I Can Almost Taste It

I feel safe in my compact apartment. Ironically free. Brick walls are deaf, and that’s good. I don’t ask why all the other units are empty. I just enjoy, and consider myself fortunate. Here, I’m accountable to no one but myself. Out of sight, out of mind.

We talk. Sometimes we've been known to break into song. Yes, I'll admit I savor the sound of my own voice. I'm talented too, although I can't recall ever receiving one iota of acknowledgement. My bookshelves are weighted with neatly handwritten notebooks, hundreds of them. I've penned lyrics that would move a demon to tears. But my inner dialogue--or rather, my thoughts, are even more provocative. They roll on and around my tongue like buttery caramel...soothing, like a mother’s hand--oh, did I just mention my mother?

Mom scoffed when I assured her, woman to woman, that I’m an adult and can manage living alone. As her only child, I was overindulged. She meant well, but eventually I felt smothered by her devotion. Lucky for me, she’s far too occupied now to intrude on my reveries.

It was odd how this change came about. You see, during the one brief time she’d left the house (and me) unattended, she returned to find an ogre had taken charge of my room--or maybe, a troll (whichever is smaller). Anyway, the little creature is prickly if disturbed, but otherwise quite amiable. Frankly, I don’t think mom has anything to complain about. There was a vacancy to be filled. Simple as that. Obviously, the time for me to leave was long overdue.

Besides, she's a mother only a child could love.

So, at last I leave home for good now, with a toothpaste-ad smile, although I’m sure mom doesn’t see it. Her hand soothes me twice more. I catch a glimpse of it the first time--as she jams in a final brick.

Comforting. Kind of like a block of dark chocolate.

My thoughts and I pause for a moment of absolute silence. What we hear next feels comparable to the reward of a rich dessert for a job well done. We listen as our mother’s loving hand smoothes on an icing of sweet-cream mortar.