{"id":998,"date":"2019-11-07T18:42:27","date_gmt":"2019-11-07T18:42:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/?page_id=998"},"modified":"2019-11-07T18:42:27","modified_gmt":"2019-11-07T18:42:27","slug":"finger","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/?page_id=998","title":{"rendered":"Jo Ana Finger"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Home<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n


Ma refused to leave. She sat down on a pile of boxes and went limp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome on, Ma. The movers are waiting,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An eye twitched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMa, you\u2019ll like the apartment. It\u2019s brand new. In the basement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No response.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I signaled to Duke and Paulie, childhood friends, Paulie, skinny as a snake, Duke, shoulders wide as Alaska. They stepped in. \u201cCome on, Mrs. Gugliamo.\u201d They slid their arms fireman-style under the eighty-seven year-old woman, nothing but a bag of loose bones, and carried her out the door and down the steps. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

After they deposited her in the car, they chugged back up the steps and began to lug boxes and furniture, rugs and suitcases into the small Uhaul. \u201cShe needs to be in a home, Billy,\u201d Paulie said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fifty-four years old, and to my friends still I was Billy, never Bill or William.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI promised\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, we know. You promised.\u201d Duke hefted a television into his arms. \u201cNoble. But stupid. Come on, Paulie, put your back into it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulie hoisted a chest of drawers with scrawny arms, but not before he gave me a look of\u2014contempt? pity? frustration? It was hard to know with Paulie. One half of his face was livid with scar tissue from a fire when he was two. His family had escaped their house, each thinking someone else had grabbed Paulie. No one had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. I promised.\u201d I picked up two suitcases that contained Ma\u2019s clothing and followed them to my car. I drove through town, Ma next to me, eyes shut. She hummed a tuneless tune. Her fingers fidgeted with her sweater buttons, the seatbelt, her gray hair. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I owned a house with a basement in-law apartment. Ma was to move in now that her house had sold, and my last tenant had moved out. I\u2019d done a remodel that included a stairlift, bathroom pull bars, all the things to make it safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My sister Minnie said it would never work, that I put in too many hours, was never home, that Ma would somehow get lost, run into traffic, leave the stove on. My sister, all gloom and doom, a single parent, worn down with worry. There was no way she could take Ma, not that she wanted to, not with two teenaged children still home, cramped into a nine-hundred-square-foot post-World War II Cape Cod. Ma\u2019s care fell to me\u2013 no wife, no kids, nothing to divert my attention. The lucky bachelor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fact that Ma and I were chalk and cheese, always had been, didn\u2019t faze Minnie, though she did agree to stop over middays to make sure Ma hadn\u2019t burned the place down, caused a flood with the water left on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I checked my rear view mirror, Duke and Paulie behind in the U-Haul. I uttered a small thanks for their help and turned onto Forrest Drive, a suburban-like street in the heart of the city. My house, at the end of a cul-de-sac, was a 1980s Colonial, three beds, two baths. It needed a paint job and someone to mow the lawn and trim the bushes out front, but what with Ma and work, I hadn\u2019t gotten around to hire anyone to do the maintenance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Uhaul rumbled into the driveway. My next door neighbor, Mrs. Abele, popped out of her front door as soon as I turned off the car. What a surprise. She trudged across the grass, one of her glutinous pies clutched in both hands with such delicate attention you would have thought she carried the Dead Sea Scrolls. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seventyish, nosy, Mrs. Abele was a lonely widow, kids grown and gone. I hadn\u2019t told her much about Ma. I maneuvered one foot out the driver\u2019s side. \u201cWilliam,\u201d Mrs. Abele said, hustling up next to me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was the only person I knew who called me by my full name. The pie was proffered. \u201cBanana cream. A new recipe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMrs. Abele. You shouldn\u2019t have.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She scooted to the passenger side and peered through the window. \u201cAnd you must be Celeste.