Happy Mother’s Day
The Johnsons never call Mister Williamson for help in moving, and when he calls a few days before he moves into his new home, he finds the landline has been disconnected. He takes this as a good sign, as investing energy in presuming the opposite would be foolish, and on Mother’s Day, Hilter Odolf Williamson and his Mother Daisy move into their new house on Fricker Drive in the town of Treeburg, New Jersey.
Hilter brings over all the boxes, unpacks, and fully moves in before welcoming his Mother into her new home. He builds her a little apartment in the basement – the garage opens up into a mud room, which leads to a room the Johnsons used for storage, which then leads to the laundry room where the boiler and sub-pump are located. Daisy’s new digs are in that middle room, and that’s just where he brings her, wheelchair and all.
A grunt escapes Hilter’s mouth as he lifts his Mother out of her old wheelchair and lays her down in her new bed. She stares blankly up at the unfinished ceiling, her cheek slicked with drool, her nose whistling as the air flows weakly in and out. Hilter dusts his hands off and then folds up the wheelchair, stashing it between the bed and the wall.
“Well Mother, we’re here. You have a new place to be now, away from the hospital and all those nurses. I didn’t trust them one bit, who knows what kind of ugly shit they got into with you?” He shakes his head ruefully. “Anywho, welcome home.”
Hilter starts to walk out, then dramatically jerks himself to a stop and turns back around. “I almost forgot!” he says, reaching into his back pocket. “I made you a special card for Mother’s Day, Mother. I even wrote you a little poem on the inside. I’d like to read it to you, if you don’t mind.”
Daisy Williamson says absolutely nothing.
“Great! Here, look, I drew a picture on the front, too.” Hilter holds the Mother’s Day card in front of Daisy’s vacant eyes. “See? It’s a runner girl, she even has a little pink headband like the one you used to wear. I know you can’t do much running anymore,” he lightly taps the nearest leg of the bed with his foot, “but it’s the thought that counts, right? Well, I certainly think it is. In any case, the poem. Ahem…”
Don’t think you can run away from it now/
All you’ve done has come back to you, Pow!/
I won’t do mean things like shave off your brows/
So please excuse me as I say this out loud/
You’re the devil. I love you, though I do not know how.
Love, your son, Hilter Odolf
“If you look at the first letter of each line it spells out Daisy, like your name. Neat, huh?”
Daisy continues to breathe, slowly, steadily, and absently, her nose whistling like a bored jailbird.
Hilter closes the homemade card and runs the crease between two of his fingernails. He places it standing up on the nightstand next to his Mother’s bed so, in the unlikely event she ever comes out of her catatonic semi-comatose state, she can look at it. So she can remember. So she can fall right back into the depths of her twisted mind where her despicable consciousness belongs.
Hilter Odolf turns around and goes to leave the room. On his way out the door, leaving the light on of course, he pokes his head back in to say, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mother. Welcome home.” Then he shuts the door behind him.
Hello Commons, this has been the last subchapter of the second story from Convenient Incidents, an anthology of fifteen interconnected short stories which revolve around a man by the name of Hilter Odolf Williamson.
Convenient Incidents is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
Convenient Incidents is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
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Be well Commons~