The Rubbish Bin
I bring mum some egg and challah with some rocket from the garden. I gently wake her up and she looks at me with surprise.
I dreamt about you, she says in awe. I dreamt about you. If not for you, I wouldn’t be alive.
She tells me this most days. I smile. I ask her what she dreamt about but she’s already busy eating her food.
I give her some hot water. She kisses my hand and thanks me again.
What did you dream about? I ask again, curious.
What a beautiful person you are.
I set up the cushions in my room for a sit. But I forgot my phone in the car so I go and get it.
When I return I find mum going through my rubbish bin as she does every day. I’ve told her time after time to not go through my rubbish bin. She laughs and says
You know I go through your rubbish bin!
You can go through all the rubbish bins but not mine. But I know tomorrow she’ll be at it again.
I close the door to have a sit. I haven’t locked it. The door slowly opens and mum is holding a pile of her clothes that she’s just taken off the line and folded. I had laid the folded clothes on her bed but she probably thinks they’re mine, or else she thinks that I might need them.
Mum ,they’re your clothes. All yours.
I lead her to her room and explain what each piece of clothing is.
Spencers, a nightie, undies, a jumper. They’re all yours. You can put them away.
I’m not sure how this task will unfold but at least she’ll try.