“Mom? It’s Michael.”
She doesn’t look up. Her eyes are glossed with reminiscence as she looks out a window that grew grimy over the years. It’s been a long time since my mother was really on this earth. Her mind wandered away into the forest years ago and hasn’t found its way back yet. I miss the mother she once was to me and my brother, but those days are gone and were left with her wrapper.
“I brought you some roses, Mom. Your favorite, remember?” I sit and still she doesn’t notice me or the flowers. I didn’t really buy them but more or less took them from the coma patient down the hall. It isn’t like they’ll be using them anyways. I set the flowers beside her and reach for her hand. She looks up and smiles at me, her sweet smile. My mother’s old, but mostly she’s returned to a state of childhood. Somewhere that has tops and jacks scattered over a hardwood floor scuffed with age.
I stand to leave but a soft humming is escapes my mother’s lips. It’s the song that she sang to me so many times. She sang it to get me to sleep, to comfort me, and now she sings it to comfort herself.
Sitting across from me, I’m still amazed me how different my brother really is. His brown hair is grayed with age. His cheeks are no longer rosy but instead a pale pink. The lines around his mouth have increased and grown deeper and have begun to give him a look not unlike our father. He’s let himself go, only ten years older than me and he already looks 60. His mouth is drawn up like he’s been sucking on a lemon. I don’t know if that’s his normal disposition or he just hates me but it’s annoying.
“Mom doesn’t need to stay at that hospital anymore. I want mom to move back home. Move back to her real home.” I know this isn’t what he wants me to say but there isn’t any way around what we have to do. He’s a selfish prick and I’m a self-serving bastard so I’m sure we’ll come to a nice agreement.
“I can’t take her right now, Michael. You know that. You don’t have a wife or a kid. You take her.” Paul never was one to be the momma’s boy. I can’t say that I want to live with my mother, but I don’t have anywhere else to stay. When you live with a bitch like I did and she kicks you out your usually left with nothing.
The neighbors and various church members who loved my mother kept the house in pretty condition while she lived in the hospital. After we moved in I just tried to return to some normal center the way things used to be; Coffee over the morning paper, breakfast in the sun room, late nights in the swing behind our home. But no matter what I do my mother is still a remnant of what she once was. Quiet, reserved, there but not completely. She talks, listens, but she is lost in some far off haze. Her speech slurs and her mannerisms misplaced. She forgets to put water in the pot when making tea, she plays with matches, leaves the lights on, the fridge door is always open. She’s now the child and I’m the unfortunate parent.
My mom’s next door neighbor Mr. Hackning is always at our house. Yeah, he mows the grass but that doesn’t make up for all the Advil I buy. He watches my mom sometimes when I go to the store too, but I don’t think he realizes I’m gone. He just keeps talking, my mom’s lucky she isn’t completely there.
“Michael, come here my boy and hold this ladder.” Mr. Hackning is kind but too kind at times. At 65 he shouldn’t be climbing ladders especially to fish baseballs from the gutters.
“Get off the ladder, old man. I won’t tell you again. If you fall and die who will help me tote you away?” He chuckles and climbs down. I jump three rungs and reach for the ball.
“Hurry up and get that ball. For this talk of being young you sure are slow. Hurry up and get it and we’ll play catch.” I’m 27, I don’t really want to play catch with an old man in my front yard but I know that he’s never had any boys since all he ever spawned was a daughter that I learned to hate the day we moved in. She brought over some cake shit that I’d never eat. “It’s organic” was the term she used which in reality means “it’s made of shit.” I never did like her so I’ve decided that whenever she comes over ill close the blinds and sit in the dark. I really don’t care to hear everything she talks about. She’s always thanking me for watching her father. I just grumble and tell her that I obviously have no choice since he comes over invited or not.
Its one of those sticky July days, so I’m stuck inside reading again. Only half way in I can’t seem to get lost in the book like I normally do so I decide to explore the different nooks and crannies of the house. My mother has laid down for a nap and I’m left with nothing to do. The old trunks hold secrets id long forgotten so I decide to rummage around to see what I could find. Pictures of us as children, dolls, Paul’s old baseball mitt, my old writing journal, boring old women letters, dresses, and pictures with people’s heads half chopped off. My mother never one for picture taking. I decide to continue to rifle through drawers and cupboards. The musty smell of old paper and photographs are a comfort. I look from yellowed faces to grayed faces and no one stands out. I walk around the house investigating the lives of spiders and the thoughts of dust bunnies. I poke around in the attic but it’s too hot and I might see something that needs fixing so I climb back downstairs.
I watch out the window as Mr. Hackning pulls weed in his small garden. It’s hot. Too hot for an old man to be pulling weeds in the middle of the day. I know I should go stop him but it’s so hot outside that I almost just want to walk away and forget I ever saw him. I try knocking on the window and tell him to go inside but he doesn’t hear me.
Damn old man. Pulling weeds in hundred degree weather. Going die of a stroke.
