A Gothic break in the action
My sister arrived while I was gone and decided she was the Queen of Sheba and proceeded to tell everyone at the hospital she is – no one is listening. I get back and have numerous phone calls that basically go like this – Where is mom’s diamond ring? Where is the wicker table that was in the living room that I gave her? Where is the key to her safety deposit box?
I have chosen the early mornings to go see my mom in peace and not run into the Queen. But she called me today and I was looking through my jewelry box for that key to the safety deposit box and I mentioned I had it. Lickety split she arrived at my front door within hours of this conversation. She waltzed in and sat down and acted as if she was there to have a casual chit chat with me. And then at one point, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes and said, now where is that key you have for mom’s safety deposit box?
I said, “Well I have it but I am not giving it to you – I will go with you. But since mom’s not dead yet, then there is nothing to really go look at it for now is there?”
She went on to explain to me how it was so important to see what was in there and to find out where mom’s jewelry is. I said again, “Look I don’t care what is in there. My thoughts are with my mom – to support her and be there for her for however long she has to live now.”
She said you don’t understand mom and I have a special relationship, very special, like friends. We are very close. No one can understand how close.
I said, “I feel really uncomfortable that mom has been in the hospital but yet every conversation with you has been about jewelry or furniture or what not. And that you might recall eight years ago when mom was in the hospital and I flew in from California and you wouldn’t let me stay at mom’s apartment – instead I had to rent a hotel room for ten days while mom was in ICU, all because you so feared I was going to remove something of value that you hope to get. And while I do understand that people place an enormous emotional value on objects particularly at times like this, I am not going to use mom’s belongings for emotional currency right now.”
I added, “And the whole issue about me forcing mom to sign a blank will is the biggest load of hogwash I’ve ever heard in my life.”
She said, “Mom told me you took her out and plowed her with drinks and then made her sign a blank will.”
I said, “She never said that. I know for a fact she never said such an atrocious lie.”
She said, “Well she also says she is hugely disappointed in you and that when you became a lesbian she was so embarrassed and disgusted with you.” Then she called me a whore. I guess whore is generic in this case.
“Wow,” I said, stunned by how any of this could possibly come out of her mouth. “Now, I’m afraid you have to leave my house and never come back.”
I went and opened the door for her, but as she fussily got her stuff and made her way through the door I let slip a little fact that the Queen just didn’t know.
“Mom had a girlfriend at one point – did you know that?”
Then I slammed the door and she tossed the rocking chair off my front porch and screamed “Whore! You’ve always been a lesbian!”
Yes, we can! – I thought as I collected myself; we are all capable of acting like Southern Gothic nutballs from hell. And why in all my attempts to zen my way through any dealings with my sister did I let myself get right down in the dirt with her?
Well, I just had to. That’s why.