\u201d She opened the door. Ma was in her seat, still limp, eyes closed, chin to chest. Mrs.Abele turned to me. \u201cThe poor thing. She\u2019s exhausted from the move.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just then the The Uhaul doors cranked open and Duke and Paulie descended. The truck adjusted upward for the loss of Dukes\u2019s nearly three hundred pounds. Mrs. Abele smiled toward my friends, then sucked in her breath when she saw the side of Paulie\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou must be Duke and Paulie. William has told me what good friends you are.\u201d Her eyes darted away from Paulie\u2019s ruined face, and I saw him open his mouth. I shook my head at him. Paulie had several routines he performed for those who were uncomfortable with his face, from the immobile look of your basic stiff to the incomprehensible muttering and odd grunts of the mental defective. When he was in character for this persona, his mouth would roll open, grotesque in its shape, and as guttural sounds emerged, his eyes, both untouched by the fire, would dart from to side to side in feigned frustration. Paulie had a refined sense of humor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow do you do, ma\u2019am?\u201d Duke was all politeness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulie nodded and turned away. He rolled up the hatch of the Uhaul and climbed inside. Still limp as a gutted mackeral, Ma ignored the goings-on around her. It would be no easy task to get her out of the car and into the apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMrs. Abele, thanks for the pie. We need to get settled now, so\u2013\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She took the hint. \u201cYou\u2019re welcome, William. See you soon, Celeste.\u201d With a flutter of fingers directed at the car window, she trotted toward home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I got Ma out of the car. Noble. But stupid. I was to remember Duke\u2019s words over the next few months as I settled into the role of caregiver, a middle-aged man with no wife or kids who\u2019d never taken care of anyone or anything. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As a boy I\u2019d wanted a cat or dog, but, forget it. Ma had frowned on pets, and when I won a goldfish at the Fireman\u2019s Fair\u2014ping-pong ball toss\u2014it disappeared while I was at school. One day a happy fish swimming circles in its small glass bowl, the next day, nothing. Ma pretended not to know where it had gone, and while upset, I wasn\u2019t exactly heartbroken because after all, how attached can you get to a fish? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now my current situation overwhelmed me. I managed to find a woman to get Ma up and dressed and then to come again at night to cook her dinner and put her to bed. There was a limit to what I was willing to do, and I drew the line at bathing and potty duty. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Abele, busybody that she was, eased my lot. After Minnie did her quick noontime check, Mrs. Abele visited. She seemed to enjoy sitting with Ma. The two of them watched classic game shows or played cards. Ma\u2019s favorite was a bizarre form of Old Maid. Since Ma couldn\u2019t remember any of the cards, they made up the rules as they went along.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was unloading groceries at the apartment one day while Mrs. Abele was there. \u201cMrs. Abele I really appreciate this. Ma enjoys the companionship.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mrs. Abele deftly shuffled the deck while Ma\u2019s eyes focused on the blur of her fingers. Ma took each card Mrs. Abele handed her and dropped it on the floor. She chortled as she dropped each one. \u201cI like to be useful,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMrs. Abele\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, William. She likes it when I pick them up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma finally spoke. \u201cBitch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYep, I\u2019m the bitch.\u201d Mrs. Abele continued to deal, unperturbed by Ma\u2019s profanity. Ma had begun to cuss. After a lifetime of rigid respectability, curse words delighted her. She seemed to try a new one daily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I watched, both fascinated and repelled as Mrs. Abele bent down to pick up the cards Ma had dropped. The seat of her baggy jeans rose upward. \u201cHere you go, Celeste. Make a fan.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma gathered the cards in her palsied hands, and spread them out. Her face stretched in the grimace that was her new version of a smile. \u201cOkay, what pairs do you have?\u201d Mrs. Abele said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma began to discard cards at random with intense concentration. She threw down an ace, a set of unmatched court cards, a ten. \u201cExcellent. Now you\u2019re getting the hang of it.\u201d Mrs. Abele placed a pair of fives on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSeven.\u201d Ma offered the King of Hearts to Mrs. Abele who took it and placed it face up. \u201cGreat, Celeste. Anything else?