I stomp over to his yard and peer over the waist high fence. I inwardly hope that I’m in that good of condition when I’m his age. I wish I was in his shape now. He’s still strong for his age. But he’s still an old man so I have to watch out for him or he’ll go and have a stroke, then who will help me?
“Old man. Stop pulling the weeds and let me do it or wait until its cooler. You trying to kill yourself?”
“Your right, it is too hot. Let’s go inside and grab some ice tea then we’ll see what we can do about these weeds.”
Mr. Hackning s house smells like an old man’s house is supposed to smell. Books line the walls, piles of them lay around the couch and chair, and there isn’t one surface in the house not covered in books or magazines. It’s an organized clutter; history in one pile, literary fiction in another, science in one heap, and philosophy sitting in a nice leather recliner. I push a copy of a 1987 Gardeners Weekly to the side and sit on the couch. Mr. Hackning apologizes for the mess and tries fixing everything but a 20 year mess isn’t going to be cleaned while company sits in wait. We sit and drink tea. Tea that he either let steep too long or decided the water should double as mop water. I push a pile of books to reveal the coffee table and put my glass down there. We talk about the past. Where everything in town used to be, where all the children my age went off to, and who’s died within the past 15 years. He’s boring me to death. I change the subject to where he got all the books in his house.
“Well it’s a funny thing. I used to be a librarian and when they would decide to throw out old books, I would take them. I just haven’t had the time to get rid of them all.”
“He’s sure as hell got time to pull weeds in the middle of the day” I mumble.
“Yep, over twenty-five hundred of them. I’ve sold some, kept most.” There’s a long pause and I can tell that there’s something that he wants to ask but I sit and wait hoping he’ll decide not to ask.
Im getting bored with the whole conversation and wondered how my mothers put up with his constant talking for all these years. Then I remember that my mom’s at the house by herself.
“Shit, got to go. I left mom at home and she could be dead by now.” I dash out the door but as the door slams behind me I hear Mr. Hackning yell that he had something to ask me. I’m sure it isn’t important anyways.
I get home and mothers just woken up from her nap and is sitting in the recliner watching The Gathers. She has it on mute with Spanish subtitles and I giggle as I turn on the volume for her. She smiles and says “O was the sound off this whole time; I could swear I heard the Gunthers singing away.”
“it’s the GATHER’S mom.” I walk into the kitchen realizing that she’s forgetting more than usual.
It’s Thursday and mother has an appointment at a specialist in the next town over. Mr. Hackning asked if he could go and help out. I really don’t want to baby sit two old people all day but I agree so that maybe I can get away for a minute or two while he watches my mom.
We pull up to Floyd Nuerological Center and I help my mom out of the car. We stroll in and find a nice clean spot in the waiting room away from all the sick people. The waiting room is filled with people who just look like they’ve got something wrong with them. We haven’t been waiting long when this redhead nurse walks out of the door and yells my mom’s name. She belts it out. Completely screams it at us, o and you should have seen this redhead. Gorgeous in every way, if gorgeous was three hundred and fifty pounds with lisp, gimp leg, and biceps that could rip me in half.
We walk up to the door and she politely tells us to get lost while they run the tests and be back in around 3 hours to pick her up. I think she mumbled something about taking me for a spin sometime as I turned to walk away so I grabbed Mr. Hackning and made a bee line for the door. When were safely outside and away from the orangutan I ask Mr. Hackning whether or not he’s hungry. Of course he is and of course, like every old person in the entire world, he wants to go to Luke’s Cafeteria for the Early Bird Special. Only 4.95 for all you can eat mushy goodness.
The parking lot is filled with Lincolns, Oldsmobiles, and Cadillacs when we pull in. completely filled to the gills with old men, women, and ones that are so old they look like both. Today is going to be a long day.
“My boy you need to relax. I promise that I only want the best for you. If you’ll only go ask her.”
“Shut. Up. Old. Man.” I grit my teeth hoping that he’ll get the message that I’m serious.
“Excuse me mam? Could you come here for a second. My young single collogue here has a question he would like to ask you.” He looks at me and winks. Old man trying to hook me up with a waitress at an old person cafeteria. “He’s very rich and I heard he’s quite the lover.” He winks again and I try to remind myself to kill him when I get out of this alive. This old man is really starting to bother me.
“I’m so sorry mam but my grandpa is a little out of his mind. You know, Vietnam,” I said. I look over at him and he’s beaming ear to ear. I look up at her and realize, she actually is pretty cute. I think she realizes I’ve become interested and she blushes.
“Well, since he’s crazy I wouldn’t want to upset him. Here’s my number.” She smiles but turns her head to the side trying to hide her embarrassment. I look over at Mr. Hackning . He’s still grinning ear to ear like a damn fool.
“Stop smiling, you look creepy.” I try not to show him that I’m happy with his little escapade but it’s too obvious to hide. Even from some dumb old man.
