Off Her Rocker. Jennifer Archer
way. I’ve been working for Carl for more than two decades here at the house. Besides, he gives me money. I don’t have to earn it.”
She sends me a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s just bad timing. Closer to Christmas, I bet you could find work in a boutique or something like that.”
“It’s mid-October. What do I do until then?”
Polly crosses her arms. “I don’t know. But I’m not going to stand here and watch you waste away feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Neither am I.” Mother strides into the room, a Coach purse I’ve never seen before slung over her shoulder, a clove cigarette poised between her fingertips. She puts her purse on my unmade bed, stoops and grabs my robe from the floor and tosses it at me. “Get up.”
“I—” The phone rings. I pull it from beneath the blanket across my lap, ignoring Polly’s narrowed eyes when I check the caller ID.
“So you didn’t know I’d called, huh?” she says.
It’s Troy. For the first time in a long time, I feel like smiling. He hasn’t answered his phone in four days. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Hey, Mom.”
He sounds funny. “How are you?”
“Terrible. I’ve had a cold since last week.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“What could you do? You’re hundreds of miles away.”
Don’t remind me.
“I thought I could sleep it off so I didn’t go to class.”
“Good. You need your rest. Don’t push it, Troy.”
“Tell my economics teacher that. When I called him, he said I still have to take the test even though I missed the lecture today.”
“Did you explain that you’re sick?”
“He didn’t care. He wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Maybe he’d listen to me. You want me to call him?”
A pause, then he says, “I don’t know. I doubt it would make any difference. He’s a major butt-hole.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“Okay, call him. Say I have a fever.”
My pulse jumps. “Do you?”
“Probably. I feel like crap. Tell him there’s no way I’m gonna be up to taking that test. I’m too sick to study.”
“What’s his name and number?” Before he can answer, I say, “Just a minute.” I snap my fingers at Mother and motion for the blank piece of paper on the dresser, mouthing the word pen.
Rolling her eyes at Polly, Mother brings them to me, then takes a deep drag off her cigarette. Tilting back her head, she blows out a stream of sweet-smelling smoke.
“Okay,” I say to Troy. He coughs before rattling off the information. I write it down. “You sound awful. Are you taking any medicine?”
“I don’t know what to take.”
“I packed a decongestant and cough syrup in your first-aid kit. It’s all labeled. Maybe you should go to the student clinic and make sure it’s nothing serious.”
“I’m too tired. I’m achy, too.” And whiny. Just like when he was little and not feeling well. My heart squeezes with love for him. “I just need to sleep,” he says.
“Are you eating?”
“A little. The food here sucks.”
“No wonder you’re sick. Take those vitamins I bought for you. And don’t try to go to classes tomorrow, sweetie.”
“I won’t.” He yawns. “I wish I knew someone in my English class who’d share notes with me.”
“You haven’t made any friends?”
“Not in that class.”
“Well, ask someone. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” I sigh and bite my lower lip. “If I was there I’d go and do it for you, sweetie.” I watch Tizzy darting around the yard worried about her baby, and sympathize. “I wish I was there to take care of you while you’re sick, too. Make some hot tea in the microwave. I put a box of chamomile in your grocery supplies. And don’t worry about economics. I’ll call your teacher right now.”
“Oh, good gawd,” Mother drawls as she returns from flushing her cigarette down the toilet in the adjoining bathroom. “How old is the boy?”
“Is that Grandmother?” Troy asks.
“Yes. You want to talk to her?”
“Sure.”
“Here she is. Goodbye, Troy. Take care of yourself. Love you.” I hold out the phone to Mother. “Don’t talk long. I need to call his teacher.”
“Oh, please.” She takes the phone, presses it to her ear and says, “Hi, darling.”
I shift my attention to Polly. “It’s hard being away from him at times like this. It’s always hard, but him being sick makes it worse. I feel so helpless.”
“I’m sure it won’t be easy for me, either, when my kids go away. But they have to grow up sometime.”
I push out of the rocker and the blanket falls from my shoulders to the floor. “How can we just expect them to take care of everything on their own overnight? They’re used to having us in charge one day, and the next they’re supposed to handle their lives like an adult?”
Mother says goodbye to Troy, then hands me the phone. I glance at the professor’s name on the paper in my hand and begin punching in his number.
“Damn it, Dana, you’re making a mistake.” She pulls another cigarette from her purse. “Do you want Troy to become a man, or a wimp?”
I turn my back to her and put the phone to my ear.
“After he graduates and starts working at the agency, are you going to gripe out Carl if he doesn’t give Troy a raise every year?” The phone starts ringing. When I continue to ignore Mother, she says to Polly, “Come on. Let’s see if there’s coffee in the kitchen.” They leave the room.
Twenty minutes later, Mother returns to the bedroom alone.
“Where’s Polly?”
“She had an appointment.” Mother sits at the edge of my bed. “So…what did he say?”
I open my closet door. “Troy’s right—the man’s a butt-hole.”
“Rules are rules. Troy needs to learn that.”
“Sometimes rules need to be changed. And people have to stand up and speak out against injustice to make that happen.”
“So, let Troy be the one to stand up.”
I pull out my suitcase and put it on the bed beside her.
“He is the one who should buck the system, not you, darling. What are you doing with that suitcase?”
“Packing. If he needs me, I’m there.”
“You’re flying to Colorado?”
“Driving. I just got off the phone with the airline. The next flight out is late tonight, and I’d have to go standby. I don’t want to risk it.”
I unzip the suitcase, open it.
Mother reaches over and closes it again. “You’re being ridiculous. What on earth do you think you can do for him?”
“I’ll talk to his teacher in person. He’ll see I’m serious about this