WORKSHOP STORY OF THE MONTH
SUNDAY BREAKFAST
By Teresa Garza
I giggle as I hide my eyes, believing that if I can’t see my mom she can’t see me. I look up and then I hide my eyes. Now I see her, now I don’t. There’s light, now it’s dark. I am magical. I can control the light. Peeking through my fingers I see her legs as she passes by the kitchen table.
I watch her go back and forth between the stove and the refrigerator. Her pink bedroom slippers scuffle across the linoleum, the lace fringe of her light blue housecoat hangs down in the back. She has sewn it many times and it still hangs where it has been worn to the point that there is no fabric to hold the thread. There are 6 silver snaps in the front, I know because I counted them. They are not snapped and are open showing her pink nightgown with the front lace.
I smell bologna frying in the black skillet on the stove. My game of hide and seek continues for a while and mom is content with the quiet, lost in her own thoughts. I peer around the chair leg and I can see her with the spatula flipping pancakes, just staring at the stove, a cigarette hangs from her lips. She takes a puff then changes hands with the spatula so she can reach up and grab her cigarette with her fingers.
She leans against the counter. Mom looks much older today than she did yesterday. Do people really get old overnight? Mom seems tired. I watch as she takes a labored breath then flicks the ashes into the overflowing metal ashtray next to my pet turtle’s bowl. My mom was really mad at my turtle yesterday for climbing out of his bowl and getting into the bread drawer. She found him next to the wonder bread. He is now on timeout and can’t have his favorite rock back.
Large yellow curlers are pinned to the top of her head, she must have been up early to have already showered. The smell of fresh shampoo is layered just below the fried bologna. I love when mom uses the pink shampoo with the strawberries on the bottle. Here hair is still wet. Her eyes are red, she must have gotten soap in them. The house is unusually quiet, the yellow clock on the wall is ticking,…tick, tick, tick, the steady beat becomes background for the rhythm of the scrapping sound the spatula makes when it scratches the skillet, and the sizzling of the bologna completes the ensemble.
I enjoy my own little symphony, just me and my mom, even though she is not feeling well or talking too much I enjoy having her all to myself. This will end soon as I can hear my sister beginning to make noises in the bedroom. It wont be long now before she starts crying for mom to hold her. I pretend to be invisible, no one can see me, I am fading into the wall behind the table legs. The phone rings and mom ignores it. I don’t’ think she wants to talk to Jim, my stepfather. He must have left early this morning. If he doesn’t get home soon, he is going to miss breakfast.
I am sitting up on my knees and my head is just above the olive green padding of the chair seats, I fold my hands on the seat and put my nose right on the padding, it’s cold. 1…2…3….4….5….I pause and look to see if mom is hearing me count. I can go pretty far, more than anyone else in my class. My teacher tells me I’m smart. Mom looks at me, she tries to smile but it’s not the smile that mom usually gives me when she is happy. There is something sad about this smile. I don’t know what’s wrong. I notice the blue marks on the right side of her face. Mom is really clumsy lately, she told me she hit her head on the freezer door. She must have been pulling the door really hard. It left a big bruise almost the size of a hand.
The sound of a familiar squeal comes from the back of the house where my sister has started her day. Mom turns the stove off and tells me to sit in the chair that breakfast is ready. Not sure how she saw me, my magic powers to be invisible must have worn off. I climb onto the chair where my favorite cup is, the one with the picture of Dumbo on it. Mom has my sister Tracy on her hip when she comes back to the kitchen. She sits her down on the chair next to me. My sister’s long brown hair is mangled in knots and she is rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She is still crying and mom tells her to “hush now”. Mom is not feeling well today. I have a funny feeling in my stomach and I know it would help mom if I am good. I look at my sister and I don’t say anything even though she is crying and being a big baby. See mom I’m being good. Tracy gives me a dirty look, which should get at least a tongue or a funny face, but I know mom is not feeling well so I’m being good.
Mom sits at the end of the table, with her back to the hallway leading to the back staircase. She is smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. I guess she already ate. She is looking past me, past the wall behind me, past the room next door and past the street outside. Her gaze is locked in a frozen stare seeing something that is farther away than I have ever been. Her trembling fingers hold the cigarette but the ashes are long like she forgot she had it. She just stares. The swelling of her face is getting worse, the greenish blue color starts at the side of her eye and extending all the way to her lips, which are cracked. A big split of skin is centered on the bottom lip and a dark brown color of dried blood fills in the cracks. After she gets dressed she will use lots of make up to cover it up and it will be just fine. Mom has to be more careful when she is in the kitchen. I will remind her next time she opens the freezer door not to hurt herself again.
“You Can’t Judge A Book By Its Cover”
By By
Sonia E. Ravech
His arms and neck were embellished with tattoos. A silver cross dangled from his left ear lobe. He wore a black tee shirt emblazoned across the front with the image of a skeleton wielding a sword. His baggy jeans hung low on his hips exposing red and black plaid boxers. A pack of cigarettes bulged from his left rear pocket. Stuffed into the pocket on the right was a long handled square shaped brush which he periodically pulled out and used to stroke his waist length hair which was partially tucked under a New York Yankees baseball cap.
He entered the Boca Raton Community Hospital emergency room pushing an elderly woman in a wheel chair. She wore a flowered nightgown covered with a tattered cotton robe. Slippers enveloped her feet. Her eyes were shut, her mouth hung open. She appeared to be sleeping. He pushed the wheel chair into the corner and bent down to whisper in the woman’s ear. “I’ll be right back Grandma. I have to check you in.” She opened her eyes and gazed into his face with clouded eyes.
He returned a short time later. “How are you feeling Grandma?” The woman was unresponsive. “Are you thirsty?” He arose and went to the vending machine and bought a bottle of water. “Here, Grandma, take a drink,” he whispered. He cupped his hand under her chin and tilted her head back. “Swallow, Grandma, you’ve got to swallow so you won’t be thirsty.” He pressed the water bottle to her lips. “That’s a good girl,” he said as he removed the bottle. He arose and retrieved a tissue from a box on the front desk and gently wiped the spittle from her mouth.
He continued to hover over her. “Grandma, you can’t keep doing this. Grandpa says you won’t eat or drink anything. You have to eat or else the doctor will admit you into the hospital and feed you through a tube. You don’t want them to do that again, do you?” The woman opened her eyes and stared vacantly into space.
He pulled the brush from his pocket and gently stroked the silver strands away from her face. “Do you want anything, Grandma? Do you want some more water?” She weakly shook her head.
“Mrs. Ravech, Sonia Ravech,” I heard my name called. “They are ready for you in triage.” I arose and walked towards the double doors. I looked back and saw the young man take the empty seat next to his Grandma. He held her bony hand in his, stroking it gently. As I glanced at the pair, I realized I no longer noticed his tattoos or the earring or the baggy pants. All I saw was his compassion and LOVE.
Previous Workshop Stories of the Month
Craig's List - A Chanukka Story - December 2009
A Better Life - October 2009
My Siblings - August 2009
Alas, Mr. Martin! He Really Tried! - July 2009
Night Blooming Jasmine - June 2009
