This is for Alphabe-Thurs, a favorite writing prompt. For letter R!
Marge could ramble now. Her short-term memory had deteriorated, and within the space of ten minutes she could relate the same story three times – about how she couldn’t find her glasses for anything, and then guess where they were? In her slipper. “They must have slipped off my bed….”
And her daughter, while whipping up an early dinner before her son’s soccer practice, would repeat her same response: “You shouldn’t put them on your bed, Mom. Put them on your table so you don’t wind up sitting on them.”
She felt guilty about making these daily phone calls while multitasking; folding laundry, while the pasta was boiling. While listening to one of her own son’s ramblings, the shortest story about some kid farting during carpet-reading time, into a drawn out mind-numbing tale, or about how many drops of water can fit on a penny.
“How many, Mom, do you know?” He was tugging on her shirt.
Marge had also grown quite hard of hearing, so her daughter knew that, in the midst of her repetitive rambles, she would not even hear her multi-tasking conversations.
“No,” she answered. Cussing to herself. She’d overcooked the pasta while trying to match up socks.
“Guess where they were?” Her mother repeated again, from the phone cradled on her shoulder.
“32,” her son said.
Under the bed.”
“Drops on a penny.”
“Are you still there?” She heard her mother calling – from the floor, where the phone had fallen from her shoulder as she tried to drain the pasta in the sink but missed, spilling the scalding water onto her bare feet.