It’s Saturday morning, the day of the big sale at the Yarn Barn, and my mother is rushing me down the stairs, poking me in the back as we go. “Hurry up, if I don’t get there before ten, all of the good yarn is going to be gone,” she yells from behind me.
The big annual sale at the Yarn Barn has been my mother’s preferred topic of conversation for the last two weeks. I’ve listened to hours of detail regarding what she was going to buy, in what colors, and what varieties of yarn. This was followed by a breakdown of her favorite yarn types; cotton and mohair and least favorite; wool. Plus, which patterns were the best to use, the colors of yarn she hated, and what colors looked good against her skin.
She even gave me an unsolicited overview of what colors looked bad on me. Which appeared to be all of them.
It’s understandable she’s ramped up to a fever pitch, now that the day is finally here, but at eight in the morning there is little chance we’ll be late. The Yarn Barn is five minutes down the road, and doesn’t open until nine — we can walk there and still get there in plenty of time.
“Mother, the store doesn’t open for another hour,” Mother grimmaced in pain at my words like I had hit her with darts “But, if we don’t get there early, Ruby, I won’t get a good parking spot or a good place in line. You understand there’s going to be a line don’t you? You know, sometimes you just don’t get it. It’s like you’ve come here from another planet”. Hm, not bad mother, I often feel like I’ve come here from another planet. For once, you’re not too far off.
Mother pushes past me on the stairs, rushes through the living room and into the kitchen, causing the kitchen door to almost swing off its hinges. I enter the kitchen behind her, in time to see her heading for the back door.
The toast I inserted in the toaster over an hour ago sat popped and waiting. I crossed the kitchen and reached for a plate, then opened the refrigerator for butter and jam. Looking up I see my mother glaring at me from the doorway, pointing at her watch.
“Mother, you told me to make you toast earlier. You said you were starving.” rolling her eyes she retorts, “Well, that was hours ago. I’ve since given up on you feeding me anything. It's clear you intend on letting me waste away to nothing.” her voice cracks and weakens as she speaks for effect.
Biting my tongue, I pull a knife from the drawer and smeared butter and jam on the toast, “Here it’s ready now. Take a couple of bites.”
Mother huffs in response, then eases away from the back door, and reaches for the toast. “I’m guessing there’s nothing to drink?”
“Your orange juice is right there on the table, mother,” I turn to the remaining piece of toast and smear some butter and jam on it, then return the butter and jam to the frig, turning back just in time to see my mother exiting from the back door.
On the table is her empty glass and a few bread crumbs. I snatch my toast and race for the door trying to get ahead of her next outburst. When I get outside, I see my mother standing next to the passenger side of the maroon oldsmobile looking perturbed.
“If you think you’re getting in my car with that, you’ve got another thing coming. Just what I need is buttery fingerprints and toast crumbs all over my nice upholstery.”
Cramming the toast in my mouth, I chew briefly, swallow hard, then wipe my hands on my napkin and toss it in the trash near the garage door.
I hold up my hands for my mother’s approval and she glowers, “Would you open the door already, Ruby?”
One of my many tasks was driving my mother around at her beak and call for the last five years. All because the department of motor vehicles required her driver’s license to state she needed prescription glasses.
She told them that was ageism, threatened to call her nonexistent attorney, then stormed out of the DMV. And, that’s when I became her driver.
Well, her “driver” was a loose term. The only thing she wasn’t durrently doing was sitting on my lap, pushing the pedals, and steering.
Her co-pilot navigation skills were peppered through every car outing that we had. And this morning would be no different.
Every block on the way to the Yarn Barn was overflowing with driving instruction. “Watch that car, Ruby. What are you doing? Slow down. Are you trying to kill me? The light is going to turn red, hurry up. Why are you driving so slowly?”
I did my best to rock between complying with her demands and tuning her out completely. I found sprinkling a few “yes mother’s”every so often and a “I see it, thank you’s” pacified her and allowed me to make it through the trip without taking us both off a bridge.
I had learned there was no sense in fighting her. It would only cause an escalation from my inability to drive, to an in depth discussion about all of the other areas of my life I was falling short.
