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Authors: Katie Willard
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“Good morning, Ruth” or grunt a little “Hey” in my direction.
Well, I was damned if I was going to say hi to her. She was in a bad mood, as usual, with poison instead of blood flowing through her veins. It was just like Ma to get up on the wrong side of the bed every day of her life and take it out on me. She sighed again, and I watched her from the family room as she stomped into the kitchen and grabbed the loaf of Wonder bread sitting out on the counter. She yanked out two slices and stuffed them in the toaster, sighing yet again as she slammed down the toaster lever.
“Ruth!” she snapped.
That was Ma all over. Not content to sit in her own toxic waste; had to spill it over onto me, too. I was eating my last mouthful of Cocoa Puffs, and I took my sweet time answering. She said again, real mean, “Ruth! I’m talking to you.”
“Ma! For God’s sake, I’m right here.” I brought the bowl up to my mouth and slurped the last of the milk in there. Then I rattled the spoon in the bowl and set it down on the rug next to the chair. I knew what Ma was thinking. I could see her glaring at me all red in the face and breathing hard like her head was going to pop off. She was thinking, Why can’t you get up and put that bowl in the dishwasher, Miss Lazy? Would it kill you to help out around here? Well, I’d put my bowl in the dishwasher when I damn well felt like it. She could just go to hell and back waiting for me to do it. I looked hard at the TV, hoping she’d leave and never come back.
“What’re you doing today?” Ma asked, and it wasn’t at all nice the way she said it. It wasn’t like “Ruth, dear, do you have plans that will be fun today?” No, it was more like “You little shit, what evil schemes do you have up your sleeve today?”
Goddammit, couldn’t she be even a little bit nice to me? I hadn’t bothered her at all this morning. Just sat and minded my own business, and here she was trying to cause trouble. I squinted hard at her and asked, “Why do you want to know?”
“Watch it,” she said. “Your face’ll stay like that. You look just like your father when you do that with your mean little eyes.”
Me looking like my father was about the worst insult she could think of, seeing as she hated the man with her whole heart. It was always that way—you look just like your father; your disposition is exactly like your father’s; you’re the spitting image of that man. So, what were you, Ma? Just the unlucky incubator of your husband’s child?
“What’s the issue, Ma?” I said, sighing. It sure as hell wasn’t me looking like my father or not picking up my cereal bowl right away. It was something else, and Ma could never just spit it out. Dammit! She never could just say what she meant. “What exactly is your problem?”
“My problem?” Ma said. Her toast popped up and she started attacking it with a butter knife. “My problem is you!”
Oh, that’s right—I’d forgotten. If only I’d been born different, Ma’s life would be just dandy. She’d been shoveling that load of shit on me for years. I picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV, pressing the volume button so it got louder and louder, drowning out Ma’s nasty voice. She marched over and turned it off, stuffing toast into her mouth all the while.
“I have the remote,” I said, aiming it at the TV again and turning up the sound. Ma thought she was so smart. Couldn’t even figure out that turning off the television was pointless if someone else held the remote control.
“Big deal,” she said as she stomped back into the kitchen, and I snickered because I knew she couldn’t think of anything else to say. I kept my eyes glued to the TV, but I could hear her banging her dishes around, pouring herself a glass of orange juice, and gulping it down like there was no tomorrow.
She slammed her glass on the counter and walked back over to the TV set to turn it off. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her
Well, I was damned if I was going to say hi to her. She was in a bad mood, as usual, with poison instead of blood flowing through her veins. It was just like Ma to get up on the wrong side of the bed every day of her life and take it out on me. She sighed again, and I watched her from the family room as she stomped into the kitchen and grabbed the loaf of Wonder bread sitting out on the counter. She yanked out two slices and stuffed them in the toaster, sighing yet again as she slammed down the toaster lever.
“Ruth!” she snapped.
That was Ma all over. Not content to sit in her own toxic waste; had to spill it over onto me, too. I was eating my last mouthful of Cocoa Puffs, and I took my sweet time answering. She said again, real mean, “Ruth! I’m talking to you.”
“Ma! For God’s sake, I’m right here.” I brought the bowl up to my mouth and slurped the last of the milk in there. Then I rattled the spoon in the bowl and set it down on the rug next to the chair. I knew what Ma was thinking. I could see her glaring at me all red in the face and breathing hard like her head was going to pop off. She was thinking, Why can’t you get up and put that bowl in the dishwasher, Miss Lazy? Would it kill you to help out around here? Well, I’d put my bowl in the dishwasher when I damn well felt like it. She could just go to hell and back waiting for me to do it. I looked hard at the TV, hoping she’d leave and never come back.
“What’re you doing today?” Ma asked, and it wasn’t at all nice the way she said it. It wasn’t like “Ruth, dear, do you have plans that will be fun today?” No, it was more like “You little shit, what evil schemes do you have up your sleeve today?”
Goddammit, couldn’t she be even a little bit nice to me? I hadn’t bothered her at all this morning. Just sat and minded my own business, and here she was trying to cause trouble. I squinted hard at her and asked, “Why do you want to know?”
“Watch it,” she said. “Your face’ll stay like that. You look just like your father when you do that with your mean little eyes.”
Me looking like my father was about the worst insult she could think of, seeing as she hated the man with her whole heart. It was always that way—you look just like your father; your disposition is exactly like your father’s; you’re the spitting image of that man. So, what were you, Ma? Just the unlucky incubator of your husband’s child?
“What’s the issue, Ma?” I said, sighing. It sure as hell wasn’t me looking like my father or not picking up my cereal bowl right away. It was something else, and Ma could never just spit it out. Dammit! She never could just say what she meant. “What exactly is your problem?”
“My problem?” Ma said. Her toast popped up and she started attacking it with a butter knife. “My problem is you!”
Oh, that’s right—I’d forgotten. If only I’d been born different, Ma’s life would be just dandy. She’d been shoveling that load of shit on me for years. I picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV, pressing the volume button so it got louder and louder, drowning out Ma’s nasty voice. She marched over and turned it off, stuffing toast into her mouth all the while.
“I have the remote,” I said, aiming it at the TV again and turning up the sound. Ma thought she was so smart. Couldn’t even figure out that turning off the television was pointless if someone else held the remote control.
“Big deal,” she said as she stomped back into the kitchen, and I snickered because I knew she couldn’t think of anything else to say. I kept my eyes glued to the TV, but I could hear her banging her dishes around, pouring herself a glass of orange juice, and gulping it down like there was no tomorrow.
She slammed her glass on the counter and walked back over to the TV set to turn it off. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her
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