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I feel an age-old awkwardness take hold of me. I hate it when people ask me about Ma. When they offer to help with her. It feels as if the woman who raised me is now a burden. It highlights how much I wish she was still normal. Combine that with the shame of thinking about my own mother that way and the subject is always guaranteed to push my buttons.
“You probably wouldn’t want to,” I tell her. “It’s nice of you to offer, but likelihood is she’s just going to be grumpy and confused most of the day. Probably watching Dancing with the Stars.”
“Oh yeah, I saw the show on. What’s with that?”
“My mom,” I explain, as I pull the truck down into the forest lane towards home, “was a dance teacher when she was younger.”
“You serious?”
“Yeah. She taught at the school here, and did classes at the town hall. Even private lessons at home. She was a musician too and used to perform in Nashville a few times a year.”
“That’s amazing.”
“She was amazing,” I agree, navigating around an old pot-hole without much thought. My head fills with images of long ago. Cleaning the house, dancing with Ma and Matty; singing along to the radio. “She was… vibrant. Always full of energy and fun.”
“Does she dance anymore?”
The question catches me off guard and I look across at Lizzie with a frown.
“No. Why would she?”
Lizzie blinks back at me.
“You said she loves to dance. Does her disease affect her legs?”
Turning my attention back to the road, I realize I’ve never looked at it that way.
“No, I guess not.”
She might not be able to remember dance routines, but nothing about her illness is physical.
I’d spent so much of my time focusing on the Alzheimer’s and how it had become such a huge part of my mother’s life that I’d let it replace everything else. Even the things that probably needn’t have been lost.
“You know, my grandmother was a music teacher here. Perhaps your mom would have known her? Did she ever take piano?”
As we pull up in front of the house, I kill the engine and the lights inside the cab fade away. Since leaving town, the sun has sunk even lower in the sky and we’re now coated in the barest of ember sunlight, seeping in through the trees.
“Yeah, she did.” I lean my head back on the rest, suddenly feeling more drained than I had getting into the truck ten minutes ago. “You could ask but she’ll probably just give you a blank stare.”
“So I am going tomorrow?”
I hesitate with my hand on the door about ready to exit the cab. Is that what I’d just said?
“Um… sure.”
I suppose if Lizzie wants to waste her afternoon hanging out with a woman that won’t remember her a week from Tuesday, that’s up to her. I’m not my mother’s prison warden. She can have however many visitors she wants.
“Just don’t say anything about us,” I add, just to be clear. Ma’s faulty memory is so much easier to deal with when there are fewer emotional details to keep straight.
“Us?”
“The thing we talked about.”
“The orgasms thing?”
I can’t help but smile. And the second I do, the awkward tension is gone. It simply evaporates into the night sky and I chase Lizzie up into the house.
“Yeah, don’t tell her about the orgasms thing. As far as she knows, we’re friends only. No benefits.”
“You got it, boss.” Lizzie says, turning to walk backgrounds. She pinches her thumb and forefinger together and uses them to ‘zip’ her mouth shut. “Mom’s the word!”
This time, I don’t resist the urge to roll my eyes.
