The Trouble with Being Born: A Novel

Mother

35 “C’mon Frances, you’re going to be late.” I am not going to be late. I have almost an hour and a half. Joe gets so nervous; you’d think he was going to fly instead of me. I like to fly, although it scares me a little. I like the food. I’m flying to Pennsylvania to see my son Jeff and his wife Lisa. He’s way up the steps, and he turns around and gives me that hateful look, his face all scrunched up like a hateful old man. He looks like a bum in his frayed brown sports coat, thin cotton shirt and maroon pants. I hope I look nice. It took me a long time to dress. Even though I put my nice dress with the blue and purple flowers out last night, when I got up this morning I just couldn’t remember where I put my stockings. I looked and looked and finally found them in the desk drawer where I keep the bills. I’m getting forgetful. I hope I look nice. I hope this sweater isn’t too old fashioned . Sometimes I get cold on airplanes. Or at least I did last year. Look at that, a man talking into a little telephone. It looks like he’s talking into his hand. There’s another one. It looks like they are all talking into their hands. Maybe they’re all talking to each other. How funny. They had an escalator at Joslin’s Department store. The old one downtown. I enjoyed shopping there but they were too Mother 36 mother expensive. I don’t like the new store at the mall. This airport is shiny and new. We had some trouble finding it, and Joe had to ask a man at the gas station for directions. It turned out that we were on the right road to begin with, and just hadn’t gone far enough. Joe gets so crabby sometimes. There’s a baby in a carriage coming down the other side. Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me. Maybe Jeff and Lisa will have a baby someday. That would be nice. The baby is so cute. A cute little Mexican baby. I’m falling. It’s funny, all the people looking down at me like that. Where’s Joe, my husband? “Are you okay, lady?” I think I am. Nothing really hurts. “Frances! Frances! What happened? What have you done? What have you done?” That’s my husband, Joe. He usually doesn’t sound like that. His voice is higher, thinner or something. “Don’t try to move, lady. Someone should call an ambulance.” “Frances, can you hear me?” “Yes, Joe, I can hear you. Everyone at the airport can hear you.” People laugh. “Try sitting up. Can you sit up?” “I think so.” I twist over on my side and Joe helps me sit up. I can’t see very well. Everything is cloudy. “Here are her glasses.” Someone puts them over my face. There, that’s better. I straighten them up. I feel strange, funny, surprised, but nothing really hurts. “Do you need some water? Get her some water.” “Is there a doctor around?” A young man sits down on the floor next to me. He has a neatly trimmed beard and long hair tied back. “What’s your name?” I look at him. He has a kind face. “You’re Frances, right?” I nod. “Can you move, Frances?” I nod again. “Does anything hurt?” I shake my head no. “Would you like to try to stand up?” The floor is getting uncomfortable. “Yes.” He springs to his feet. “Let’s get you up. Sir, would you take her other arm?” He takes 37 mother my elbow on one side and Joe takes the other, and they help me up. I’m fine. Not dizzy at all. I notice that one of my shoes is gone. I look down and see that I’ve ripped my stocking on the other leg, and I have a couple of small cuts on that ankle. Darn! I want to look pretty to see my son. Is he here? No, no, he’s in Pennsylvania. I have to fly on an airplane to see him. A young girl hands me a bottle of water. The young man in the ponytail takes the...