machine and it has been coo’ing for days. I asked her if her neighbor could take a look and get the bird out. He did, but he didn’t see a bird.
Mom called the other day and left a voicemail message and then I called her back and got her voicemail. Then she called right back, got my voicemail, and cried and ranted into the phone “Rachel! Oh GOD, Rachel! Ahhhhhh. God!!! Rachel! [sobbing].”
Mom called today and said she couldn’t make it for lunch because her back hurt and she had taken a Darvocet. I went over there and found the housekeepers humming around the maze trying to clean up in preparation for my sister’s arrival. My mother was on the couch, pale and worn around the edges. She smiled thinly. I brought us salads from Martin’s and asked her to come sit outside on the stairs and eat them, in order to get some fresh air.
She brought her glass filled with white wine and barely managed to sit on the top step. I tried to ignore her half painted toenails with jagged and torn edges. I tried to ignore the fact that she has asked me to clear out 80% of the magazines she has been hoarding for 20 years (it seemed ominous to me), tried to ignore that she had two women cleaning her house when all she does is sit and do nothing every day, tried to ignore that if her eyes were on a fish, I wouldn’t buy it – and I tried to enjoy the beautiful weather and the red flowers on the cactus blooming in the next yard. I tried to ignore the Hispanic men downstairs hocking spit onto the alley. I asked if I could take the family album home so T could take some digital reproductions and she said it would upset my sister and best to wait for when she’s not here. I tried not to react, but couldn’t help saying FUCK —–.
When I was leaving, heading down to the truck, two mourning doves were sitting on the sidewalk eating from the spilled trash. The lot across the street was still empty from Katrina. A group of Hispanic men were lollygagging around a car staring into its insides. Inside my truck were two stacks of magazines – the first of my hauling away. My stomach was in a knot because I know we are getting closer to the time when the door will close for good and there will never be a chance for me to make my mother happy.