She remembers the Tearful Farewell Scene

For weeks now,my mother has been stacking linens and sweaters in piles on the sofa.I've gained eighteen pounds in the past two months and the small square refrigerator already sits in the car's trunk,smugly.But the surgeon have just reopened your stitches and I don't know how to tell you I'm leaving for college.If you had a bowl of porridge cooling on the nightstand,I'd think we were on the set of a play about the infirmary of a boarding house.Cost of abandoned boys and their terse and hurried nurses.

I miss your old room with the guitar in the corner,the curtain I could tug around us for privacy.They've shaved the top of tour head again and the staples are back in place along your scalp.And I tell you like it's no big deal.I'll just see you on weekends and you grab a hank of hair and yank my face closer,then remember to be gentle and pet me a little,sighing College Girl.


When I ask you for advice,I mean I promised not to baffle my brain with acid like you.I promise to come home intact.Your whole mouth works to form the words you want before you manage to pronounce:egg crate.And then louder:egg crate.Again.agitated-egg crate.It takes the sternest nurse to settle you back against the sheets,to explain you mean the orthopedic foam between the mattress and your back.She says you can pick one up at Caldors.Look down at you and adds He's been sleeping much better with his.And you tug a few strands of my hair again,nodding triumphantly.And I say sure thing.And I tell you Good-bye.