Me: I can’t talk. Mother: What happened?

Me: I’m too upset to share.

Mother: You have to share with me, I’m your mother.

Me: (crying) I elbowed the baby in the head, by accident.

Mother: Ohhhhhhhhhh. Did he cry?

Me: For a minute. But he never cries!

Mother: Well, I’m sure the first thing he will diarize will be today’s event.

Me: Thank you, Mother.

Mother: You know I’m kidding. But darling, you’d best get used to boo boos because there will be many, many more.

Me: Well, what if he’s wired now to be on the alert whenever mommy’s near.

Mother: You’re being ridiculous.

Me: And then, there was a mosquito in the house and I thought he would bite the baby so I killed it, and I never kill bugs, but what’s worse is I killed it with an old Edgar Cayce book that I randomly grabbed off the shelf and now I’m worried I jinxed something.

Mother: You can’t be serious.

Me: In some portion of my brain, I am.

Mother: Well you know what, maybe it was his time to come back as something better.

Me: That would be nice.

Mother: Is that all?

Me: No… I then forgot to freeze his teether and now the poor child is suffering more than usual all because of me. I’m a terrible mother.

Mother: Daring, think of all the infants in Sub-Saharan Africa. How many do you think are gumming frozen teethers right now?

Me: Probably not many.

Mother: And I’m sure that’s the least of their concerns.

Me: I suppose you’re right.

Mother: Of course I’m right. Now, don’t you feel better?

Me: I do, actually. Thank you, Mother.

Mother: No need to thank me, darling. I will chop down any mountain and turn it into a molehill for you. I am the Molehill Maven. But… more importantly… the Queen is speaking today. And I insist you go onto your internet and watch. She bears a striking resemblance to your great grandmother. They could be twins.

Me: Ok. I will.

Mother: Very well. Let’s talk later, darling, I’ve got to get over to St. Vincent de Paul’s before it rains.

Me: Alright. Goodbye, Mother.

Me:  I’m so sad. Mother:  Why?

Me:  Brautigan had some specs of blood in his diaper today. He’s so determined to pass his bowels. He’s been pushing and pushing for two days and I’m so sad because I feel he pushes to make me proud. Maybe I give him too much applause for releasing his bowels.

Mother:  What do you mean, applause?

Me:  I clap my hands.  Or sometimes, I applaud and then sing the ‘I’m Proud of You’ song, and do a little dance.

Mother:  You’ve got to be kidding, Jess.

Me:  What do you mean?

Mother:  You’re going to make him totally anal-obsessed. You’re going to turn him into a proctologist. He’s going to grow up and major in anus 101 and anus 102.

Me:  He’s too young to develop issues, Mother.

Mother:  Like hell he is.

Me:  Besides, where do you think I got this from?  You are the one who gave me standing ovations for my BMs!

Mother:  I gave you standing ovations for everything you did.

Me:  See what I mean?  How is that any different?

Mother:  It’s not.  I’m just trying to prevent another relative of mine from having issues.

Me:  Oh my God!  So you admit I have issues!

Mother:  I didn’t say you had issues.

Me:  You implied I have issues.  It’s ok.  You can be honest.  I know I have issues.  And as I suspected, I now know it’s all your fault!  I’ve grown up into someone who cannot handle any portion of life without a standing ovation.  And I haven’t had one since you gave one to me!  No wonder I don’t get along with my husband!

Mother:  (laughing) I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

Me:  What difference does it make if I forgive you? I am a ruined person.

Mother:  (laughing)

Me:  It’s not funny.

Mother:  Write your congressman.

Mother: (in the midst of diatribing)…it’s really amazing what a little bit of brown sugar in Dijon will do. It tasted just like General Taos’s chicken.

Me: (silence)

Mother: Are you listening to me???

Me: You’re not going to believe this.

Mother: What?

Me: Brautigan just poo-ed. Every time he hears your voice, he poos.

Mother: I will attempt to be honored.

Me: You should be, Mother. You’re like a verbal laxative!

Mother: We’ll isn’t that something.

Me: I think he’s relaxed by your voice. He hasn’t poo-ed in over a day!

Mother: Can he still hear me?

Me: Yes.

Mother: Brautigan, listen up. This is your grand-mère and I want to talk about what just happened… Because of your age, I will allow it, but it’s never too early to learn manners. There are private activities and public activities, and we do not flaunt our poo. Is he listening?

Me: Yes.

Mother: What is he doing?

Me: He’s still poo-ing.

Mother: Well, I see we will have to revisit this topic again next time.

Mother: I seriously hope you are not planning on going to the hospital un-groomed.

