She was a piece of work, Norma Jean – just like Monroe – Moore Welch.
The wife and I, oh, how Mom loved the wife and ain’t that great truly, will catch a phrase and think of her.
“I don’t like jelly beans.”
“It was very nice, thank you. We won’t be back.”
“Yes, it’s new. And I don’t like it.”
In our family, the eldest person gets about all the respect the Japanese offer the inventor of haiku. A lot. Of course, now that I am the eldest – go, figure – nobody could give a shit.
Think I got off track. We called Mom every night. Every night. Night after night. I should’ve had that much sex. One night she says, ‘oh, so tonight must be your night to talk to me.’ We had been switching on and off. Other couples argue about money and carpooling, we struggled over, whose night is it to talk to Mom?
The night she died, it was my turn to call.
I called and called and called.
There was no answer.