Pure Gibberish
Clare
Franklin sat back in her arm chair. Blue haired, bitter, old woman who never
wore her heart on her sleeve; such gestures were deemed stupid and pointless.
“Mom?”
Clare’s daughter called from the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of lemonade?”
“No.”
“Are
you sure?”
“Yes.”
Clare’s tone was harsh; she had always resented people. Her husband, who had
long since died, her children, her children’s children, people she didn’t know;
she hated them all. The doctor had diagnosed her with social anxiety disorder
when she was only 10 years old.
Clare’s
oldest daughter, Maggie, appeared in the kitchen door way, carrying a glass of
lemonade; she was wearing a light blue maternity dress, her big tummy showing
slightly under the waves of blue fabric.
She sat down on the couch opposite of where Clare sat.
“So how
are you, mom?” Maggie asked, trying to fake a smile. Clare said nothing. She
had forgotten that Maggie was expecting her third baby in May.
Clare
didn’t know what to say. Her chest was starting to tighten, hands starting to
tremble; her head becoming foggy, as if
she was going to faint. And then she
heard the noise.
“What
was that?” she asked Maggie.
“What was
what?”
“That
noise.”
“What
noise?”
Clare put her finger to her
mouth. “Listen. Don’t you hear that?”
“Hear what, mom?” Maggie shook her head. “Mom,
where are you going?”
Clare started slowly up the steps
to the second floor of the house, with Maggie following her. When they reached
the second floor, Clare screamed.
“A squirrel! There’s a squirrel in
my house!”
Maggie looked around but didn’t see
a thing. “What squirrel?”
“Right there, running into the
bedroom,” Clare started towards the bedroom door.
“Mom, wait.” Maggie grabbed at her
mother’s arm, but Clare pulled away.
“Leave me be! I am going to kill
that mother fucking squirrel.” Clare walked into the bedroom; the squirrel was
nowhere to be seen.
“Mom, I don’t really think that
there’s a squirrel in here,” Maggie said, following her mother into the
bedroom.
“There is a squirrel in here and
when I catch it, I am going to kill it.” Clare bent over on the floor to look
for the squirrel; it wasn’t there. She opened the closet; the squirrel wasn’t
there either. “Come out here, you mother fucking squirrel.”
“Mom. There are no squirrels in
your house,” Maggie said in a reasoning tone that she would use with her kids.
“Damn right they are.” Clare said
opening a dresser drawer; again there was no squirrel.
Right then, she felt it in her
hair. “It’s in my hair! It’s in my hair!”
“There’s nothing in your hair,”
Maggie said.
Clare screamed and ran around,
trying to the squirrel out of her hair. “Get it out! Get it out!” As she
screamed, she spit out her dentures.
“Mom, calm down. There’s no
squirrel in your hair.”
Clare continued to scream, long
after ambulance came to take her away to the hospital, where she still screams
to this day.
