Read Online For One More Day by Mitch Albom - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mitch Albom
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my husband doesn't need to see her little fashion show by his shop every day. Tell her to not get any grand ideas, you hear me? No grand ideas. "
Joanie looks at me. The back of my neck is burning.
"Can I have that one, too?" Roberta asks, her eyes on the chocolate.
The woman pulls it closer to her chest.
"Come on, Roberta, " I mumble, yanking her away.
"Must run in the family, " the woman says. "You all want your hands on everything. You tell her what I said! No grand ideas, you hear me?"
We are already halfway across her lawn.
Rose Says Good-Bye
WHEN WE STEPPED OUT of Rose's house, the sun was brighter than before. Rose followed us as far as the porch, where she remained, the aluminum door frame resting against the side of her walker.
"Well, so long, Rose, honey," my mother said. "Thank you, dear," she said. "I'll see you soon. " "Of course you will. "
My mother kissed her on the cheek. I had to admit, she had done a nice job. Rose's hair was shaped and styled and she looked years younger than when we'd arrived.
"You look nice," I said.
"Thank you, Charley. It's a special occasion. " She readjusted her grip on the walker handles.
"What's the occasion? "
"I'm going to see my husband. "
I didn't want to ask where, in case, you know, he was in a home or a hospital, so I blurted out, "Oh, yeah? That's nice.
"Yes," she said softly.
My mother pulled at a stray thread on her coat. Then she looked at me and smiled. Rose moved backward, allowing the door to close.
We stepped down carefully, my mother holding my arm. When we reached the sidewalk, she motioned to the left and we turned. The sun was nearly straight above us now.
"How about some lunch, Charley?" she said. I almost laughed. "What?"
my mother said.
"Nothing. Sure. Lunch. " It made as much sense as anything else.
"You feel better now–with a little nap?" I shrugged. "I guess."
She tapped my hand affectionately. "She's dying, you know."
"Who? Rose?" "Um-hmm."
"I don't get it. She seemed fine.
" She squinted up at the sun. "She'll die tonight." "Tonight?"
“Yes.”
"But she said she's going to see her husband." "She is. "
I stopped walking.
"Mom," I said. "How do you know that?" She smiled.
"I'm helping her get ready."
III. Noon
Chick and College
I WOULD GUESS the day I went to college was one of the happiest of my mother's life. At least it started out that way. The university had offered to pay half my tuition with a baseball scholarship, although, when my mother told her friends, she just said "scholarship," her love of that word eclipsing any possibility that I was admitted to hit the ball, not the books.
I remember the morning we drove up for my freshman year. She'd been awake before sunrise, and there was a full breakfast waiting for me when I stumbled down the stairs: pancakes, bacon, eggs–six people couldn't have finished that much food. Roberta had wanted to come with us, but I said no way–what I meant was, it was bad enough that I had to go with my mother–so she consoled herself with a plateful of syrup-covered French toast. We dropped her at a neighbor's house and began our four-hour trek.
Because, to my mother, this was a big occasion, she wore one of her
"outfits"–a purple pantsuit, a scarf, high heels, and sunglasses, and she insisted that I wear a white shirt and a necktie. "You're starting college, not going fishing,” she said. Together we would have stood out badly enough in Pepperville Beach, but remember, this was college in the mid-60s, where the less correctly you were dressed, the more you were dressed correctly. So when we finally got to campus and stepped out of our Chevy station wagon, we were surrounded by young women in sandals and peasant skirts, and young men in tank tops and shorts, their hair worn long over their ears. And there we were, a necktie and a purple pantsuit, and I felt, once more, that my mother was shining a ridiculous light on me.
She wanted to know where the library was, and she
Joanie looks at me. The back of my neck is burning.
"Can I have that one, too?" Roberta asks, her eyes on the chocolate.
The woman pulls it closer to her chest.
"Come on, Roberta, " I mumble, yanking her away.
"Must run in the family, " the woman says. "You all want your hands on everything. You tell her what I said! No grand ideas, you hear me?"
We are already halfway across her lawn.
Rose Says Good-Bye
WHEN WE STEPPED OUT of Rose's house, the sun was brighter than before. Rose followed us as far as the porch, where she remained, the aluminum door frame resting against the side of her walker.
"Well, so long, Rose, honey," my mother said. "Thank you, dear," she said. "I'll see you soon. " "Of course you will. "
My mother kissed her on the cheek. I had to admit, she had done a nice job. Rose's hair was shaped and styled and she looked years younger than when we'd arrived.
"You look nice," I said.
"Thank you, Charley. It's a special occasion. " She readjusted her grip on the walker handles.
"What's the occasion? "
"I'm going to see my husband. "
I didn't want to ask where, in case, you know, he was in a home or a hospital, so I blurted out, "Oh, yeah? That's nice.
"Yes," she said softly.
My mother pulled at a stray thread on her coat. Then she looked at me and smiled. Rose moved backward, allowing the door to close.
We stepped down carefully, my mother holding my arm. When we reached the sidewalk, she motioned to the left and we turned. The sun was nearly straight above us now.
"How about some lunch, Charley?" she said. I almost laughed. "What?"
my mother said.
"Nothing. Sure. Lunch. " It made as much sense as anything else.
"You feel better now–with a little nap?" I shrugged. "I guess."
She tapped my hand affectionately. "She's dying, you know."
"Who? Rose?" "Um-hmm."
"I don't get it. She seemed fine.
" She squinted up at the sun. "She'll die tonight." "Tonight?"
“Yes.”
"But she said she's going to see her husband." "She is. "
I stopped walking.
"Mom," I said. "How do you know that?" She smiled.
"I'm helping her get ready."
III. Noon
Chick and College
I WOULD GUESS the day I went to college was one of the happiest of my mother's life. At least it started out that way. The university had offered to pay half my tuition with a baseball scholarship, although, when my mother told her friends, she just said "scholarship," her love of that word eclipsing any possibility that I was admitted to hit the ball, not the books.
I remember the morning we drove up for my freshman year. She'd been awake before sunrise, and there was a full breakfast waiting for me when I stumbled down the stairs: pancakes, bacon, eggs–six people couldn't have finished that much food. Roberta had wanted to come with us, but I said no way–what I meant was, it was bad enough that I had to go with my mother–so she consoled herself with a plateful of syrup-covered French toast. We dropped her at a neighbor's house and began our four-hour trek.
Because, to my mother, this was a big occasion, she wore one of her
"outfits"–a purple pantsuit, a scarf, high heels, and sunglasses, and she insisted that I wear a white shirt and a necktie. "You're starting college, not going fishing,” she said. Together we would have stood out badly enough in Pepperville Beach, but remember, this was college in the mid-60s, where the less correctly you were dressed, the more you were dressed correctly. So when we finally got to campus and stepped out of our Chevy station wagon, we were surrounded by young women in sandals and peasant skirts, and young men in tank tops and shorts, their hair worn long over their ears. And there we were, a necktie and a purple pantsuit, and I felt, once more, that my mother was shining a ridiculous light on me.
She wanted to know where the library was, and she
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