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Happy Valentine's Day
The Dime
As per usual, this day means little but vague hope for me. Tonight I'll be in a masonic lodge, dressed as a vampire. But now...

If you really want to know, you can read this:

When I wake up on Valentine’s Day, my mother will already be home, sleeping off the medication. She’ll have already checked in with the doctors, and have been put deep into sleep. Her skin will already have been cut and minutely sewed back together. She’ll already have ridden home in the early morning, a faint smile on her lips, recalling when I came from oral surgery in the same state. Her body will be metabolizing the foreign chemicals while she just fades in and out.

My father will undress her and lead her to bed. She’ll sink into the mattress gratefully; her last thought will be of yielding. He will watch her rest, and kiss her gently on the forehead. My father will lock the cat in the basement, and then head to work. All day he will think of her.

Baba will be the first nursemaid, because my short Russian grandmother is the type who enjoys a reason to be up early. Baba will take a book to read, or maybe fiddle about in the kitchen for a while, her old mother’s ear reawakened for anything coming from her sleeping daughter-in-law. She will most likely hear nothing, not even a rustle of the sheets. My mother told me that when I came home to sleep the deep sleep, I did not move. Baba will stand her guard over my mother, and then take her leave.

I do not know who will be the next nursemaid. Perhaps Nancy, my mother’s close friend, or Nerissa from down the block, who no longer has a little poodle mix to keep her company. Either of them will have little to do as well, as my mother simply sleeps. Her body will have been opened, her skin pushed to the side for just a moment, just an outpatient procedure. But her body will resent this intrusion, and will take its time.

Trevor will come home around noon, in his greedy window away from a senior year too long. Nancy or Nerissa will be loath to leave, and for that reason, he will practically chase her out. This is his chance to play guardian and protector for his mother. He knows that people would not pick him out as such; they think him too young or too outgoing to stand still long enough. Because of this, and the lion’s gold he harbors in his heart, he will check on our mother’s sleeping form every ten minutes. She will wake up around this time, groggy, and ask for simple things like water or another blanket. He will play with the faucet for too long, determined to get the perfect temperature. He will find the softest blanket in the house and spread it carefully across her. I wonder if he will think to play music for her, either by machine or from his own hands.

She will fall in and out of dreams. The deep sleep will have passed, the strange cocktail digested by the body. She will dream of my father, and of her garden buried by the snow. She will dream of her kitchen and her green sweater and the first time she had vanilla ice cream. She will not think of the nigh invisible scar crossing her heart. Not yet, anyway, not until she wakes up with strength and not until the doctors call. Until then, she will dream.

I will think of her occasionally, less often than I should. I’ll make up for it in intensity. I will miss her call Saturday morning because my life has become like that. I will buy her something made of chocolate for Valentine’s Day. She will smile and tell me I shouldn’t have worried. I will tell her she can never make me do that.
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A lovely post darlingest... It's good to know how much people love their families... makes me feel like less of an oddball.

Also? How are you getting to game? Can I mooch a ride?

My ride is coming from Devin. I'm pretty sure he'd be willing to bring you with us, but can't make any promises until one of us talks to him.

Ooooh... Time to turn on the charm.

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