MAIN EVENT. A Good Place to Get Started --- a.k.a "Table of Contents"
|
|
MAIN EVENT. A Good Place to Get Started --- a.k.a "Table of Contents" |
| MY GLASS HOUSE | THE PREVIOUS EVENT | THE NEXT EVENT | THE WRITERS/GUIDELINES | |
MOTHERLESS CHILD 2 - I'm sure my next telephone bill will be horrendous. I called Bermuda last night in an attempt to reach my sister-in-law, Martha Rudell, before she left for Australia and New Zealand on holiday with my niece Karen. But she had already flown off the island.So I inadvertently ended up listening to my mother. I, pointedly, do not saying "talking with" because my mother did most of the talking. I only interrupted her monologue with typical male responses to the dialogue like "Hmmn-hn," "Oh really?" "You must be kidding," for most of the NINETY MINUTES which my mother kept me on the phone.
Except twice.
The first time I said, "Mom, excuse me for interrupting, but this whole time you haven't paused to ask how I'm doing or what. You go on and on about my brothers and everyone else but you continue to act as if I'm barely alive."
"Leon," she said, "you're not being fair!"
"Mom! I'm Rod! Rod. You don't even remember my name!"
"Yes, I do, Rod. I just misspoke ----"
"Mom," I said. "Don't you see how it hurts me that you've abandoned me? You abandoned me long ago and after all these years nothing has changed."
"I wish you didn't feel that way," she said. "I care about all my children.
"It's just that you have always been the strong one. You never asked me for anything. I just never worried about you because I knew you would always be okay..."
That was it for the acknowledgement that I was alive. She continued on talking about the death of my favorite aunt, gossip from the island, the news of the world as she saw it.
The World's Magazine: g21.net
Event # 204: THE SHAPE OF MY HEART
This Pull-down Menu will hyperjump you to all our great features. Try it!
JOIN THE G21 MAILING LIST. Get updates on new features. Take part in our Readership polls, shape the future of The World's Magazine. It's easy! E-mail The World's Magazine with the "Subject" line: SUBSCRIBE.
Want to know more about our community? The Info is here.
LAST WEEK's EDITION
For Deep Background visit the G21-Barnes & Noble Shop
OR get great books at the G21 BARNES & NOBLE SEARCH ENGINE
Discover the MOIA Discussion List
She could have been talking to a tape machine. At some points she lapsed --- my mother is eighty years old, after all --- and made comments like "Girl, you should have seen blah-blah-blah.." as though she were reciting the details to one of her cronies.
But it was me. Only me. Her son, whose name she infrequently remembers.
The second time I interrupted her soliloquoy I said, "Mom, before I go, I want you to know something."
"All right."
"I don't know if Rudell told you, so I will. I'm a writer, Mom. I've been a writer most of my life, just as I told you I would be when I was a child.
"There are even people who think I'm good at it.
"I followed my dream, Mom. I actually get paid for it, something you and Daddy swore would never happen. In case we don't talk again, I wanted you to know that I did it. I became the man I wanted to be."
"Well that's good, Rod," she said. "I hope you're happy now. Your father and I didn't encourage you, I know. We thought it was so much foolishness. Do you actually make money at it now?"
"Yes, Mom."
"Well... I guess --- I guess we were wrong to discourage you."
"Yes, Mom. And that hurt me, too."
"Do you need anything, Rod?"
"No. You know I've never asked you for anything."
"Yes.... I know. Your pride..."
And then she told me about her last trip to the hospital. That was it for personal conversation about me. We had said all we would say about me, her son, until she suggested that I should come "home" to Bermuda during the off-season because it would be cheaper.
That is the way with my mother.
It is always like I'm an after-thought for her, or an embarrassment.
Sometimes, when I am hopeful, I secretly suspect that she knows that she made a mistake with me. That she *knows* that I had to become "strong" because I could expect no support and no encouragement from her or my father for what I wanted to do with my life.
So I listened. I watched the minutes click by on the clock on the toolbar of my computer. I listened to my mother recount the incidents of the lives of everyone she knew, my brothers, my nieces and nephews. I listened to her complain about all the money she has sent to my youngest brother and his family and how ungrateful they are. I listened to her describe funerals and births.
Finally, when I said I had to go, she asked, "Rod, what happened with you and that girl?"
"Which one?"
"You know. That Jamaican girl Rudell told me you were seeing up north."
"Oh. It didn't work out. I'm too busy, Mom. I have the magazine and my writing and editing. I really don't have time to maintain a relationship."
"Oh shuh!" she exclaimed. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
"I know, Mom."
"Rod, your divorce was almost twenty years ago. You need to make time in your life for a new woman. I mean that.:
"I know, Mom. I shall. Eventually. I just have some things I need to take care of first."
"Well, you go eat, son," she said. "Go eat some rice. I know how you love it."
"Rice is the people's food, Mom."
She laughed. "Yes, you always said that. I thought maybe you had turned Vietnamese on us or something."
"They eat rice in Africa, too, Mom."
"Rod?"
"Yes."
"I love you, you know, son."
"I love you, too, Mom."
+++ THE RDR Archives +++
MY GLASS HOUSE | THE PREVIOUS EVENT | COMING ATTRACTIONS | THE WRITERS/GUIDELINES |
© 2000, GENERATOR 21.
E-mail your comments. We still like to hear from you. Send your snide remarks to rod@g21.net.
