It stank. Apparently, Texas smelled of barbeque sauce everywhere. Expensive hotel or tenement, same odor. The air reeked. Business trip. Husband took her to San Antonio. What a treat. Not. The Alamo was the big deal. She never got it. Hell for a Californian, especially in April when the wildflowers bloomed at home.
At least the hotel had a roof top pool. Architecture interfered with the view.
Where the hell were the mountains? She missed her mountains.
She missed her friend now too, even though she heard her voice on the other end of the cell. Warning signs flashed.
“Well, it wasn’t just a cough then?”
“Ha, apparently not.”
“How do they know.”
“Took an X-ray. Sent me home with a diagnosis. Just a fucking X-ray.”
“Are they sure?”
“Sure, as can be.”
She heard herself say, “Second opinion. What the F does an Emergency Care know?”
But she knew. Deep down she knew. For months her friend had been sucking mints to keep the cough at bay. Swirling red licorice. She believed the red licorice was killing her friend. Cancer. That caused it. Her daughters. All their bullshit, student loans, abortions, bad mojo. Her mother with all the old scripts, waving the unwed mother in her face twenty-three years later. She knew. All of it was killing her friend. Deep down she knew.
The architecture was still blocking her view. She couldn’t see beyond the pool.
“It’ll be alright. You’ll see. I’ll be home in three days. It’ll be alright. We’ll do this together.” Then a string of ridiculous statements people say when a loved one is diagnosed terminal spewed from her mouth.
But she knew. Her friend was dying and nothing she could say or do would change the misery to come.
August second, they planned a baby shower for her soon-to-be grandchild. Women held their weeping, trying to celebrate and ignore the undeniable.
August 26th, she died. Never seeing the baby, her first grandchild named Jack.
She never went to San Antonio again. How could she? The Alamo was a joke. There were no mountains, the architecture blocked the view. Hell for a Californian.
— Mugsy
At least the hotel had a roof top pool. Architecture interfered with the view.
Where the hell were the mountains? She missed her mountains.
She missed her friend now too, even though she heard her voice on the other end of the cell. Warning signs flashed.
“Well, it wasn’t just a cough then?”
“Ha, apparently not.”
“How do they know.”
“Took an X-ray. Sent me home with a diagnosis. Just a fucking X-ray.”
“Are they sure?”
“Sure, as can be.”
She heard herself say, “Second opinion. What the F does an Emergency Care know?”
But she knew. Deep down she knew. For months her friend had been sucking mints to keep the cough at bay. Swirling red licorice. She believed the red licorice was killing her friend. Cancer. That caused it. Her daughters. All their bullshit, student loans, abortions, bad mojo. Her mother with all the old scripts, waving the unwed mother in her face twenty-three years later. She knew. All of it was killing her friend. Deep down she knew.
The architecture was still blocking her view. She couldn’t see beyond the pool.
“It’ll be alright. You’ll see. I’ll be home in three days. It’ll be alright. We’ll do this together.” Then a string of ridiculous statements people say when a loved one is diagnosed terminal spewed from her mouth.
But she knew. Her friend was dying and nothing she could say or do would change the misery to come.
August second, they planned a baby shower for her soon-to-be grandchild. Women held their weeping, trying to celebrate and ignore the undeniable.
August 26th, she died. Never seeing the baby, her first grandchild named Jack.
She never went to San Antonio again. How could she? The Alamo was a joke. There were no mountains, the architecture blocked the view. Hell for a Californian.
— Mugsy
My son-in-law who lives in Texas but used to live in California was going to open a barbecue joint near LA called Cou Rouge, which is French for redneck. Not sure how that would have gone over. 🤣
ReplyDeleteI really like the opening paragraph of this with its short sentences and fragments like little jabs at the sensitivity bone. Now Texas is forever associated with news of death. Can't say I disagree with the metaphorical conclusion. --- Macoff
ReplyDelete