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma shook her head from side to side. \u201cBitch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo? Looks like you\u2019re winning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so the game went. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but Ma seemed engaged. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I placed the groceries in the cupboard and left. The two old ladies never looked up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was March. By April, Ma was settled. Her routine consisted of a morning wash and dressing, helped by Dolores, the hired woman, breakfast, cooked by Dolores, morning cartoons, heavy on The Roadrunner<\/em>, a visit from Minnie, lunch, cooked by Dolores, then Mrs. Abele with her deck of cards. At dinner, I would check in, and Dolores would put Ma down for an early night. It was a patchwork, but the best I could do. Ma seemed content, but her clouded eyes didn\u2019t give much away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One Thursday, my cell rang in the middle of a meeting. Paulie. I held up a hand to signal Mavis, my paralegal, to take over. She knew my situation. We were in the middle of pre-divorce proceedings for a couple who spewed vitriol at each other like skunks.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey.\u201d Paulie\u2019s normal greeting. He called me for two reasons only\u2014a problem with the law or a problem with Ma. Last I knew, Paulie was a line cook at Edison\u2019s, a downtown dive, so it had to be Ma.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMrs. Abele called. She couldn\u2019t get hold of you. Your mother is at the old house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t know. I\u2019m on my way over now.\u201d The phone went dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at the blank screen. Paulie conveyed messages in a concise way that as a divorce lawyer, I admired. He also had a fondness for Ma. I rotated my hand in circles through the glass partition to signal Mavis to continue. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I drove through the old neighborhood. Narrow brownstones, skinny alleys, gray city trees. The park across the street from Number 55 was still winter-dreary, the grass brown and the trees held buds with tight fists. The artificial lake was plate-glass smooth, the boathouse shuttered. The man-made beach stretched toward the black sheen. As children, Paulie, Duke, and I had spent hours in that park. One summer day Paulie dove in, slipped under the water, and stayed there, tangled in weeds. Duke had dived in after him, punched him for the fright he gave us, all before the lifeguards grabbed their buoys. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I swung into a parking space near the old house. Ma sat on the bottom step of our former brownstone. Paulie sat next to her, a plaid blanket wrapped around both of them. I could see the owner of the brownstone as she hovered about the open door. Her narrow face hung around the edge. \u201cI found her here when I came out to get the trash cans. Again. I\u2019ll call the police next time. She can\u2019t keep bothering us. The kids are afraid.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTime to go home, Mrs. Gugliamo.\u201d Paulie hoisted Ma to her feet. She wobbled a moment and leaned against him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHome. That\u2019s my Paulie. You\u2019ll be all right.\u201d She reached twisted and bent fingers to his face, patted his scarred cheek. Her nails were rimed with dirt. Lately, Ma had developed an aversion to soap and water. Paulie bent and scooped her up. I remembered Ma after the fire, Paulie\u2019s mother hysterical, no one to comfort Paulie who came awake, screaming, in the fireman\u2019s arms. It was Ma who held his hand all the way to the ER while he thrashed, his face peeling away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll have to do something, Billy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAny suggestions?\u201d I stopped, ashamed. \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulie shook his head and maneuvered Ma into my car. \u201cI have to go. Lunch shift.\u201d Paulie loped off down the street. He stopped a minute, gave a brief wave. I was forgiven.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two days later, a Saturday, Ma went missing again. Dolores called me to the empty apartment, tearful, and wrung her hands, something I\u2019d never seen anyone do. \u201cShe was not here when I came, Mr. G. I look everywhere\u2014everywhere\u2014and I can\u2019t find her.\u201d Dolores sat on the sofa, rocking back and forth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My cell rang.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBilly. How ya doing?\u201d Don Stevens\u2019s smoker\u2019s voice graveled over the phone. I\u2019d handled Don\u2019s divorce and he was forever grateful. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay, Don, how \u2019bout yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFine. Look, Billy, your mother is here. Thinks it\u2019s poker night.