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rn "It's a beautiful day," my sister says, cheerful. Hopeful.
tf "Enjoy yourself, mother!"
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My mother smiles. It's sleepy but she at least acknowledges
Charity. She looks around the room and sighs. Thoughtful. Perhaps
she's pondering the absurdity of my sister's 'beautiful day' comment.
The beauty of which, much like a diamond, she may judge solely by
the size, clarity, and brilliance of the lone patch of light on the floor of
her dingy and hopeless room. My mother looks thinner and older and
even more confused than yesterday.
"Yes, mother, do," I say.
Tucker does a phenomenal job with my sister. In three weeks he suc­
ceeds in extricating her from the bed. I make fun of the meteor size imprint she
leaves behind. Tucker's camera crew shows up to document the 'Before.' He is
able to get the cement slabs that are her feet into her square waffle slippers and
they shuffle hand in hand around our tiny apartment. Tucker congratulates
Charity on every step, but when he does he looks at the camera, not at her. I
want to puke.
My mother bathes and touches up her roots. Who knew? Who knew
that underneath the grime of her life, washed away in a cracked tub with limey
spigots, was a woman who looked normal, almost pretty. Clean. She is sober
and maniacally cheerful. A truly unbearable development. She is a pile of
nervous energy and cooks and cleans non-stop. She shadows me throughout
the apartment asking frantic questions like, do you need anything? Do you
want me to do that? Are you hungry? What can I do to help? Benny? Benny?
Benny? I ask her if she's on crack and her eyes puddle up. I retch a couple of
times loudly which makes her cry. She's down to 12 hours of sleep a day.
Tucker stops lisping. It turns out the primary cause of his lisp is the
Invisiline braces he wears. When he removes them his lips close and you can
kind of have a normal conversation with him. One night we're alone at the
kitchen table. He's through for the day with my sister, and mom is taking her
late afternoon, early evening nap. Through the long stretches of silence
between us l rock on my lopsided naugahyde-padded chair. He clears his
throat several times like he's really working up the courage to talk to me.
Finally, he asks me about change. He strokes his shirt. \\\\ '}ou're all
He strokes the glittery 'V.' He Looks down at the
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glittery 'V' and then at me. He freaks me
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