Author : Pyai
She tapped me on the shoulder as I placed the rubber lid over the last of the macaroni casserole. I didnâ€™t turn around.
â€œYouâ€™re quiet,â€ she said. She knew. I nodded.
One of the caterers came over to me and took the dishes away from in front of me. My tasks at this location was complete. In my peripheral vision I noted that the chairs needed to be folded and returned to the supply pod the caterers brought. I moved over and began to disassemble.
â€œMarge Calliope Long, turn around this instant and look at me.â€
I turned and looked at the woman who was my mother. She had wear marks down her face from her eyes to her chin leaving smooth shiny paths. She had been over-working her tear-ducts. â€œYes mother?â€ I replied.
She tapped my chest, where my heart was quiet. â€œYou didnâ€™t wind it today, did you?â€ I could hear hers softly ticking under the noise of the people around us.
I looked at her, refusing to answer. I knew my eyes were calm. I was slightly proud of that fact. Hers werenâ€™t.
â€œYou know you have to keep winding it, Marge. I know you think it keeps you from feeling pain, but you have to wind it again someday, and when you do youâ€™ll have to deal with your fatherâ€™s death. Itâ€™s the law that we keep them wound. You know that.â€
I nodded, covering the spot over my chest with my hand I knew she could see anyway. â€œI know mother, I will.â€
She nodded, wiping tears out of her eyes. She gave me a little hug, and then left to say goodbye to the last of the guests. She didnâ€™t hear me whisper into my curled fingers.
â€œ…but not today.â€