Me: Mother, grooming is kind of the last thing on my mind right now. Besides, I cannot reach anything lower than my bellybutton.

Mother: Jessica, you need to landscape. It's a priority. You don't want the nurses talking behind your back.

Me: Mother, these days, I don't believe landscaping is as important as it was when you gave birth.

Mother: That poor little boy, he'll come out and no one will be able to find him.

Chris: (overhearing our phone call while sponging off the table) Well, maybe Jess could swallow one of those GI Joe Machetes.

Mother:  Chris, I think that’s a splendid idea!

Mother: What are you doing?

Me: Eating cheese and sprouted grain crackers.

Mother: Sickening. You should be eating triskets.

Me: Why, they’re probably loaded with GMOs.

Mother: Right.  If you say so. You’re in a fine mood.

Me: Well, I’m all alone and I can’t leave because I cannot tie my fucking shoes.

Mother: You can’t be serious.

Me: I have been trying for 20 minutes.

Mother: Can’t you wear boots?

Me: They don’t fit any more.

Mother: Slippers?

Me: I’m not wearing slippers in the snow.

Mother: So you are just going to sit there?

Me: Yes.

Mother: Well, you’re in luck.

Me: Why is that.

Mother: Because I am going to give you something to do.

Me: Please, not now, Mother.

Mother: Yes, now.  I need your help.

Me: What is it.

Mother: I have this little… symbol.. on this motherfucking  cell phone and I don’t know how to get rid of it.

Me: (Chewing) Is it in the shape of an envelope?

Mother: Oh, I don’t know.

Me: Well, look at it, Mother.

Mother: Oh, Jesus.. Yes, I suppose it’s an envelope.

Me: Relax.  It’s called a text message.

Mother: Well how do I motherfucking get rid of it.

Me: You do realize that you are the only one left on Earth who doesn’t know this.

Mother: Jess, I’m not in the mood.

Me: Fine.

(10 minutes later, after teaching Mother how to retrieve this text message)

Me: Well, what does it say already?

Mother:  “It’s going down tonight.”

Me: Jesus Mother, you sure have some rough-around-the-edges friends.

Mother: This is from no friend of mine.  I never give this number out.  To anybody.

Me: Well, I guess it’s a wrong number.

Mother: Of course it’s a wrong number, Jessica.

Me: Well, then let’s erase it.

Mother: I don’t know how to motherfucking erase it.

Me: I know you don’t.

(15 minutes later, after I teach my mother how to erase it)

Mother:  Thank you.

Me:  You’re welcome.

(30 minutes later)

Me:  Yes, Mother. What is it now.

Mother: What are you doing?

Me:  I’m eating sprouted grain crackers and cheese.

Mother: Still?

Me: I’m fucking pregnant Mother, what else should I do?

Mother: Well, I need you to set the trough aside.

Me: Why.

Mother: There’s another one of those fucking envelopes on my cell phone.

Me: Did you retrieve it?

Mother: Yes, Jessica.  Please, do not patronize me.

Me: Well..  What does it say?

Mother: “It’s going down tonight.”

Me: Again?

Mother: I don’t know Jessica.  It didn’t say again.

Me: Weird.  I wonder if it went down already, or if these guys are really productive.

Mother: I don’t fucking know Jessica.

Me: Well, what are you going to do?

Mother: I erased it. That’s what I fucking did!

Me: Did it say who it was from?

Mother: Yes.  It did.  It said, The German Club.  And it was signed VA.

Me: Like the VA hospital?

Mother: I don’t know, Jessica.  Like someone’s initials.

Me: Hmmm.  Maybe it's a Nazi group that's headquartered in the V.A. hospital. Maybe they were too hopped up on their meds to bring it down before, so now, it’s going down for real.

Mother:  Frankly I don’t give a shit if goes down or not.  I just want them to stop leaving me messages.

Me: Well, unless you want me to call them, there’s nothing I can do for you.

Mother:  All right then.

(30 minutes later, phone rings)

Me: (chewing) Yes?

Mother:  Well, are you ready for some more drama?

Me: Having a mother like you, I have learned to always be ready for some more drama.

Mother: There was another message.

Me: And what did it say this time?

Mother:  “It’s going down tonight.. Big time…”  And it was signed again by the German Club with those same initials, VA.

Me: Well, Mother, I think you’ve got to do something about this.

Mother:  I can’t.

Me: Of course you can.

Mother:  No, I can’t.  By the time I thought of calling the Feds, I already erased it.

Me: Well, Mother, guess what…  Even if you did erase it, I’m sure it’s still on record somewhere.

