Her serious tone gave me pause. “Of course, Maudra. You can ask whatever you want, you know that.”
“Well, I was jist thinkin’. Sometimes standin’ outside the chicken coop at night knowin’ there’s a possum in there is often a lot scarier than jist walkin’ on in with a broom an’ chasin’ it out.”
I could hear the rustle of her skirt against the door. “Is that your question, Maudra?”
“Well, I was jist wantin’ yer opinion.”
I shook my head as I stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel around my waist. “As ever, Maudra, your timing is impeccable. I was just thinking something similar myself.”
“You wanna come down fer a bite of dinner before ya go to her?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Maudra. You’re a dear.”
“Aw, pish,” I heard her murmur as she walked away.
AsI turned right off Hainline and headed up North High Street, the sun disappeared behind the horizon in an uncharacteristic lack of color. The night began to settle in the gloom of gray and shadow. I glanced out the driver’s side window and searched the graveyard for the large headstone of Joseph and Luella Morrison. It was easy to find, with the large marble cross still visible in the dimness. Although the tomato, bacon, and fried egg sandwicheswith Maudra had helped calm my nerves, a few moments talking to Grandpa and Grandma would help compose me even more. As I went to turn into the cemetery, I saw they had already shut and locked the gates for the evening. As the fence only stopped cars from entering and not people, I never really understood the gesture. Did they expect people to drive in and dig up their loved ones and drive away with them? I almost parked and walked in, but then decided I shouldn’t keep postponing the inevitable.
Most people would consider it creepy growing up beside a cemetery, with nothing but the woods behind your back. I never had. The cemetery had always been beautiful to me. Before he died, Grandpa would often take me on walks through the cemetery. He would always pick out the oldest gravestones and figure out how old the person buried beneath it was when they passed away. We would make up a story about their life and how they had met their end. After my grandparents died, I continued to come here. The ancient oak trees always seemed to offer protection, and the only noises were the birds and crickets; no one ever yelled in a graveyard.
With a sigh, I turned the wheel and continued to the last house on the lane. It looked even sadder than I remembered. The white siding (or at least it had been white, long before I’d been born) that covered the tiny one-story house seemed to sag. In places, the siding was gone and had been replaced by green-painted plywood. The front porch had collapsed on the right side where a swing used to sit, and was now propped up with cinder blocks. All the windows were dark.
I pulled up onto the weed-infested gravel drive and parked. I shut the car door quietly behind me. Therewasn’t a light coming from the house. I would have thought she wasn’t home if it weren’t for her car parked beside mine. Not that she could drive anymore anyway. Hesitantly, I made my way up the cracked sidewalk and tentatively placed one foot on the porch. It groaned, breaking the silence. I paused, waiting for something. I’m not sure what: the flicker of a light, a greeting, the sound of a shotgun being cocked. After a moment, I placed my other foot on the porch and walked over to the door.
I reached out to turn the handle, but as I grasped the old glass knob, the pressure made the door swing open. My eyes wide, I poked my head through the doorway. It was dark inside. All the shades were drawn, so not even the moonlight made its way in. I could only see a foot or two in front of me by the light from the doorway. As I waited for my eyes to adjust, I stepped the rest of the way in. “Rose?” I could barely hear my own voice. I tried again. “Rose?” This time, my voice cracked. I sounded hoarse and raspy. I sounded petrified. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “Rose? Are you here?” No response.
I shut the door as my hand automatically moved to the light switch on the wall and flicked it on. I gasped. Like a little girl, I gasped. I couldn’t help it. She sat in the middle of the room, in a threadbare moss-green recliner, her eyes blazing.
We took each other in, neither of us budging. If it hadn’t been for the anger in her eyes, I am not sure if I would have known her. For all of her many flaws, she had always been beautiful, more than beautiful. The woman who sat in front of me could easily have been a creature designed to play the part of an evil crone in a horror movie. Her hair was still long, but now only vague reminiscence of anyblond remained. It was streaked with dirty white and mousey gray. It was so thin in places I could see her scalp. Her hair had once been so thick that you couldn’t gather all of it in only one hand. On good days, she would ask me to comb and braid it for her. I had always been proud of her hair.
I forced my gaze away from her hair, bypassing her eyes. Her cheeks were sunken and hollow, her lips nonexistent. The left side of her face was slack as if dead, the side of her mouth turned down into a grimace. Her neck and shoulders were so painfully thin I could see the bones and tendons. Sticking awkwardly out from her clean white nightgown, her hands and feet were bony and gnarled. Surely not all this change had happened in the past week. She easily looked forty years older than the last time I had seen her, and thirty years older than she really was.
When I managed to return to her eyes, her look of fury had been replaced by scared confusion. Obviously, she hadn’t known I was coming. She glanced around rapidly, as if searching for something. Finally, she looked back at me, narrowing her eyes and giving the slightest tilt of her head.
“Rose? It’s me. You don’t need to be afraid.”
She flinched a little at the sound of my voice but continued to stare.
“Rose.” I took another deep breath. “Mom. It’s me, Brooklyn.”
Her dull blue eyes widened in shock and recognition.
I heard her make a whimpering sound and reached out to her as I began to close the distance between us. I thought I saw tears starting to form in the corners of her cadaverous eyes. “Yes, Mom, I’m back.”
I reached out to touch her clawed left hand, and she jerked it back awkwardly with a low growl. I returned to her eyes. They were hard again, angry. She looked away.
I just looked at her. What had I expected? Tears of joy for her long-lost son? Tears of sorrow and repentance for all the wasted years? A tearful reunion full of apologies and forgiveness? I should’ve known better. I took a second to look around the room I knew so well from childhood. Although it had never been spotless, Mom had always kept a relatively neat home, at least clean enough to be livable. I could tell that someone, Donnie, I figured, had tried to straighten up, but there were stacks of newspapers, magazines, and boxes all over the room. I could see into her bedroom from where I stood, and I could see piles of clothes covering the floor. The door next to hers was closed. It was my old room; it looked like it had been nailed shut. This had definitely not all happened over the past week.
I knelt down beside her, careful not to touch her or get too close. “Mom?” I gave her a few seconds before I asked again. “Mom?”
Finally, she turned her head to look at me. Her eyes passed over my face, traveled down my body, and paused at the scars on my right forearm. Her expression was dull and unreadable. I could tell it was the best I was going to get.
“Mom. I’m back. Donnie called last week and let me know about your stroke. I came back to help take care of you.” At this she sneered, causing the left side of her mouth to look even more grotesque. “I just came tonight to say hello. I know it’s been a while and there’s lots of catching up to do.” I glanced around, trying to fill the void. “Now that I’m here, I might as well help clean up a bit.” I had no idea what to say to her. No idea what to do. At least cleaning was something that I could do, some way I could help.
I got up, went over to one of the piles of newspapers by the front door, and started to pick it up. She let out a wheezing bark; I stopped and looked over at her. Her fury was back, and she shook her head slightly.
“What? You don’t want me to clean all this up?”
She growled again.
