CarolAnn Edscorn
This short story had several concepts: Telling a story mostly through dialog; using common cliches to illustrate common truths; and, reversing human ideas of normal.
KIDS
“Did you brush your teeth, dear?”
“MOM!”
“Well, your last check-up, dear--”
“Mom, just chill. I’ve lived long enough to know how to take
care of myself.”
“Yes, dear.” Quiet. “Did you
remember to use--”
“Deodorant? Yes. And I have on
clean underwear.” Slender and pale, Kyren popped out of her bedroom. Shimmering
auburn waves framed an elfin face. “Mom, I even have on matching socks AND
shoes, and a seasonably warm yet stylish wool coat purchased ON SALE," Kyren
smiled, “at SAKS. I am on my way to
work, Mom. Remember?”
Kyren’s dancing sky blue eyes
connected with her mother’s deep ocean blue ones. Italian driving mocs tread
softly across the polished parquet maple.
Mom
looks so small, Kyren noticed. Her mom looked frail, snuggled on the
rocker, a soft pink blanket tucked around her. Kyren bent down to kiss her good
bye. Delicate fingers reached up to caress her face.
“Love you, Kyren.”
“Love you, Mom.”
They rocked together for a few
moments. “Gotta run, Mom.”
She heard a soft sigh.
“Is your brother up? Is your little
sister moving?”
“Mom.”
“Sorry.”
Kyren gave a quick peck on Mom’s
cheek, picked up her Armani suede hand bag, and strode to the entry. “I’ll
check on Linnis. Bye, Mom!”
“Bye, dear,” came quietly from the
rocker.
Her sister’s bedroom was still in
shadow. Kyren sighed. The room looked like Filene’s Basement Store after a
clearance sale—an angora sweater draped a chair, five (or six?) designer jeans
were strewn about the floor. There were hats, scarves and shoes tossed about.
And the lumpy goose down comforter was a sure indication of Linnis’ whereabouts.
“Linnis! Move! You’re late again!
You’ll be late for your own funeral!”
“I can live with that,” came the
muffled response. Kyren’s response was cut short by the radio alarm.
“KISS 108, Boston’s number one rock-"
A hand shot out of the covers and
smashed the clock to the floor.
“Linnis.”
“What?”
“Linnis!”
“What?”
“I’ve got to go. Love you.”
“Mutual.”
Kyren smiled, shrugged into her
tailored camel overcoat, and started out the door. She paused and gazed back.
“Evad! I’m going! Remember to pick
up the dry cleaning. Love you!”
A tall figure loomed at the end of
the hall. Kyren’s features clearly came from her mother—Irish, fair and sunny.
Evad had his father’s Mediterranean dark looks. He had his Palm Pilot™ in hand,
keying the touch pad.
“Dry cleaning. Got it. Love you.
Have a great day. Linnis up yet?”
“Hey, she’s lived long enough to
know about consequences. See you.”
“Ciao.” Evad wore a creamy, 310 thread count Egyptian cotton shirt and tan slacks. Not as tailored as his sister, as he
loved softer casual clothing.
“Evad, is that you?”
“Yes, Mom—and my teeth are brushed,
hair is combed, clothing pressed and tummy full.”
“My darling boy.”
His mother’s condescension didn't
bother him, even though he was an adult. Especially since his father died, he
understood his Mom’s need to, well, mother.
“Evad, is Linnis up?”
The sound of running water echoed
down the hall.
“Yep.” He heard his mother sigh. He
crossed to the rocker. His height only made his mom look smaller. He bent over
and hugged her. “I might be a little late for dinner.”
“Oh, Evad…”
“I have a new client and the floor
plans and fabric swatches are pulled together. I need to locate some
furnishings to round out the project.”
“I am so proud of you, son. It only
your father—“
“Mom, enough. Don’t go maudlin on
me! It’s so easy for me to catch your emotions. I have to be focused today!”
“Yes, Evad,” she brightened. “I
love the beard, dear.”
“Doesn't make me look too young?”
“No, dear. You look debonair.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’re awesome.”
“Have a great day!”
“You too, Mom. Love you, bye.”
“Did you brush—“
“Yes, Mom. BYE!”
“Bye, son.”
The mother heard the front door
latch close, heard the shower shut off, heard Linnis humming, the street
traffic from below. Memories filtered through the sunbeams playing in the
motes, danced through her mind and heart. From her perch on the rocker she
could see the family photographs—her ‘rogue gallery’—and vacation souvenirs and
school awards.
