The Subway Stops at Bryant Park by N. West Moss

Author:N. West Moss
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Leapfrog Press
Published: 2017-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

Dubonnet

I’m a very private person, which some people might find hard to believe considering I live in the same apartment with my son and his wife and their two children these past three years. But Neil says I shouldn’t be on my own, although I don’t see why. I can more than dress myself, and by that I mean I have style. And I feed myself. I vacuumed every Saturday and cleaned both toilets every Sunday, like clockwork for thirty-five years.

But you know how it is, your kid says to you, “But Ma, you’re seventy-plus, and I got two little kids now, and when you need to go to the doctor or something, I can’t just drop everything and come out to Queens to get you, you know?” Blah blah blah. If his father was alive, he’d have a heart attack, me having to leave our apartment after all those years.

My son can be very judgmental, and what I mean by that is that after my husband died, yes, I spent some money on TV things, you know, what you buy through the TV, but I was my husband’s beneficiary, which means he left me his pension, and I figured (I still figure) that if I wanted to get a figurine, whose business was it but my own. And so, yes, I got several, but there’s no law against it, and I love those things, so beautiful, real porcelain all of them, that pale milky white, like they were made out of snow . . . no, like they were made out of cream. That’s it. Cream.

I don’t see the point of getting old anyway. You don’t get to do what you want like everyone promises, and you have to throw out all your stuff except for what you can fit in your own bedroom. For about half a minute after I moved in, I believed my daughter-in-law when she said that sure, my figurines could be out in the living room, but those kids of hers are a mess, and my son’s wife, I don’t even like to say her name (which is Cynthia), she doesn’t even stop them from running around like maniacs. I’ll even say, “You shouldn’t let them run around like maniacs,” but still my porcelain angel got chipped, right on her wing, and it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out how. I got down on the floor and looked for the piece that got chipped off, but no luck. So I brought them all back into my bedroom and put them in my drawer with my pajamas so they would have cushioning.

I asked Neil to put up more shelves in my bedroom, and he said, “Sure,” blah blah blah. An entire month went by and no shelves, so I started mentioning it at breakfast, and then I was annoyed because almost another month went by. So I started to up my campaign, I’m no fool, and mentioned it at every breakfast. It’s not like I ask for a lot from him.

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