How Lulu Lost Her Mind by Rachel Gibson

Author:Rachel Gibson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2020-07-20T16:00:00+00:00

14

May 2

Happy trees. Moonlight Sonata. Mom’s proposition.

I KNEW MOM would love to paint with Bob Ross again. The day her supplies arrive, I set up an art studio in the morning room right off the kitchen. It’s painted teal with white trim and gets the most natural light. I’ve seen pictures of this room when it had fruit trees in large brass planters to scent the air with citrus for luncheon soirees, but it’s sat neglected for decades. I had to knock down cobwebs, vacuum out the dust, and wash the windows. That’s a lot of glass to clean, but it’s worth it. Especially in the morning when sunshine hits all those original windows. The room sparkles and shines, but in a wavy and otherworldly way, like we’ve stepped back in time.

Mom wants the old Victrola dragged into her new “studio” so she can listen to Bach and Beethoven and Jelly Roll Morton as she watches The Joy of Painting DVDs on a small TV. I often sit beside her at an easel I bought for myself, and we’re quite the pair in our smocks, watching Bob and listening to “Für Elise.” I do not have an ounce of artistic talent, but there is just something so peaceful about listening to classical music and making really bad art. When I should be working on Lulu business, I find myself painting or sorting through the attic for things I know Mom will enjoy. I keep pushing more and more work off my plate and onto other people. I feel guilty, but I’d rather spend time with Mom. That’s why we’re here, and painting is a nice start to the morning… but not this morning. Instead of retreating to the studio to paint with Bob, Mother announced we’re visiting the dearly departed.

I knew this day would come, and I dread every part of it. I dread the heat and humidity and bugs almost as much as I dread standing next to Mom while she points to her tomb. I don’t want another day like the one when she “preplanned” her funeral.

But I don’t have a choice, and I accept the can of Deep Woods Off! Mom hands me. I cover every part of me and choke on the cloud of poison. I spray my turquoise “Who Dat” boots inside and out and douse my cutoffs and the vintage-looking Rolling Stones T-shirt I bought from Nordstrom online. I know it’s too hot for boots, but it’s too buggy for anything else. I’ll risk sweaty feet over bites and stings any day, and just in case, I toss in my can of alligator spray.

Mom’s wearing purple pants, a pink floral blouse, and lavender lips. Her long hair is braided, and she’s stuck an old butterfly comb at the back of her head. She says it belonged to her mother and makes her feel close to her.

It’s been nearly three months since Mom crawled in bed with me and asked that I bring her to Sutton Hall.

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