Mother:  That makes no sense whatsoever, Jessica.

Me: You just don’t understand technology.

Mother:  Fine…  Maybe I should get involved…

Me: You could be a hero, Mother.

Mother:  Ok, I’ll tell you what, darling. I’ll call the Feds.. And then I’ll call you back.

Me: Don’t you think you should call the police first?

Mother:  Darling, in a situation like this, you always call the Feds.  I do hope you know this.  You never call the local police.  Unless someone is bleeding on your carpet, you always call the Feds.

Me: Good to know.

(15 minutes later)

Mother:  Well, the Feds weren’t interested. They said, “Don’t worry.  They’re probably just getting ready for a big party,” and I said, “Well, if that’s how you’re going to perceive a party, then that’s fine by me.”

Me: Well, you did your part, Mother.  Now, if we hear of any V.A. German Club Massacres, at least we will know that fair warning was given!

Mother: I have a job for you.

Me: Mother, I’m really not feeling up to it.  I have heartburn and a headache.

Mother: You can get back to being pregnant in just a bit.

Me: Ugh.  What is it.

Mother: I need you to go online and translate my new Romanian skin care product that I found at a house sale for three bucks.

Me: You’ve got to be kidding.

Mother: Come on, Jess.  I need to know how to use it.  I’m sure this stuff cost a fortune new.

Me: Fine.

Mother: Are you ready?

Me: Hold on.  (wobbling to get my computer)  Yes.  I’m ready.

Mother: Ok.  P-I-E-L-E-S-T-R-A-T-S-U

Me: Mother, slow down!  You’re rattling off p’s and t’s as if Romanian is our native tongue. You need to do that thing, ‘P’ as in Peter. And then say, ‘new word’.

Mother: P as in patience, my dear. C as in callous!

(39 minutes later)

Me: Ok.  Mother, you have purchased anti-aging night cream for dry skin and you need to put a thin layer of it on at night and in the morning.

Mother: Wonderful. Thank you darling.  You can go back to being pregnant, now.

Me: Thanks.

ME: I’m lonely and depressed.

MOTHER: Jesus, Jessica. You’re just hormonal... That’s what happens when you’re pregnant.

ME: I feel so terrible for my baby that he’s got to grow inside a person like me.

MOTHER: Jessica. You need to up your vitamin B.  Have you talked to your OB about this?  I happen to know there’s nothing wrong with taking extra super B complex while you’re pregnant.  Didn’t we have this conversation last week?  I know we did.  But you don’t listen. Haven’t you heard the expression, ‘Mother knows best?’

ME: I believe you say it just about every time we speak.

MOTHER: Well, I hope you know this is nothing but hormones.

ME: I do, but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

MOTHER: …Oh my God.

ME: What?

MOTHER: I’m standing in front of the 99 cent store, and you would not believe what’s across the street…  You think you’ve got problems.

ME: What? What is it?

MOTHER: It’s a wiry drug addict, wavering. He’s wavering, Jessica, from side to side, while trying to lift his cigarette up into his mouth..Uh oh.. is he gonna fall?  Uhp… There you go.. You got it. Good job!

ME: Well don’t get too close to him, Mother.

MOTHER: He’s across the street, Jessica. And don’t worry, he’s harmless to everyone but himself… Oh boy. He is now attempting to cross the street.

ME: Towards you?

MOTHER: No, not towards me, Jessica.. Ohp.... Can he make the curb? Ok, he’s off the curb.. And he’s talking to a truck… Yes, he just told the truck to ‘fuck off’… And he’s in the street… And he’s got clearance to the other side... Uh oh... He’s lilting.. He’s lilting... Come on, you can do it…

ME: I wonder what happened to him.

MOTHER: It doesn’t matter. Everyone has a choice, Jessica. Unless they have some aberrant brain chemical disorganization, everyone has a choice to put the past behind them and move on. Uhp… There he goes... He’s almost to the other side... Uh oh.. He’s lilting again.. he’s staggering.. I think he’s gonna drop. He’s really trying, Jessica, bless his fucking heart.. And he made it! He’s leaning against a tree… Oh God, do I hate fucking Florida… But back to what I was saying, Jess, you need to give yourself a fucking break.  You see how lucky you are?  You are not depressed. You just happen to be going through a hormonal hurricane.   I will tell you who you are, since you seem to have forgotten.  You are my extraordinary daughter, carrying my extraordinary grandson.  Now go and get some motherfucking vitamin B complex. Do you hear me?

ME: Yes, Mother.

MOTHER: Good. I hope you do.

