by Shirley Delsignore

Created on: April 18, 2008

The Body

Tracey is standing in the large kitchen, peering out the window at the dark gray thunder clouds, rolling high in the western sky.

"Mom, you know this is what Dad would want," Tracey said turning to face her mother. She had never seen her mother like this before, she is always so strong, so in control. Now sitting at the kitchen table, her shocking red hair in disarray, and wearing that damn orange and yellow slinky, clingy, nylon robe, she looked as if she aged twenty years.

"I just don't know, this is just so much for me to handle. Yesterday the police told me what impound lot the car was at and that I should get it quickly as it cost forty dollars a day in fees, then the vet called and that darn dog has worms again, the air conditioner went out and there is just so much".

"I know, that's why I'm here," Tracey said wiping away the tears that are now streaming down her pale cheeks.

Tracey pulled up a chair next to her mother's at the table, glancing towards the living room she caught sight of the dog as he dragged his ass across the living room carpet.
Tracey thought how many times mom and her sat at this table and just talked, about anything and everything, they were close then, not so much now.

"Mom, we really need to talk about this, I know you find it very unpleasant, but we have to talk".

"I know Tracey, but this just goes against all I believe, but, I just can't make that decision."

"Mom, how about I fix us some breakfast and we can talk about this after we eat?"

"I can't eat, I can't think, I just want to beI don't know what I want, I feel as if I have fallen down the rabbits hole. I know what I should do, I just can't explain, but there is something inside me that says, don't do it." At that moment there was a loud clap of thunder as if putting an exclamation point at the end of her mother's sentence.

"Thunder still scares the crap out of ole Freddie," Tracey said as she watched with amusement at how fast Freddie hauled ass down the hallway towards the bedroom.

"I think he's worn a path in the carpet," replied her mother.

"Another cup?" Tracey asked as she retrieved the coffee pot from the counter. Tracey glanced her mother's way when she did not reply, she watched her mom rubbing her hands together as if she is attempting to rub away a layer of skin. Tracey knew from past experiences this is what mom did when she is extremely stressed.

"There is nothing like the smell of freshly brewed coffee", Tracey remarked in attempt to relieve some

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