mitanarchist: (sad)
[personal profile] mitanarchist
"Can you grab that bowl from the top shelf, Tom?"

"Sure, Mom." He reaches up, easily towering over his mother, taking the indicated bowl. "Making bread today?"

"You know how that goes, honey. Make it every Saturday." Grey hair peppers the temples of Mrs. Collins' face, but that is the only true mark of time. Her eyes are bright and her wits sharp.

"Where's Dad?"

"Working on that Ford of his, you know how he is. Asked him to work on the upstairs toilet, but he didn't seem to hear me."

He chuckles. "Never does, Mom. Want me to?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all." He reaches down under the sink for the small toolkit his father leaves there.

"Tom? How are you? Really? It's been..."

"I know, Mom. I'm doing all right."

"I just worry, that's all. Know you're doing all right health wise but I don't like the thought of you being alone."

He hugs her with one arm. "I'm not alone, Mom. Promise you that."

She stays in the embrace a moment before swatting his shoulder. "That toilet won't wait forever."

"I'm going."
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mitanarchist

February 2008

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