Curlers were what made Ms. Cathy Swine Moris feel complete every morning. Even in her old age, she never thought much about the ache in her finger joints, or how thin her hair was getting. All she cared for was the simple curl of her late mother’s old curlers. The simple bounce of her hair was enough to make her peaceful life more calm and enjoyable. She never realized how deeply she needed them until a dear friend was trying to spare her of sorrow.
The day her mother died, is still crisp in her mind. The year was 1945, and she had just turned eight, old enough to remember everything in a smaller way. It was late in August, the end of the most miserable summer she had ever experienced and her mother had not be able to handle the heat. Her mother had fallen ill, deeply ill, and the doctor was afraid she wasn’t going to be coming out of her sickness. There was no way to stop what happened within weeks of her mother’s suffering. Cathy decided to visit with her mother and snuck into her parents’ room, her father in deep conversation with the doctor, not even realizing he still had a daughter outside of the room, seeing how he never came out anymore. Cathy made her way to the bed and looked at her mom. There was a vile smell in a bucket on the other side of the bed, but Cathy could still smell the vanilla bean of her mom. Martha Swine-her mother-was pale, so pale in fact that she nearly was see through and you couldn’t differ woman from bed, and Cathy couldn’t help but notice how unlit her mother’s eyes were, like her mind had already given up on trying to see the bright side of things. Cathy grabbed her mother’s dainty hand and whispered to her, “Momma, it’s me, Momma. It’s Cathy.”
Her mother barely oved to look at her, and when she spoke it took all her energy away from her, “Baby…,” she reached for the side of Cathy’s face. Even though her hands were cold, they still felt soft like Cathy remembered them being.
“Yes, Momma it’s me. This is real. I love you Momma. Stay a bit longer,” Cathy selfishly begged. She didn’t want to live without her mother. She knew kids without mothers and they were mean and bullies, all because they had no other to give them a god talk too, she’d say to herself.
“I love you too, baby. I wish I could stay..but the good Lord is calling me home. You’re a big, big girl now, not much need for...for Momma anymore,” her mother’s head fell to the side. Her breathing stopped and her hand ran cold.
“Momma? Momma? Momma! Momma, come back! Come. Back. Momma! Please!” Cathy began sobbing as the doctor rushed over to her and her father pulled her off of her mother. He held her in his arms as she kept crying and calling for her mother.
“Shhh. Shhh, Cathy. It’s alright. It’s alright, Momma is happy now. She’s happy now,” her father, John, said to sooth his daughter.
The day dragged on as family began calling in and driving over to the Swine’s house. A few weeks later was Martha’s funeral and that's when Cathy began to curl her hair with her mother's curlers.
Years passed and now Cathy is a widow of fifty-seven and has been told that she has cancer. She's not alone however. She lives in her deceased husband's mansion with her care provider, Miss Mary King, the cook, Mr.Clark, the gardener Mr.Doug, and her small pug, Pig. The day after she broke the news to the gang about her doctor's visit and the news of cancer, everyone tried to keep things in a positive mood and tried to fix things to their very best. Her meal was her favorite type of pasta, simple spaghetti, the bed was extra fluffy as she liked it, and she got to play Spades with her closest friends.
That evening as she was going through her evening routine and entered the bathroom. She looked at her now uncurled hair and looked down at her curlers.
“There won't be much need for these anymore,” she said to herself as she closed the case the curlers were in.
Miss King walked in and smiled at her boss, “Come on Ms.Moris, I'll watch the television with you for a few minutes.”
