Monica

5 Aug

It was already 2:30 and my head was pounding.  A cup of coffee probably wouldn’t stop my caffeine headache, but I wasn’t willing to take a chance on it getting worse.  Walking into the usually busy coffee shop, I was surprised not to hear the usual chatter.  I heard only one voice. 

I was pretty sure it was her.  The woman was on her phone arguing with someone.  Whoever was on the other end of the line was being ripped a new one.  Standing half a head over most of the other people in the room, her voice carried as she ordered someone, a nurse or perhaps an orderly, to give her mother some “fucking” ice cream.  She argued that her mother was 85 years old, experiencing organ failure, and in a great deal of pain.  She didn’t care if ice cream wasn’t a healthy food, it was her mother’s favorite.  If it gave her mother some comfort, she’d make damned sure she got her ice cream. 

After a few seconds of silence, she yelled that she was all her mother had, but she wasn’t going to fly across an ocean just to give her mother some Rocky Road.  As she strode back and forth in the coffee shop on her phone, no one else spoke – not even to place an order.  It didn’t matter what she was arguing about, you didn’t interrupt her – well, if it really was her.

When she finally hung up her phone, she turned her back to me.  I had to stifle a giggle.  I could see orange, gray, and white fur coating her otherwise tailored pant-leg.  Yup.  That was her.

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