I Know It's You, I'm Your Mother

         "Hi Mom. It's Susan."

         I know it's you, I'm your mother. Why are you shouting? I'm dying, not deaf."

         "Oops, sorry. Happy Mother's Day! I thought you'd like some fresh flowers."

         "Again, already? Why'd you waste your money?"

         "I picked these lilacs from your yard. Aren't they lovely?"

         "Huh, you obviously don't remember. I told you when you were eight to stop picking them for me. The scent aggravates my asthma. Are you trying to kill me?"

         "Of course not, Mother. I just thought you'd like some Spring colour."

         "And I don't want lilacs at my funeral. I've told you, yellow roses."

         "Now Mom, I don't want to talk about this. You're still breathing. What's new here at the home?"

         "A bed'll be available soon. I tell you, I'm dying. It can't happen soon enough."

         "Is that the sweater Gary gave to you? Is it warm? Here, let me adjust the buttons."

         "Stop fussing girl. Who do you think taught you about buttons? What are you doing with my hair?"

         "Um, pardon? I didn't touch your hair."

         "For my funeral. I really don't want a tight curl. I'm not a poodle. People will gossip, they always do. I still hear talk about Gladys' casket 'do. What was her family thinking? A bob with bangs? And pink? Gladys hated pink. Green..."

         "Did you say green? I'm sorry, what were you saying? Do you want green hair?"

         "What? Where'd you get that cockamamey idea? Green, I want to be buried in my green dress. And maybe just a bit of lipstick. My lips get dry."

         "Are you sure? Are you going to tell me you want nail polish, too?"

         "I'm thinking nothing too bright. I'm not a hootchie-momma, so no red. I want to look good for my viewing, Peach, maybe? I expect I'll be pale. A manicure? I never had one of those."

         "Your hands were never still. Sometimes, they'd be red and chapped. Would you like me to rub on some of that lotion you got for your birthday?"

         "Are you blubbering? You know I'm ninety-one. I can't stay here forever. With the peas and cabbage they're always serving me, I'm surprised I'm still alive. I miss salt."

         "Now Mom, you know that isn't true. Shall I get us a cup of tea?"

         "And cookies. They're stingy with them. I want lots of cookies at my funeral. Did I mention I wish to be cremated?"

         "What? Hold on. Wasn't the plan to bury you next to Nanna?"

         "I have a right to change my mind. Who's dying anyway?"

         "Well, okay. This is just such a shock."

         "What're you babbling about? You know I like cookies. I wonder if there are those tiny sandwiches, the ones Laurie called funeral sandwiches."

         "Pardon? Are you hungry, Mom?"

         "Egg salad. They'll most likely be at my wake. I don't believe the church ladies know how to make any other kind. Where's my tea? I don't have the luxury of time." (496 words)