Conversation With My Mother:

My Mother: What’s the matter.

Me: Oh, nothing. I just have a new worry.

My Mother: What’s that, darling.

Me: This morning, I awoke with sore fingers and purple nails.

My Mother: Ok. Did you call your doctor?

Me: Yes. She said it was nothing to worry about. Just another pregnancy symptom.

My Mother: Well, then what are you worried for?

Me: Because how can I be sure she’s right.

My Mother: You don’t miss a beat.

Me: Well, I just want to make sure the baby is ok.

My Mother: The baby is ok. This is what I want you to do.

Me: What.

My Mother: Get some squishy balls.

Me: Squishy balls?

My Mother: If you squish some balls around in your hands it will help with circulation. That’s all that’s going on, Jess. Your body is not used to all that extra weight. I was the same way. I’m not sure what they’re called, but just look up squishy balls. I’m sure you’ll find something.

Me: I’m sure I will find more than I care to about squishy balls

My Mother: Well, then mix some flour and water together and squish that.

Me: I would never do that.

My Mother: Then fine. Don’t do that. Don’t do a goddamn thing.

Me: I won’t.

My Mother: Good. Guess what I found on the sidewalk this morning?

Me: A dollar bill?

My Mother: I would never go down for a dollar. I wouldn’t go down for anything less than 25.

Me: Well what was it, then?

My Mother: Two bamboo shades. I had just been thinking how I wanted to hang two bamboo shades outside so I could sit in my rocking chair and not get blasted by the sun, and there they were, just waiting for me.

Me: Well, that’s funny.

My Mother: It isn’t funny. It was put there by my guardian angels.

Me: Well, that’s beautiful, Mother.

My Mother: I knew you would like that.

Me: I do.

My Mother: The world is here to give you what you’re looking for, darling. Stop looking for problems, and go find some squishy balls.

Me: Thank you, Mother.

Me:  I’m so tired of drama.  Of running around everywhere.  I just want things to stay the same for awhile so I can relax.  I want some status quo. Mother: You want status quo, Jessica?

Me:  Yes.

Mother: Do you know what status quo is? Status quo is standing at the sink with an apron, baking brownies and bread, waiting for your husband to come home and saying, Hi honey, did you get the lawnmower fixed, while he turns on the news. Status quo is having no dreams, no expectations, and taking no risks. Instead of looking for status quo, understand that things are always going to happen and that you will always adapt. And you thank god that a chimpanzee didn’t chew your face off. And that an axe murderer didn’t come in and chop your leg off. I had status quo. When I had Chandler and Rudd delivering my groceries, and an Amish nanny, and was married to the biggest dickwad on the face of the Earth. And I was not happy. I wouldn’t trade the life I have right here and now for any amount of gold in the world! And it has nothing to do with status quo. It has to do with being happy where you already are, and at the same time, pursuing what you believe you want, and not stopping until you get it. Not ever.

And that’s what’s real. So you can shove your Status Quo right up your fucking ass, ok Jessica. Meanwhile, I have to go, because Dean is taking me to the library. And if he dares touch my elbow, I will take my broken leg and shove it right into his fucking groin.

Me:  Thank you, Mother.

Mother: Any time, darling!

Me: I had a dream last night that my ceiling had cancer. My Mother: Nothing like having a solid sense of security, darling.

I wait in my car, on Mercer and Grand, in front of a big glass storefront window. Inside, Chris is building another temporary gallery space. We’re supposed to be having dinner, but he’s still screwing screws. I don’t mind being in my car, though. For the moment, anyhow. It’s like a little house. And through my window, I can watch all the people walk by.

Here’s what I see:

A homeless guy crab-walking, his money cup wrapped in a Sephora cosmetic bag, a bag that may have once held an expensive lipstick bought by someone who was trying to look prettier than she was feeling.

Behind him, a very skinny, anorexic-looking girl wearing a shirt that says, ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

Behind her, two really fashionable hippy girls walking a dog in a muzzle.

The scene gives me an idea for a dog shirt:

It would say, ‘My mommy might believe in world peace, but I’ll bite your fucking face off!’

Behind them, three tourists carry shopping bags, one, a young woman, smiling slightly, like she’s thinking of something that happened yesterday that pleased her, and the two men in suits, serious looking, both carrying large shopping bags.

All of these people have only one thing in common that I can see. Every single one of them has peered inside, to see what is going on in this soon-to-be temporary gallery space. It must be the manikins. There are lots of them in there, hanging out, their fashionably clothed bodies still and poised. People must really like manikins, because everyone has stopped to double take them. They do not double take the regular moving beings, just these still people. Perhaps in their unconscious mind, they have never seen a still human, and they are wondering what is going on. And then, when they get it, they say, ‘Oh, of course. They’re not real.’ And they continue moving onwards.

