| Lesbian: Masturbation: Day 5 with My Mother (1/6) |
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You know those Hallmark holiday specials or Lifetime movies in which, through a series of unlikely events our heroine, a.k.a. The Wayward Daughter, returns home to nurse her uber-Conservative Mother, henceforth known as U-C.M., who is incapacitated and needs attention (ironically the one thing said Wayward Daughter never received much of herself growing up)? At first they go at each other like natural enemies - well, duh! - but something happens during the second act - a box of letters is unearthed, a photo album is dusted off, a scrapbook made or quilt knitted - and over the course of one hundred minutes plus commercials the pair come to learn they have more in common than either realize and that in the end, blood is thicker than both water and politics and love always wins out, roll end credits. This is not one of those stories. This is about the time my mother tripped down the stairs running to answer the door and ended up twisting both her ankle and her pride. She was given a pair of crutches, a script for some painkillers and strict orders to stay off the foot for at least ten-to-fifteen days. She turned down the offer to have an insurance-paid nurse come in. Why would I want a stranger here, she complained, especially when I have family?! Said “family” consisted of my older brother, Gerald, who lives on the opposite coast with his ever-expanding brood, and my younger sister, married with a husband, three-point-five kids and a thirty year fixed mortgage over in Fairfield County. A registered nurse, she is the only one with any sort of medical background in our bunch. She was also preparing to fly the family out to Bermuda for a week. That left me, Alessandra, the unmarried middle-child lesbian who didn’t have the awesome responsibilities of either a family or a timeshare (or so my sister reasoned.) Couldn’t I just camp out under mom’s roof for a couple of days until she got back? I lived only three towns away, I could go home for lunch every day if I wanted, what was the problem here? Now don’t get me wrong, my mother’s no raging ‘phobe but she does love her Jesus, who could be found hanging off every wall in the house, including both bathrooms. On the kitchen table beside her plate was position a pile of religious tracts and books for easy reference. On her fridge magnets of various saints hold up laminated scripture quotes to save the world with. On mine is a scattering of pictures of the The L-Word cast and reminders of what to make for the next pot-luck. A grandmother of ten, her conversations usually consist of breaking news reports about this baby’s first poo or that child’s first haircut, a ballet recital or the winning run batted in at the peewee league. “So when are you give me some grandchildren?” she inevitably asks me. “How does Christmas sound? I hear they make very nice stocking stuffers.” “Do you even plan to marry? Oh, that’s right, you don’t want to.” It’s usually around this point but hands start to shake. “I can’t. It’s still not legal in the state, remember? Slight difference.” |
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Re: Fantastic!!