Her favorite mementos were set on
the mantle, encased in crystal domes, one for each birth.
Linnis bounced into the parlor,
towel drying her hair. Her 40 pound back pack thumped the floor.
“All in black, dear? Oh, Linnis.
Those baggy jeans—are there enough chains hanging on them?”
“Match the ones on my neck, Momsy.”
“Black lipstick? My dear, the
eyeliner—why, you have too much kohl on. And your finger nails! Oh, dear.”
“Only young once, Mom.”
“I know.”
Linnes saw little shimmers in her
mother’s eyes. “Mom don’t, Mom, no crying—Mom!”
“I just keep thinking that if your
father was still alive…”
“Mom, it’s just a color,” Linnis
knelt by the small figure and wrapped her thin arms about her mom.
“Hey, hey now, I’m okay, dear.”
Linnis hugged tighter, willing the
tears away. The sniffles stopped.
“Linnis! You’re thinner!”
“Lost some weight.”
“Not again, dear.”
“Happens, Momsy. It’s just weight.”
“Oh my darling—each of my
darlings—each birth so different, each child so unique…you've always had a
flair for the dramatic, my Linnis.”
“I know, Momsy. Hey, I've got to catch
the bus. Would you like apple or orange juice before I go?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll get you prune juice!”
“No! Soy milk, vanilla.”
Linnis danced into the kitchen,
filled a bottle with soy milk, and warmed it. Watching her mom age was tough.
She was so small, so fragile, so dependent! Her father’s passing, while
expected, had been heart wrenching. She pranced back into the parlor, the
bottle of warmed soy milk held high like a banner. She scooped up her mother,
pink blanket and all, and waltzed about the living room.
“Linnis! Linnis! Put me down! Oh,
my gosh! Linnis! Stop!”
Spinning, gliding and hopping,
Linnis hugged her mother close to her heart.
“Linnis! I’ll spit up!”
That stopped the twirling.
“Um. Spit up on black is not good.”
Mother and daughter gazed at one another.
“You’re a good egg, dear. Now put
me down.”
“In the rocker?”
“No dear, I need to lie down.”
Linnis lovingly carried her mother,
swaddled in pink fleece, to the old Jenny Lind in a shadowed corner of the
room.
“Nannie will be here any moment.
You’d best run, Linnis love. Don’t miss the bus.”
Linnis laid her mother down gently,
handed her the bottle, placed the silver rattle (a precious and comforting
remembrance) within her reach. She leaned down to kiss the cherubic cheek.
“Momsy?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Well, Evad is so old, he is so
involved in his responsibilities, being the last born…”
“Yes, princess?”
“And Kyren has begun, y’know, the
change of life. But she still has years left. But, Mom…”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Does it hurt Are you comfortable,
Mom?”
Her mother’s gaze wandered to the
mantle piece.
“No, Linnis, it doesn't hurt. The
only discomforts are gas and a soiled nappie, and that’s mostly embarrassing.”
Honesty brings quietude.
“You miss Daddy?”
“Yes.”
They were silent then, the first
born daughter and her mother.
“Better run now, princess.”
“Yeah. Love you Momsy.”
“Love you, Linnsy.”
Linnis dashed to the entry way,
snatching up her back pack. She paused at the open door and gazed back at her
mother.
Her mother was looking at the three
mementos of the births of her children, each born as adults. Her youngest,
Evad, had come in a shell of slate blue. Her middling, soft but self-assured,
had stepped out of an opalescent egg of azure and pink. And her first born, her
forthright adventuress, had literally danced out of a canary yellow shell.
Good memories. Good adults.
“Momsy?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is it scary? Growing young?”
“Not when you have a wonderful
family, Linnis.”
Nannie had just come down the hall
from the elevator, so Linnis quietly walked away. Nannie closed the door softly
and tip toed to where mother slept.
“Oh, you precious thing,” she
whispered.
Mother’s eyes were closed, a drop
of soy milk glistened on her lips. The bottle had rolled out of her little
hand, but the other fingers had a firm grip on the silver rattle. Nannie picked
up the baby bottle, tucked the blanket around her, and tenderly stroked the
curly wisps of auburn hair.
“Sure and ‘tis true, what folk
say,” she murmured. "Babies are sure close to Heaven.”
END
CarolAnn Edscorn
January 01, 2004 – Original
September 19, 2014 - transcribed
Jaffrey, New Hampshire 03452
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