Interruptions

Interruptions She calls each day at noon, after her maple bar and coffee. Her only meal for the day. Whiskey’s dinner. I try to pick up. Answering machines seem to frustrate her. I want to ignore her call today. She’s my Dad’s 2nd wife. He’s had three. Today she’s pissed about the drop in stock on cashews. People are wanting filberts instead, it seems. And God forbid the rise in the cost of gas. She should have bought stock in Prius. She needs to fire her broker. She’s run low on creamer which she can only get at one market in town. Ralph’s doesn’t care that she wants it. And broke a nail opening bills to find the annual fee of $5 has doubled. Conspiracy. The maid tried to force her to eat congealed meatloaf though it is something she would never be caught dead eating. And her neighbor had a cocktail party last night. She wasn’t invited. She has no idea why. They must be jealous, or Jewish, or Catholic or something. This up, this down This right, this left Nothing is ever as it should be. Her call waiting beeps and she’s got to go, because somebody else needs her. I laugh at the irony of this. She calls out she’s glad I’m well and she’s gone. I go back to what I was doing, calling the mortuary. This morning, my father died. I wonder if she’s free on Saturday? Published: Maelstrom