Somewhere Land (One)

"Mom, Thomas and I are going to wash clothes,"

She pretends not to hear me. She does this everytime. Television sitting across from her, flashes it's colorful, cliched, overly dramatic soap operas; ignored by the person it's perched in front of. I think mom just likes the sound of other people's voices. Not necessarly looking at them, wrapped up in their fake TV land world. She's too busy in her own head.

I stand over her, arms folded like a pissed off parent, tapping my foot impatiently. I hate repeating myself. There's no need to do so when that someone is close enough to hear you.

But I do anyway.

"Mom!" I say, almost yelling. All I need for you to say is, 'Okay.' How complicated is that!

She arranges domino's on a sticky place mat, dirty from the oranges she peeled for breakfast. They fall over. She sighs and picks them up again. Thomas emerges from his bedroom, humming happily, his batman sack dragging behind him.

"Ready! Can we go now?" He's ready for Chinese food and arcade games. I promised him that we would spend the weekend doing something fun, detach ourselves from home for a few hours. And mom. The kid needs a break from her zombie like behavior.

There's no need to ruin his excitement with my paranoia and obsession over mom's welfare. But I have to know that she is okay.

"Okay, Thomas," I smile "Go wait in the car."

He goes, but not before pecking mom's cheek and saying, "Love you, mom." He is such a sweet kid. Mom returns his affection with a small hug and a smile. Once Thomas is gone, I'm pestering her again.

"Are you going to be okay, mom? Do you want me to bring you something back?"

Of course not. What a dumb thing to ask. But I need to hear her voice.

She sniffs, wipes her nose with her sleeve, and stacks her black blocks one on top of the other.

I should just go.

I tell myself to.

She'll be all right.

Even though she really isn't.

A commercial for lipstick comes on. Beyonce boasts about the wonders of Revlon.

I touch my mom's hair. It's dry and tangled and smells.

I need to go now. Can't keep Thomas waiting.

"Well, We'll be back soon." Why do I state the obvious? She knows this. I don't have to tell her.

As I'm grabbing my bag and washing products, she says,

"Bring me some fried rice?"

It takes a hundred tons of strength not to cry. I feel like sobbing every time she speaks because it's easy to forget the sound of her voice.

"Promise."

Then I leave.