\u201d Ma used to play poker with Don\u2019s father on Wednesday nights, cigars and bourbon, Ma, one of the boys.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe right there.\u201d I motioned for Dolores to get her coat. Don\u2019s house was around the corner from the old brownstone. Dolores sat in the back seat and cried the whole way. I didn\u2019t knock when we got to the door. No one had ever knocked at the Stevens\u2019s house\u2014as kids, we were always welcome.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing had changed except we weren\u2019t kids anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma, hands folded in front of her, sat at the dining room table, the big mahogany table used for dinners and poker. She was barefoot. Dolores bustled over. \u201cMrs. G., you must come home. We have to fix your hair so it\u2019s pretty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma ignored her, gave no indication she recognized Dolores. She stared at the photographs hung over the buffet. \u201cIt\u2019s your deal, Howard.\u201d Howard was Don\u2019s dad, dead the last ten years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don shot me a look. \u201cHey, Ma,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma swung her eyes to me. Her chin quivered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMa?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her hands shuffled non-existent cards. \u201cCome on, Jasper, I\u2019ll deal you in. You\u2019re late.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Imaginary cards shot out of Ma\u2019s fingers to five phantom poker players. Her head bobbed as each card was dealt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMa? It\u2019s me, Billy.\u201d I knelt by Ma\u2019s chair and tried to take one of her hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho\u2019s Billy? Is he joining us?\u201d Ma continued to deal the cards. She smiled at Don Stevens and gestured for him to take his seat. \u201cWelcome to my home. I\u2019m so glad you could come. Coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don looked over Ma\u2019s head at me. Dolores continued to sniffle. Oblivious, Ma flipped cards to the imaginary players. \u201cNow, whose turn is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the incident at Don\u2019s house, I hired Dolores to stay all day. She grumbled a bit, but she liked Ma, and she needed the money. Minnie continued her noontime checks as best she could. Life at her house was hectic, her oldest boy in constant trouble at school. Half the time she was in the principal\u2019s office with a sullen teenager. We\u2019d gotten into it after I\u2019d hauled Ma home from Don\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI told you, Billy, I told you. We can\u2019t do this. Ma cannot be left alone for a minute. She needs to be in a facility.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d I don\u2019t know why I was so adamant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBilly, she won\u2019t know the difference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFine. But if she falls down those steps or gets hit by a car on one of her escapes, well\u2026\u201d Minnie trailed off. \u201cYou\u2019re on your own. I have my hands full with Calvin.\u201d With that, Minnie walked away. My family knew how to walk away, our story tainted by the loss of my father. Not through death, just an excursion to the store for cigarettes. He never returned. No card, no phone call to explain. Never to be seen again. Ma, alone with me, a toddler, and Minnie, in utero. History repeated itself thirty years later when Minnie\u2019s husband vanished, another escapee from domestic entanglements.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two weeks after this exchange, Ma ended up back on the steps of the old brownstone. By the time Paulie notified me, the cops were there. Blue lights flashed from the curb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou her son?\u201d The officer in charge stood, hands on hips, legs in parade rest. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Smudged glasses blurred his eyes. His partner patrolled the sidewalk, one wary eye on Ma. Neighbors gathered to watch. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The officer in charge waved a fat hand in the direction of the front door. \u201cThe owner says she\u2019s been harassing her family. This gentleman here,\u201d a nod toward Paulie, \u201cwas on his way to work when he saw your mother sitting on the steps. He called you. Question is, what\u2019s she doing here?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw Paulie edge closer to Ma. She reached a hand to him. Ma looked frail, her neck too thin to hold up her head, her bird legs splayed in front of her. Her flowered house dress pouched between her thighs. Mottled calves, blue with cold, leaned inwards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry, Officer. She wanders and\u2014she\u2019s not harassing anyone. Her mind\u2014\u201d I stopped. \u201cLook. It won\u2019t happen again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The officer sucked in a breath. \u201cSee that it doesn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s sick.