Tick, Tick, Tick
A tale of waiting
She sat transfixed by the oversized white kitchen clock, her only movement the almost imperceptible pulse of that singular sound.
tick tick tick
Finally, the hands aligned themselves into the required shape and she turned her head.
“Mother,” she yelled up the stairs, “it’s time to go.”
She sat and listened to the shuffling from upstairs, then the thump-thump-pause of her mother’s slow descent.
No need to get up and help. The old lady was capable of making it down just fine.
She ran a hand over the stray hairs around her temple. No other preparations needed. There was nothing she could do about the old woman’s face currently masking her thirty short years of life.
“Martina, do you think I need a sweater?”
“Probably best to take one, Mother. Those rooms can be cold.”
“Yes, you’re right. Good idea.”
The shuffles moved to the hall closet to extract a dingy gray sweater, passing over the one in teal blue which matched the eyes her mother used to have.
“Martina, my dear! How are you? You’re looking so well.”
“Isn’t she?” said Mother, who missed the eyes cut in her direction.
“Thank you, Dr. Frank. So are you.”
And she meant it. He was the most handsome doctor she’d ever seen. Like a more distinguished version of his son, the one who took her to prom, took her virginity, then left town with his summer camp girlfriend. Couldn’t blame the dad, though. Sons grow up to be assholes all by themselves.
“Same pick-up time, Dr. Frank?”
“Actually maybe a half hour later. Mrs. diCarlo is having a birthday and we’ll have a little celebration, cake and all. Does that work for your schedule?”
“Absolutely,” she assured him. All she had was time.
Martina waited until Dr. Frank led Mother into the treatment room, his arm gently draped around the old woman’s stooped shoulders, before stepping out of the bright white facility into the dull gray day.
It would have been much more enticing to have stuck with physical therapy after the accident if he’d been her doctor. At least she’d have had something nice to look at during all that pain. Maybe it was for the best. Mother had it much worse, and it was all Martina’s fault anyway.
Tuesday and Friday afternoons, while Mother was at rehab, could have been filled with all sorts of things. Martina could have cleaned or shopped or hooked up with some guy. But she did none of it. Just sat and watched the clock until it was time to return.
I like coming to the center. I don’t remember how often I come, Martina takes care of all of that — but I am happy every time. Today, I hear we are having cake. I hope it’s not that terrible kind they make from a box. It’s disgraceful that people don’t care enough to make a proper cake. As if we couldn’t tell the difference.
That Dr. Frank sure is one handsome fella. And so charming. Don’t know why Martina broke it off with his son. She wouldn’t have been a doctor’s wife, but a doctor’s daughter-in-law is nearly as good.
I like it here. They don’t care when I forget things or when I’m clumsy. And they don’t mind when I complain about how my boys live so far away. They are so busy being successful, though, but I wish they would bring the grandkids over more often.
Martina was the only one who could come back home and help. Sometimes I worry about her. No husband, no career, no life. I think she’s depressed. And she looks so old. Not like the beautiful girl she used to be.
Ooh! Time for cake!
tick tick tick
The clock watched as Martina sat. One more hour before the old lady would come back. She made a mental inventory of the refrigerator contents. Maybe she would stop by the store on her way over to the center. And she would get to drive by the tree. Her tree, now growing at the oddest angle from the ground.
The tree that should have destroyed the speeding car, mother, and daughter. But which left them instead even more broken, counting the ticks until their next chance to die.
About Pascale…
I’ve drawn my inspiration from the many flavors of my life experience. Once a sad, shy girl, I’ve also been an MIT-educated engineer, biotech executive, professional dancer, yoga teacher and business owner, school founder, spiritual counselor, and entrepreneur.
These days, my favorite titles are author, mother, and hot stuff.
And I own a magic wand that I’m certain will work one day.
