A Fight to Remember

Holy Mackerel!

February 2037. Meredith:

I didn't know or care what time it was, but it was late. I knew that because my youngest daughter was snoring in her bed. Which worked for me. I quietly slinked through the hall to the living room. It was full of boxes and bags. Stuff they were going to take with them before they shipped me off to a home, I was sure of. I opened up a box, it was full of my research books. I took the box with me to the study and began to unpack it. Then I grabbed another one. Dishes. I carefully unwrapped the newspaper covered plates and bowls and put them back in the cupboard. Another box. Dish rags and cleaning stuff, I put that away. Another box, Ancient DVD's and Blue rays. Those went in the living room.

"Mom?"

"Who's there?" I called out.

"Mom, what are you doing?" The voice came closer, and finally I saw a familiar coif of kinky hair.

"Maggie, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the Mayo?"

"It's me, Zola..."

"Oh! Oh I-uh"

Thankfully, she ignored my verbal fumble, and pointed to the box I was rummaging through. "Are you unpacking?" she asked as I unwrapped some more dishes. "Mom," Zola put her hand over mine. "We talked about this."

Then I figured it out. She was going to stop me. I couldn't let her. I pulled my hand away. "No... no you're lying. You're packing up all my stuff and you're gonna put it in storage. And then you're going to put me in a home. I heard you talking. You tricked me into signing those papers..." Zola was the one with all the power. I knew what she was going to do. I had heard them talking. I should know, I did this to my mother. I convinced her to go into a home... Now they were doing it to me. I wouldn't let them. Not without a fight.

"Did you read your journal mom? Remember what you wrote in it?" Zola asked, crossing her arms. She seemed tired. Why did she seem so tired?

I picked up an old red cup and stared at it. Tiny white hair-thin lines snaked across it. It had been broken once, but somehow carefully glued back together.

I didn't remember reading my journal. I hadn't looked in my journal in a long time. Besides, it was lies, all lies. I shook my head and stepped back. "I know what you're doing, but it won't work-"

"Mom!" Zola cried out. "You have to stop this. We love you, we're not putting you in a home... we're moving, okay? All of us together are moving. Back to your old house. The one you lived in when you got me."

Zola reached for the cup and I wrenched my arm back,"I don't want to move!" I growled. But the cup slipped out of my hand and fell. I watched in morbid fascination as the cup, which I now realized was Zola's favorite cup, collided with the hardwood floor, the ceramic pieces careening in all directions.

"Oh!" we both exclaimed at once.

"I'm sorry," I said... "I'm sorry," Crap. I broke her favorite cup.

"I'ts okay Mom, but it's not safe here anymore. Last week when I was making supper, you wandered off, you were halfway to the lake when I found you. What if you fell in? What if you got lost? There's no one else around here for a few miles. It takes a half hour and a Ferry Boat ride for anyone to get here."

I tried to follow what she was saying, I tried to understand, but it just seemed too much all at once.

"What if your heart gives out?" Zola was saying...

"My heart is fine!" I snapped.

Zola sighed, a heavy tired sigh, and I regretted snapping at her. What was I doing out here anyway? What were all these boxes for? And then I noticed the cup on the floor. "Zola... your cup," I said.