by Matt Potter
“How much more of my money are you spending, Phil?”
My mother watches through thick glasses, chin wispy in the sunlight, as I put her old-fashioned bank book back in her bedside drawer.
“The price of everything's gone up,” I say. “But I don't have to buy you chocolate if it's costing too much.”
She says nothing and bends her head again, gnarled hands slowly breaking a family-sized chocolate block into pieces.
I brush chocolate crumbs off the white sheet before they melt and smear, then thump her pillows into submission and replace them behind her back.
“No one listens to me here,” my mother says, leaning back on the pillows. “You're never here long enough, and none of the nurses or carers or cleaners or cooks can be bothered.” She pops two chocolate pieces in her mouth. “Thank God for Vera. She always listens.”
Only friends four weeks and it's always Vera now.
I put my hand to my mouth, stifling a yawn.
“It's good that you have a new friend,” I say. Though I want to say, Why don't you get Vera to do your personal shopping and pay your bills and keep you connected with the outside world?
“Vera brought me a cake last week. 'Course I couldn't eat it — too rich.” She pushes two more pieces in her mouth, her teeth gooey brown. “If you stay, you can meet her later. She's bringing me some magazines.”
I open my mouth to answer, but stop. And watch as she munches more chocolate.
We meet in the nursing home car park, out of sight of my mother's window. Vera looks exactly like the photo she sent responding to my ad: piggy eyes, doughy face, wiry salt-and-pepper hair. And chin stubbly in the sunlight.
“It's nice to see you again, Vera,” I say.
“Yes,” she says. “Where's my money?” She laughs her smoker's rasp.
I only half-smile, and place $100 of my mother's money in her open hand. I notice the magazines she's brought are dog-eared. The print will probably be too small too.
“That's $25.00 for one visit a week,” I remind her.
“I baked her a cake so I'll need to get my money back for the ingredients too,” she adds.
I slap another $20 in her palm. “I'll see you in four weeks' time. Make sure she doesn't find out.”
Vera reaches into her blouse and stashes the money in her stupendous bra. “Mum's the word.”
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This story was published on The Glass Coin in November 2010. The idea came to me after my partner had received yet more complaints from his mother, who lives in a nursing home. So the story has some - but only some - basis in reality. The character of Vera is fictional, though I know people who have and do work in and running visiting programmes ...
Awesome! ;-)
This is such a true and heartbreaking story. I love and appreciate the uncluttered prose and how you just lay out the details and dialogue and let the story unfold naturally. That Vera is paid for her friendship to his mother surprises, then, of course does not surprise at all. It's altogether true to life and sad. Great work. *
This one rings true and sadly. Love the last line. *
Kathy, your opening comment made me laugh out loud ... I was in a tetchy mood last night ...
Thank you for then going on to read my story - it's one of those stories where the details are true enough, but altogether the story is not. It was fun to write though, and to be honest, made my partner laugh out loud when I read him parts of it.
Kim, I toyed with that last line because it seemed so obvious and also so mean ... but was advised to keep it (and what else could I put there?) and was glad I did and that you enjoyed it.
Haha, most of the time I'm more articulate than "awesome!" but had read Nicolle's at 1:30 a.m. during a bout of insomnia, ugh.
I really like this story. I loved "stupendous bra"!
Thank you again - "stupendous bra". I did chuckle when I wrote that, really the very last words I wrote. I wanted an extra word before bra and I thought of pendulous breasts - probably flaccid under her polyester frock! - and then stupendous came from that, thinking that lugging those mothers about - braless - may well be painful. ANd for all her trashy appearance, she is probably proud of them, and would have been more so when they were bright and fresh and upright. 'Stupendous breasts' sounds too sexual, whereas 'stupendous bra' sounds more operatic and comic. Vera has probably spent half her life lifting things in and out of that bra!
I like the writing, how dialogue is the primary engine for moving the story forward, but lately I'm less in the mood for hanging out inside stories without a single character I'd want to sit down and have a beer with. Must be a winter thing. : )
This is such a powerful story .. a place no one wants to be, yet we may all be on both sides of it.
Jo, your comment made me laugh because ... well ... it's so true! These are people who you would have to be feeling really on top of things, to put up with. The son (Phil) is the most sympathetic, the mother feels powerless and uses her wit and wiles to make her presence felt, and Vera is merely opportunistic. Oh dear, yes, these things are worse in winter. Good luck with the weather - it is summer here in Australia but we have just had storms so it's kind of grey and a bit reminiscent of winter. Thank you for reading and commenting.
Thanks Matt - yeah, who wants to be in a nursing home! Or dealing with difficult mothers! Or opportunistic women like Vera! They all have reasons for being difficult or horrible ... but the mother and Vera are probably people you would not want to meet. So thanks for reading.
Oh man. Well I for one didn’t see that coming, but for the story’s sake I like where it went. Really enjoyed this.
Thanks Kim - makes me wonder now if others were so surprised too by the ending. Thanks for reading and commenting.
makes one wish we could choose when to leave this life.
Such a sad story
This is splendid, tight, and real, and I'm glad I found it because it missed it the first go-round. As someone who is dealing with/has dealt with an aging parent, it strikes a chord. The exasperation, the work-around--it all rings true.