Soon we arrive at the Yarn Barn where three other eager beavers stand in line waiting. As our car comes to a rest, my mother, seeing the micro line, pops her car door, and jumps out, racing toward the line with the stealth of an athlete (looks like her arthritis has gone into spontaneous remission!). Two nights ago, it was all she could do to make it up the stairs. I thought I was going to have to carry her piggyback style.
Knowing there is no sense in avoiding the inevitable, I turn off the car, place the keys in my purse, and head out to join her. As I walk over she scowls at me, motioning me to hurry with her hands, as if she needs my help shoring up her place in line. I’d like to see someone try to step in front of her when there’s a good yarn sale at stake. It'd be like stepping between a starving dog and a bone.
After what feels like an eternity waiting in line, listening to my mother announce the sale banners she can see through the tinted store windows, I finally hear the key turn in the lock, snapping me out of my upright stupper. This is followed by my mother grabbing my jacket and tugging me forward.
As I inch toward the door, I look back behind me and notice the line has blossomed into a small crowd of 10 or so people, all anxiously waiting to get their hands on yarn. I catch the eyes of a man, who appears to be in line with his wife, and he rolls his eyes at me in desperation. My cheeks flush in response and I avert my eyes toward the ground
Finally, I step through the doorway of the store, and am instantly hit with a combination of harsh fluorescent lighting and a musty attic smell. Red and white 50% off signs hang from the ceiling like welcome flags and tables are piled high with yarn like new lands calling to be discovered.
My mother grabs my arm and pulls me along as she briskly moves in the direction of a 70% off clearance bin near the front of the store.
An hour later, my arms overflowed with yarn of every color and weave.“I need to make one more pass through the store, just in case I’ve missed something,” mother shouts at me as she heads off down another aisle.
I stand stationary having surrendered trying to keep up with her harried pace up and down the aisles. Plus, my current position in the center of the store is ideal for people-watching; my favorite distraction when harangued on errands with mother.
As I scan the room for more interesting activity, two women pass by deep in conversation, piquing my interest. They both have upturned noses and red curly hair, though the shorter woman is much older making it likely they’re mother and daughter.
The older woman is frowning at the younger one as she talks to her (no surprise there).
I edge closer straining to hear what she’s saying. “I told you to bring your own money. It’s time you become more independent. This is the very reason why I said you need to start looking for your own apartment, so you can begin to stand on your own two feet.”
My mother steps in front of my field of vision just as the daughter begins to reply. “I said let’s get in line before the queue gets any longer Ruby”
“What’s wrong with you? Do we need to have Dr. Norstrom check your hearing again?”
Ignoring my mother, I cock my head to the right trying to locate the red-headed mother and daughter, but the space where they stood is now empty. A quick scan of the store leaves me unable to find them anywhere. Crap.
My mother tugs at my arm causing me to stumble forward, tripping over my feet, and unearthing three balls of yarn that were nestled against my chest. They land on the floor and bounce off in different directions.
“Oh come on Ruby, now you’ve gotten my yarn all dirty” mother snaps then walks off in the direction of the checkout. I bend down and grab the balls of yarn, careful not to displace any more from my grasp, then head over to join my mother in line.
The queue moves forward at the pace of dripping molasses allowing me to continue my people watching. The two young girls I noticed earlier, picking out yarn to make scarves for their boyfriends, pass by me again.
If only I could think of the right thing to say to approach them. Then, I could become a part of their circle and soon be making a scarf for my boyfriend too.
“Ruby, move up. You’re leaving a gap”
...I bet they watch the BBC too. I can tell, they have that air about them.
“Ruby” I feel tugging at my jacket
“I’m sorry, she has a hearing issue”. I hear my mother’s voice, then another tug causes me to lurch forward.
“Ruby” mother hisses. Mother’s face comes into focus. Her eyes are in a deep squint and her mouth is puckered like she just ate a lemon. I look behind me and see strangers staring back at me with a mixture of concern and frustration on their faces. Then, I look ahead and notice a gap in the line, apparently caused by me. Stepping forward, I close the gap.
The store doorbell chimes and I look up as another excited shopper walks into the store.
I could feel the heat of my mother’s stare on me, but decided to pretend I was focused on the door instead.