That waitress wasn’t half bad. We went on a few dates and yeah I got what every man wants but in the end I’m not looking for love. Well, love for an hour or two but nothing permanent. I already babysit my mother and Mr. Hackning. Do I really need to babysit a woman too?
All my mother’s test came back exactly as the doctors predicated that they would. They used terms like “mentally slipping,” “reverting to a younger state,” “brain damage in the frontal lobe.” She took the news just fine; it’s amazing how a child’s mind can adapt to bad news.
The days are starting to become more consistent and I can’t say that I enjoy the fact. My mother is always in a state of confusion and disorientation. She’s begun forgetting who I am, where we live, and saddest of all who she is herself. I thought that bringing her home would help her. It didn’t prevent anything instead it got me tangled up in all the bullshit of her everyday life.
Mr. Hackning, Bobby as he now likes to be called is able to help me more and more each day. He comes over in the mornings to help me convince my mother I’m her son, then we have to convince her that Bobby is her neighbor. I coax her into eating breakfast, wrestle her into eating lunch, and beg her to eat dinner. Every day is a new adventure. It’s only been five short months since I’ve moved into this small home. And only six since I decided mother needed to come back here. If I had have known what was going to happen then I can’t say that I would have moved here. Bobby helps out a lot but I feel like I have to baby sit him too. I worry that he’ll die and his daughter will sue me for whatever reason that bitch can think up.
Bobby’s daughter is coming to visit. From everything he tells me of her, she’s smart, attractive, rich, has a great job, doctor for a husband, and three kids in a private school. He fawns over the woman like she’s some kind of saint. It’s sickening. I can only imagine the horrible person she must really be. It’s all he’s talked about for the past few weeks and I honestly don’t care to hear anymore. I’ve never met a woman that lives up to any standard of mine.
The neighbor’s cat strolls into our yard like it owns the damn place so I blast it with a jet of cold water so he knows who’s the boss. “I hope you like that you little piece of shit.” I hate that damn cat about as much as I hate the old woman who owns it.
“Well that wasn’t very nice. Spraying some poor kitty” I twinge at the nasally squeak of Rebecca Hackning and immediately regret coming outside while she’s staying with Bobby.
“Well, maybe it’ll learn to stay in its own damn yard.” I look away and go back to passive aggressively drowning the flowers to ease the twinge of loathing that creeps into my body.
“I came to ask you a favor Michael. It isn’t a small favor and I know you’ve never really liked me but you’re the only person I can ask and I just thought….”
“Spit it out Rebecca. I don’t have time to beat around the bush.” I’ve listened to this mindless jabbering since we were kids and I don’t want to hear it again that’s for damn sure.
“Can my dad stay with you? He can’t live alone anymore and I can’t afford a nursing home here. He doesn’t want to leave this town. Please Michael?”
I look up from the flowers and let the garden hose spray my pants leg on the way to the ground. I can’t believe this. The audacity. The pure spunk of asking me to babysit an old man. I mean for fuck sake I watch my own mother and now I have to watch her dad too. I turn and walk towards the house. I can hear her right behind me and her saying that it would be best for everyone and that he just simply adores me. I can’t believe this shit. The way she tries to push him off on me.
“Go home Rebecca. I’ll talk to you about it after I’ve thought about the whole thing. Just go home.” I shut the door and slump into the chair by the door. My mother wanders by with a matchbook and I have to chase her down and convince her to give it to me. And I’m supposed to take care of him too.
“I just can’t do it I’m sorry.” I can’t stand when people beg. Like the fact that they’re crying is going to change the way I feel about the situation.
“But we’ll pay you. Please Michael we need you to help take care of him.”
“I promise I won’t be any trouble whatsoever. I’ll stay out from underfoot. I’ll help out, ill even…”
“I said no, Mr. Hackning. I’m sorry but I can’t take of both of you. It’s nothing personal but I have my hands full right now. I really am sorry.” Mr. Hackning stands up from the table and composes himself.
“Lets go Rebecca. He’s made up his mind.”
I stand up and shake both their hands. It really wasn’t personal; I just can’t take care of the both of them. I have a life. I want to have a life outside of old people and dentures. I don’t want to live in a nursing home. I want to be free.
I watch as the last box is hauled up the ramp of the moving truck. Bobby is reluctantly moving with his daughter. Its only a four hours away but he said it could be the moon as far as he was concerned. He’s never lived anywhere else besides here. He looks over and I wave through the curtains to him and Rebecca. He looks for a moment with a look I can’t quiet place. It isn’t hatred or rage but instead almost pity. Like I should be pitied in some way, by an old man who can’t even take care of himself. Well fuck him; I don’t need pity from anybody not even him. I walk into the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee into a mug. It creates a tingle in the back of my throat as I take a long sip and feel it hit the pit of my stomach with a satisfying splash.
“I just couldn’t have handled the both of them. I would if I could.” I whisper into my blue and white spotted mug.