\u201d This from Paulie. When he was angry, the scars on Paulie\u2019s face became livid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The officer\u2019s ponderous belly swung in Paulie\u2019s direction. \u201cYeah? Then keep her away from here. Come on, Stan, we got better things to do. The rest of you, go on home. Show\u2019s over.\u201d They got in their squad car, switched off the lights, pulled from the curb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paulie had his arm around Ma as he urged her toward my car. \u201cBilly, she wants to go home. That\u2019s why she keeps coming here.\u201d I opened the car door. \u201cWhat am I supposed to do? I promised.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe know. You promised. Meantime, you can\u2019t keep her in one place.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know how you feel about Ma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d Paul kicked the chipped concrete of the sidewalk. \u201cShe\u2019s the only one who never thought I was a freak. The only one who treated me normal, made me play with you and Duke. You have any idea what it\u2019s like to look this way?\u201d Paulie\u2019s hands scrubbed across his face. \u201cShe deserves better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe Paulie was right. My experience of Ma was different\u2014a distant woman, a deep anger over her absent husband, a woman who worked long hours to provide her children with food and a place to live. Nothing more. Never a home. Minnie and I received none of the affection she lavished on Paulie, or on Duke, who even as a child had been the size of a Volkswagen. I couldn\u2019t understand my own reluctance to put her in a nursing home. By rights, I should be happy to turn her over to the diaper crew. And yet, I couldn\u2019t. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe I still waited for some acknowledgement from Ma, a sign that I existed to her. Proof of life. Of love. Stupid, I knew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, Duke dropped by. He sprawled on the sofa, taking the space of three gorillas. With a can of Pepsi clutched in one large paw, he punched the buttons on my remote until he found HGTV. Duke had a thing for the Magnolia girl. As he watched, she placed leafy sprigs in glass pots arranged in artistic positions around a perfect kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPaulie\u2019s upset.\u201d Duke was Paulie\u2019s personal shrink, able to read him better than anyone. If Paulie was upset, Duke got riled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd this is my problem because?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause it\u2019s about your ma.\u201d Duke shifted and sat up. The couch sagged. His dark eyes focused on the screen. \u201cThat Magnolia girl is cute. Great backsplash.\u201d He took a swig from his Pepsi. \u201cPaulie doesn\u2019t love anyone except your ma. \u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Duke shifted again. The Magnolia girl added more vegetation to the glass pots, cocked her head to one side and rearranged the greenery. I punched the OFF button on the remote.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDuke.\u201d I tossed the remote across the room. \u201cLook at me. What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPaulie\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, I know. Paulie\u2019s upset. What does he want?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Duke tilted the Pepsi can to his mouth, drained it. \u201cHe wants you to put your ma in a nursing home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared at Duke, my lifelong friend forged out of the angst of a misfit childhood. Nearly fifty years we\u2019d known each other. \u201cTalk to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPaulie\u2019s worried. He\u2019s afraid she\u2019ll get hurt. That would kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s my<\/em> mother\u2014\u201d I broke off at the look on Duke\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPaulie thinks she\u2019s his mother.\u201d Duke stared at the dark TV screen. \u201cYou had what you needed. Your ma once told me that you would be okay, that you had focus. Paulie and me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had been snail-small, picked on by classmates, Paulie, scarred and angry. An alcoholic father and helpless mother. Duke, the lonely hulk, big enough to protect us, an orphan living with an aunt and uncle who never wanted him, locked him out one night when he was five minutes late from football practice. Below freezing outside, and Duke with no place to go except to Ma. My mother, abandoned by her husband, alone with her children and her grief, opened her heart to him, to them both, added them to her pathetic family. I pictured Paulie, mute in front of our TV, Duke, charging up our stairs on Saturdays, a football in his hands, Ma who made him sit and eat. \u201cIf you\u2019re going to play football, you need fuel.