A woman behind us in line mumbles under her breath clearly frustrated, “ridiculous... they clearly need more help... never again”. One comment is a little louder than the rest, making its way to the frazzled store clerk, who looks up from her register and in our direction making heat rise in my cheeks from embarrassment.
“I think that clerk is new” my mother says to the woman behind us in line. The woman frowns back at her, leans in and says. ”Do you know who Nancy is? She used to work here, but was always outside taking smoke breaks. I think she was fired”.
The rest of my time in line is spent listening to pieces of my mother’s conversation with the lady behind us until it’s our turn to check out.
As my mother finishes paying, I grab her bags and head for the door, happy to finally have this part of my day over.
I reach the car and put the bags in the trunk as my mother walks out, still chatting with the woman in line. They smile at each other then part ways. I watch as my mother makes her way over to me, beaming, shoulders back and chest out like a peacock, then jumps into the passenger side of the car.
“You will not believe it,” she says with grinning from ear to ear “Florence has asked me to go to lunch with her.”
“What?...Who?”
“Florence, Ruby, pay attention, my friend from the Yarn Barn.” mother responds in a huff.
“Wait, the woman you were talking to in line?”
“Yes, we realized just how much we had in common and she asked me to lunch. Did you see the vest she was wearing? She made that herself. I mean she doesn’t have my skill level, but I could show her a thing or two (how in the heck did my mother make a friend in the five minutes it took to walk from the cash register to the car?). My mind races over bits of their conversation. Did she ask her to lunch while they were in line? How did that come about? Maybe my mom complimented her vest, then Florence, feeling flattered, asked her to lunch?
I’ve always wondered if a compliment might be a good opening line when trying to make a friend, then you just strike up a conversation after, while they’re smiling at you.
I glance at my mother as I drive, still in full smile like she just discovered penicillin or something. Maybe I should just ask her.
Forget it, she’ll just lecture me on how socially adept she is and how inept and ridiculous I am (like I need her help reminding me of that).
The rest of our drive home is full of stories from my mother’s morning at the Yarn Barn. From the line outside, that now includes 40 people…to what her new friend Florence told her about the clerk, Nancy, who was fired for smoking in front of customers and smelling up the yarn with her cigarettes.
I pull into the driveway in time for a headache to begin cracking at the edges of my skull. I make my way inside and rush for the staircase before my mother has a chance to notice me missing. As I scale the stairs I hear her in the kitchen, bags rustling as she recites all of her yarn purchases; each color, style, and how much money she’s saved. I head for my bedroom and shut the door behind me, then drop on the bed.
Laying on the bed I look up at the ceiling and the square frosted glass light fixture that has been hanging there for as long as I can remember.
I hear my mother’s footsteps on the staircase, then down the hall, bags rustling at her side, as she hums to herself (boy she’s floating on a cloud. Why not, she’s had a banner day, a yarn sale and new friend).
I stare at the ceiling light as I run through the events of the day ending with my mother's story about the store clerk being fired for smoking. How ridiculous, like she would smoke in front of the customers.
But, what is even more ridiculous is my mother has a lunch date with someone she just met. How do you spend two minutes talking to someone in line, then suddenly they’re asking you to lunch? I spend eight hour a day talking to customers in my grocery line and no one has ever asked me to go to lunch.
My thoughts return to the Yarn Barn and the two young women I overheard picking out yarn for their boyfriend’s scarves. I sit up in bed and reach inside my nightstand drawer for my Oliver, my stuffed bear. “Hello, my name is Ruby, isn’t there some lovely yarn here today?” I say to Oliver as his plastic eyes stare back at me unimpressed. “Does your boyfriend like to wear mittens, too?” ...okay, that’s a stupid question. “Did you know Nancy worked here until she was fired for smoking in front of the customers? Do you want to go to lunch with me and be my friend? Argh” I smash Oliver’s face into my face, embarrassed at my awkward attempt at conversation, then hug him close the way I always do when I start feeling lonely.
How did my mother do it? How did she make a friend so easily?
Maybe she really did know better. Maybe I still just need to listen to her and do what she says after all.
Kommentare