Phoning Home

PHONING HOME

“We’re fine,” I said. This is a ritual weekend
call to family. It’s cheaper to catch up then.
“She’s doing much better now; her heart’s
beating okay,” says Mum. We’ve moved
from niceties right into poor health, and

Mum says “We drove home from the hospital,
it was 2am. Scary. Have you ever been out
at 2 in the morning?” I didn’t answer; she didn’t
really want to know. “It’s scary,” she repeats,
“I nearly hit a stupid kid riding a bike – what
the Sam hell is a kid on a bike doing on the
street at 2 in the morning?” she asks, and

I’m thinking Mum shouldn’t really be driving.
Not at her age but when you’re 85-ish you
don’t hear what’s good for you. “… and he’s
wrong about the bulbs; they didn’t bloom,” and

I realise she’s moved into the next rib
of the conversation. It’s like symphonic move-
ments: the niceties, health, church, gossip,
annoyances, weather, food, money, and then
a final flurry of must go must go … and

I know we’re nearing that point from her
tone. “I’d better go.” she says, “We’re
having breakfast downstairs in the dining room
but she never knocks on my door. She stands
in the hallway waiting for me to appear ‘cause
she thinks people knocking on the door scares
me. Loopy. We worry about her. Most of us
think she’s going bingo-bingo,” Mum says. And

the bingo-bingo surprises me. “You know,” she
says, “Bingo. Nutty.” Oh, I sigh, and Mum says,
“She’ll stand out there in the hall for hours.
You have to keep looking through the peephole
to see if she’s standing out there.” So, I
suggest that she looks, just to be sure, … and

Mum says, “No, I can’t see her, not yet. Unless
she’s sitting on the floor; I wouldn’t see her then.”
So I tell her to open the door and check if
she’s sitting there. “No, can’t see her,” she says.
Another pause, “Oh, jiggers! Someone is
knocking on my door!” She’s flustered, … and

I say, “Who is it?”
“It’s her; I’d better go.”
“Okay, Mum. Bye. I love you.”
But she’s already hung up the phone, which
is okay I guess because I assume
she knows that I love her anyway.

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Written for Joseph Harker’s Refinery and Prompt about Family, and also shared with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

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