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She scrambled eggs, made toast, poured milk, watched Duke inhale it all. Never once did she allude to the fact that if Duke didn’t eat at our house, he didn\u2019t eat. Paulie and Duke, strays taken in by Ma. \u201cFriends are rare,\u201d she\u2019d said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDuke, she doesn\u2019t know what\u2019s going on. How can I move her again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Duke crumpled the Pepsi can and stared at his hands. \u201cYou have to.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded. He was right. It was too late. Ma would never caress my cheek, lavish attention on me. My face wasn\u2019t scarred. I wasn\u2019t an orphan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A month later, we moved Ma. Courtesy of Dolores who\u2019d spent two hours fussing over her, she was dressed in a pink dress with a white bow at the neckline, a white hat, and white Keds, the only shoes she would wear. \u201cDon\u2019t you look nice, Celeste. What a pretty dress.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma pulled the straw hat off her head. She mussed the perm Dolores and Mrs. Abele had given her. \u201cItches.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay Celeste. You don\u2019t have to wear it.\u201d Mrs. Abele took it from her, patted her hand. \u201cNow, I\u2019ll be there tomorrow. We\u2019ll play cards.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ma didn\u2019t answer. Her chin was sunk in the collar of her dress. \u201cBye, Mrs. G. I will come visit.\u201d Dolores gave Ma a peck on the cheek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTime to go.\u201d I motioned to Duke and Paulie. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Holding Ma like Cleopatra descending the temple into Rome, Paulie and Duke carried her to my car. Mrs. Abele followed behind with her purse, Dolores on her heels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWilliam, make sure you tell them she likes her coffee black. And hotdogs. She really likes hotdogs.\u201d Mrs. Abele was at my elbow, tearful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, Mrs. Abele.\u201d Ma ate hotdogs? When I was a kid, according to Ma, hotdogs were filled with rat hair and nitrates. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

With Ma settled in the car, I backed out of the driveway. Ma made no sound. Duke and Paulie watched from the yard. Mrs. Abele and Dolores had their arms wrapped around each other as if they needed the support.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want to go home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s where we\u2019re going, Ma. Home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho are those people?\u201d One bony finger pointed at Duke and Paulie and Mrs. Abele and Dolores gathered on the lawn like hired mourners.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019re friends, Ma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re Billy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right, Ma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBilly, Ma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glanced over. Ma\u2019s head was down. Her eyes darted from side to side, to me, to the windshield, to the side window, back to me. She picked up her right hand, brought it close to her face and stared at it. \u201cBilly. I had a son once. He\u2019s gone now.\u201d Ma straightened, picked her chin out of her neck, stared straight ahead. \u201cTake me home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay, Ma, okay.\u201d
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Jo Ana Finger was born in Albany, New York where she pursued a career as a teacher. In 2008, she and her husband moved to Charleston, SC. Besides writing, she is a voracious reader, plays tennis\u2014fairly well\u2014and the piano\u2014not so well. Her hometown, her travels throughout the Northeast, and the beautiful lowcountry of South Carolina often provide inspiration for her writing. This is her first published story.
<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Home Ma refused to leave. She sat down on a pile of boxes and went limp. \u201cCome on, Ma. The movers are waiting,\u201d I said. An eye twitched. \u201cMa, you\u2019ll like the apartment. It\u2019s brand new. In the basement.\u201d No response. I signaled to Duke and Paulie, childhood friends, Paulie, skinny as a snake, Duke, shoulders wide as Alaska. They stepped in. \u201cCome on, Mrs. Gugliamo.\u201d They slid their arms fireman-style under the eighty-seven year-old woman, nothing but a bag of loose bones, and carried her out the door and down the steps. After they deposited her in the car, they chugged back up the steps and began to lug boxes and furniture, rugs and suitcases into the small Uhaul. \u201cShe needs to be in a home, Billy,\u201d Paulie said.  Fifty-four years old, and to my friends still I was Billy, never Bill or William. \u201cI promised\u2014\u201d \u201cYeah, we know. You promised.\u201d Duke hefted a television into his arms. \u201cNoble. But stupid. Come on, Paulie, put your back into it.