Now, there is an attractive blonde lady in gold flats. A few paces behind her, two adorable blonde boys shuffle in Crocs. They must be three and six. The 3-year-old is so small, it’s amazing he can even walk. He just pushed his sleeve up to show his older bother his fake tattoo. Now, the older one catches something by the window, where the manikins are. He gets all excited. ‘Look, mommy!’ The mom has walked over to look. I can see that she doesn’t really want to stop moving, but she has, to be kind, and she looks at the manikins and nods with fake enthusiasm until the boy says, ‘No! No! Down here!’ The lady looks perplexed, and the two boys have now squatted down in the corner, where the two buildings meet. The mother has now squatted down as well. And the three of them are looking intently at something. I can't tell what it is. Passersby are getting overwhelmed. Not only are there manikins to look at, but now, there are these three blonde people squatted on the ground, seemingly interested in something better, but what?? The mother has now stood up into a half squat. She takes the edge of her closed umbrella and sticks it deep into the corner, and right before my eyes, a giant, almost robotic looking cockroach scurries off. The boys are delighted! They clap their hands and jump up and down and try to follow this magnificent silvery creature down the street. The mother is trying to gather her boys. She tells them, ‘Let him go. He’s probably got a family, he’s probably late for dinner.’ Now, she sees me staring. In fact, I am smiling, and laughing. She scrunches her face, in one of those ‘euch!’ expressions, and I nod in agreement. And the three of them waddle off. Leaving me, waiting once again for Chris to be done screwing screws. How long does it take to screw a god damn manikin into the wall!

And now I hear someone singing. A girl. Silently singing, as she passes by. It’s a nice self-contained peaceful sound, amidst all these shopping bags. It sounds to me like someone giving of themselves, instead of taking for themselves. 

Mother: This is your time, darling. I can feel it! Me: Thank you, Mother.

Mother: I know you didn't just say, ‘thank you’ to your own mother. You must have said ‘fuck you.’ That would be better… Unless I’m lying here with a respirator unconscious, and only then, do I ever want to hear you say, “Ohhhhhh Mother! Thank you soooooo much for everything!” Until then Jessica, do not say 'thank you' to me ever again. Do you understand?

Me: Yes, Mother.

Mother: So, did they review the show?

Me: Yes. Last night.

Mother: Well, where is the review?

Me: It’s not online yet.

Mother: Jesus, Jessica. You need to be in print, and you need to be in print NOW!

Me: I’m doing the best I can, Mother.

Mother: Well, make sure you do that sickening thing…

Me: What sickening thing?

Mother: ...Schmooze. You need to go out and talk to everyone, and say things like, “Do you know it’s anatomically impossible for a horse to vomit?"

Me: Is that true?

Mother: Yes, it is true… Horses have nonstriated muscles in their esophagus. And they cannot vomit. See how interesting that is?

Me: Alright, I’ll try it.

Mother: Little things like that are going to get you on the map, Darling.

Me: If you say so.

Mother: Jesus, you don’t know how to play the game, Jessica. And I highly recommend you start playing. In fact it might be a good idea when you go out, especially when attending other people’s shows, to wear your tap shoes. Try not to be too obvious, but when you walk across the floor, just a do a few bucks and wings. And wear a nametag-- Jessica Kane. Producer. It’s really not that hard to get a little bit if attention, Jessica. I do it all the time... If you listen to me, you have no idea how far you'll go.

Me: Thank you, Mother.

Mother: Call me later, Darling. I could use some vicarious thrills while I’m lying here dying.

Me: I’ll call you a little later.

Mother: I love you, Darling.

Me: Love you too, Mother.

These are two words that have lost the depth of their meaning for me.

 When I hear the word grudge, all I think of is a judgmental person who won’t let something go. And forgiveness—all I think of is how I’ll be a wiser person if I pretend not to be bothered by someone who has done me wrong.

 But now that I think of it, here in my car, fighting to stay awake after two days without sleep, I think I understand these words.A grudge is more like a snap shot of the moment I realized that someone betrayed me. And this snap shot is stained upon the image of that person, so that every thought I think about that person and every time I see them in the flesh, I don’t see who they may have become, I only see that stain superimposed right on their terrible face.And I get to dislike them again and again.Even though they might not even remember what they did.Forgiveness then, must be like the clorox that removes the stain, and lets the person have a chance to become someone new.Until they become a jerk again, and I have to take another snap shot.