American River Review 2022 - copy - Flipbook - Page 34
Bug
By Patti Santucci
Ma said somebody dying is like a
sucker punch. You ain’t gonna see
it coming and it’s gonna sting like
the dickens long after it lands. And I
come to figure her mostly for right.
“You okay, Bug?” Ma asked me as
she made a left out the parking lot of
Spring Meadows old folks’ hospital.
I tried to concentrate on the Piggly
Wiggly we passed, the white line that
raced by on the asphalt, anything that
was familiar, but nothing was coming into focus what with all the sad
stuck in my eyes. I couldn’t erase the
picture of Gram, her mouth having
done froze in that lop-sided “O”, them
tubes stuck in her, that doc that come
in to tell us she was gone.
I said I was alright, because I knew
that’s what Ma needed to hear and,
sure enough, she nodded in that way
that told me I’d coughed up the right
answer.
Ma’s mouth twitched and I knew
she was thinking about Gram. Thinking about Gram’s Sunday dinners.
Thinking about how Gram let us
move in with her, four years back,
when we fell on hard times. Thinking
about all the evenings they sat on the
front porch, sipping Ma’s sweet teas
and vodka, toasting like they was at
some dinner party.
“You okay?” I asked, my words
coming out in a stutter because I
wasn’t sure which of Ma’s feelings
was fixing to bubble up on her
tongue.
“I’m fine,” she said, at first not
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looking my way. When she finally
turned, her eyes got them steel smiles
in them, the same ones she had the
day we found Bucky dead under the
porch, them hind legs of his having
already gone stiff.
I felt an apricot pit in my throat
and wiped away any tears that was
fixing to fall.
“Just been a hard is all, what with
Grandpa passing last week, and now
Gram. It’s a lot. For you too. Couldn’t
have got through it without you, Bug.
You’re going to make a fine husband
to one lucky girl someday.”
We both knew that was a lie but
I wasn’t about to say any different
because her feelings was all kind-ofways mixed up. Ma was like Prairie
Dog River. Parts smooth where
floating was easy and diving deep was
safe. But other times, that river, while
still beautiful, churned and roiled,
bringing all kinds of dirt to the surface. Prairie Dog wouldn’t hesitate to
slam you head-first into a rock if you
chose not to respect her.
We come to a stop and Ma turned
the rear-view mirror toward her. She
fussed with her hair and tried to dab
the tired from her eyes. “You didn’t
know Gram when she was younger.
What a looker she was,” she said,
angling the mirror back in place and
letting go a sigh.
“Ain’t nobody prettier than you, Ma.
Why, I overheard Mr. Higgins say you
was as a pretty as a peach.”
“Mr. Higgins? Owner of the Piggly