\u201d Paulie hoisted a chest of drawers with scrawny arms, but not before he gave me a look of\u2014contempt? pity? frustration? It was hard to know with Paulie. One half of his face was livid with scar tissue from a fire when he was two. His family had escaped their house, each thinking someone else had grabbed Paulie. No one had. \u201cYeah. I promised.\u201d I picked up two suitcases that contained Ma\u2019s clothing and followed them to my car. I drove through town, Ma next to me, eyes shut. She hummed a tuneless tune. Her fingers fidgeted with her sweater buttons, the seatbelt, her gray hair.  I owned a house with a basement in-law apartment. Ma was to move in now that her house had sold, and my last tenant had moved out. I\u2019d done a remodel that included a stairlift, bathroom pull bars, all the things to make it safe. My sister Minnie said it would never work, that I put in too many hours, was never home, that Ma would somehow get lost, run into traffic, leave the stove on. My sister, all gloom and doom, a single parent, worn down with worry. There was no way she could take Ma, not that she wanted to, not with two teenaged children still home, cramped into a nine-hundred-square-foot post-World War II Cape Cod. Ma\u2019s care fell to me\u2013 no wife, no kids, nothing to divert my attention. The lucky bachelor.  The fact that Ma and I were chalk and cheese, always had been, didn\u2019t faze Minnie, though she did agree to stop over middays to make sure Ma hadn\u2019t burned the place down, caused a flood with the water left on. I checked my rear view mirror, Duke and Paulie behind in the U-Haul. I uttered a small thanks for their help and turned onto Forrest Drive, a suburban-like street in the heart of the city. My house, at the end of a cul-de-sac, was a 1980s Colonial, three beds, two baths. It needed a paint job and someone to mow the lawn and trim the bushes out front, but what with Ma and work, I hadn\u2019t gotten around to hire anyone to do the maintenance.  The Uhaul rumbled into the driveway. My next door neighbor, Mrs. Abele, popped out of her front door as soon as I turned off the car. What a surprise. She trudged across the grass, one of her glutinous pies clutched in both hands with such delicate attention you would have thought she carried the Dead Sea Scrolls.  Seventyish, nosy, Mrs. Abele was a lonely widow, kids grown and gone. I hadn\u2019t told her much about Ma. I maneuvered one foot out the driver\u2019s side. \u201cWilliam,\u201d Mrs. Abele said, hustling up next to me.  She was the only person I knew who called me by my full name. The pie was proffered. \u201cBanana cream. A new recipe.\u201d \u201cMrs. Abele. You shouldn\u2019t have.\u201d She scooted to the passenger side and peered through the window. \u201cAnd you must be Celeste.\u201d She opened the door. Ma was in her seat, still limp, eyes closed, chin to chest. Mrs.Abele turned to me. \u201cThe poor thing. She\u2019s exhausted from the move.\u201d  Just then the The Uhaul doors cranked open and Duke and Paulie descended. The truck adjusted upward for the loss of Dukes\u2019s nearly three hundred pounds. Mrs. Abele smiled toward my friends, then sucked in her breath when she saw the side of Paulie\u2019s face. \u201cYou must be Duke and Paulie. William has told me what good friends you are.\u201d Her eyes darted away from Paulie\u2019s ruined face, and I saw him open his mouth. I shook my head at him. Paulie had several routines he performed for those who were uncomfortable with his face, from the immobile look of your basic stiff to the incomprehensible muttering and odd grunts of the mental defective. When he was in character for this persona, his mouth would roll open, grotesque in its shape, and as guttural sounds emerged, his eyes, both untouched by the fire, would dart from to side to side in feigned frustration. Paulie had a refined sense of humor. \u201cHow do you do, ma\u2019am?\u201d Duke was all politeness. Paulie nodded and turned away. He rolled up the hatch of the Uhaul and climbed inside. Still limp as a gutted mackeral, Ma ignored the goings-on around her. It would be no easy task to get her out of the car and into the apartment. \u201cMrs. Abele, thanks for the pie. We need to get settled now, so\u2013\u201d She took the hint. \u201cYou\u2019re welcome, William. See you soon, Celeste.\u201d With a flutter of fingers directed at the car window, she trotted toward home. I got Ma out of the car. Noble. But stupid. I was to remember Duke\u2019s words over the next few months as I settled into the role of caregiver, a middle-aged man with no wife or kids who\u2019d never taken care of anyone or anything.  As<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":954,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"templates\/page-full-width.php","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-998","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/998","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=998"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/998\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/954"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepetigrureview.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=998"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}