A Heart Exposed
It is only four o’clock, and she’s already working on a second glass of chardonnay. It’s been a normal day.
“When one hand is tending to life beginning and the other to life ending, one’s arms are stretched so widely open that the heart is entirely exposed ...”
The grass needs mowing, but she doesn’t notice. The flowers need watering, too, but Erin lies on the lounge in the backyard, scrolling idly through her iPhone. Her mom brings lunch out to her, kale and quinoa salad with tofu, then returns to the house. Erin smiles. Thank God, she finally understands that I am a vegan, and my food is important to me. I love her, but sometimes she just doesn’t get it. She never really listens to me, and doesn’t understand how hard life is for me right now . I thought she’d be happy that I stayed in school, that I got my degree, but it’s never enough for her.
“Mom!” she yells, “You forgot my juice. Could you bring it to me please?” Does she think I actually like living here with her and grandma? She won’t even let Gerald sleep here with me, which is so unfair. I’m not a child — I am 23! She knows I have no money for a place of my own right now. Why does she have to be so mean?
Doreen comes back out with a tall glass of green juice. “I thought you were going out to look for work today, honey. You said you were going to find something today. It’s been weeks.”
“I AM looking, mom, I really am, but there is just nothing out there for me right now. The economy is in the toilet, you know? And I am not taking a stupid job in a cafe or bar. I am an artist. I wish you could understand and stop nagging, it doesn’t do any good. I’ll just keep showing my paintings around. I’m going to get into a gallery in the city. I am! And if not, I will search in Jersey or wherever, for a place to sell my work.”
“Well, are you considering anything else in the meantime, Erin? At least until you get on your feet?”
“I’m thinking of looking for something in advertising … or publishing, maybe. Book illustrations — I could totally do that. Hey, could I borrow your white angora sweater when I go out tonight?”
Lillian sits in the rocker with her crocheted afghan on her knees, mis-matched socks on her feet. She’s been running her fingers through her hair, and it’s sticking out in all directions. She’s forgotten to put in her dentures again. A bowl of tapioca sits on the side table, ignored. That Doreen! She’s getting so bossy. She makes me eat, when I’m not hungry. She wants me to take a shower again, but I had a shower yesterday — I remember. She makes me get dressed even when I am not going out anywhere. I hope she doesn’t make me go anywhere. I don’t want to go anywhere. Where are my damned glasses?
Murder She Wrote, comes on at 11:00. She watches it a while, without realizing that the sound is off. She yells, “Doreen! Something is wrong with this damn TV set - it isn’t working right. Come fix it, will you, sweetheart?”
“You just have to remember to turn it up, Ma,” Doreen says, coming in from the kitchen. “This arrow right here, makes it louder, remember? And why not put on your glasses so you can see a little better. Let me help. Could you please eat your pudding, mama? You have to eat something. Then we’ll get ready for your shower when Murder is over. Okay? I’ll wash your hair.”
She goes back to the kitchen to cook something for her mom’s lunch. That Doreen thinks she knows everything. She is always fussing, treating me like a baby. Take your pills! Eat your soup! I can take care of myself. I’m going back to my own house tomorrow. I’ll get a taxi. I will. What happened to my teeth? Why don’t I have my teeth in? She shuffles slowly into the bathroom, but then can’t remember why she went in there. She stands in the hall for a bit, then goes to her bedroom for a nap just as Doreen puts her lunch on the table.
Doreen sits at the kitchen table now, making out her grocery list. I’ll just call it in, have it delivered. Green beans, tofu sausage for Erin, ice cream and tapioca for Mama, wine, crackers. It is only four o’clock, but she’s already working on a second glass of chardonnay. It’s been a normal day. She’s given her mother a shower, combed her hair, helped her find her teeth, and trimmed her fingernails. She’s making noodle soup for dinner, and a separate dinner for Erin. She goes into her daughter’s room, gathers up all the clothes scattered on the floor and starts a load of laundry.
There’s a splotch of yoghurt on the floor next to the stove and she goes over to wipe it up. Erin never notices the messes she makes — coffee grounds spilled on the counter, a banana peel thrown into the sink, not three feet from the waste bin. I’m so tired of reminding her to clean up after herself. Cabbage, dish soap, oat milk, gluten-free cereal. What the hell IS gluten , anyway? And why won’t Erin eat it? Ever since she finished college and moved back home, she’s become a child again. I warned her from the beginning that getting a degree in fine art was like getting a degree in welfare, and that she needed to gain some marketable skills. If only she’d find a job — look for a job, even. Anything. I love her so much, but that girl has got to grow up and get out on her own.
She pours herself a third glass of wine and goes to put Erin’s clothes in the dryer. She hears her mother call from the back room.
Kitchen photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash.com. Erin photo by Vianney Cahen on Unsplash.com. Lillian photo by Benjamin Brunner on Unsplash.com Doreen photo - from
Thank you,
at Death & Birds, for letting me quote you.
Doreen has to take care of herself or she'll end up in a depressed coma or drunk on the floor. Time to stop feeding Erin. Quit buying special food so she has to buy it herself AKA get a job to pay for it. "Forget" her stuff at the grocery store. Quit doing the kid's laundry, or screw it up (on purpose) so she'll take over. SIX is old enough to do laundry. Coddlng a 23 yr old is not love. Getting her on her way is love. Gram Neeeds better care. Pudding and icecream just push her to the end. Maybe that's the plan. Nobody even thought thanks, so let it go.
This made me want to start sympathy drinking with Doreen! Brilliant piece, Sharron, you painted such a picture...