nanowritmo 28 / Chasing cars

Eyes Open / Snow Patrol













Only one other call came the day my mother died. Of course it wasn’t from her attorney, for whom the first message merely asked him to call me. When hours later he didn’t the second message explained it was my understanding that he had the payment for the funeral which was to take place the next day. I left the dollar amount and asked that he call to confirm he got the message and would meet me a significant time before the event. He didn’t call.



The only other call came from B. She told me that she’d talked to her family and she thought I should know that they were planning a little gathering at their house after the funeral. I questioned, weren’t they still living outside of Boston? They were and the fact that most people would be going to Providence from Connecticut didn’t seem to be an issue. Out of politeness I asked if there was something they needed from me, and B. told me she didn’t think so, as they didn’t even know she was calling me. It had struck her to do so only as an afterthought.


The next day was a bright hot summer day. I donned black and we took the hour or so ride to the cemetery, where Mister was waiting as promised. Though we were about an hour early, everything was set up, including a tent and bottles of water on ice. Mister ran through again, what would happen, how it would all work, who would walk where, etc. I had been nervous that the Attorney wasn’t going to show up, but he did. Not talking to me, but to Mister. though the check was for the correct amount.


I had not told anyone yet of my plans to relinquish my role as executor, and now I was having doubts. B’s father, E would be the one who would take over, but he hadn’t even called me upon hearing of Mother’s death. Further, neither he nor his wife had checked in with me about hosting a gathering after the funeral. In fact, it appeared I wasn’t even invited. M. and I had talked on the ride up about what to do. The thought of taking over the task overwhelmed me. But my trust in my ‘family’ was fast dwindling.


I couldn’t shake the feeling that all of the people I had grown up with all communicated and interacted without me. That was ridiculous I told myself. I had spent most of my youth and even into my adulthood wishing these people had been more involved. Wishing I could reach out to these people regarding some of my mother’s craziness. I had been sure that if they knew they could help, but I was too embarrassed to ask. They weren’t around enough to see, to know, I couldn’t drag them into our life. At least that’s what I told myself.


I told myself that the cousins would arrive and come talk to me then. It would be then, in person that E and his wife would invite me to their house for the ‘after party’ along with whomever was in attendance. They probably had no idea that the people who attended would mostly be from Connecticut. I felt bad for them, who was going to drive an hour plus East, to then drive an hour plus North for snacks and then two hours South again to get home.


As M and I sat discussing this in the cemetery, waiting. The attorney sat in his car, still not saying a word to me.


“What do we do with him?” I asked M. “Allegedly he’s been taking care of Mother’s affairs until now, but now it’ll come to me. G. says he has her checkbook and stuff and God knows what else.”


“Regardless of what you decided to do, you need to get it back.” M. said.


“Yeah, but…how? He won’t even talk to me.”


Another car pulled into the yard. It had Rhode Island plates and was clearly a person affiliated with the cemetery. The Attorney got out of his car and spoke to the official person.


“We should investigate.” I said watching the scene. M. agreed.


The new arrival was in fact the administrator of the cemetery who had paperwork for both the Attorney and I to sign and was the recipient of another check, which fortunately the Attorney had. We concluded the transaction in the cemetery’s little still with the Attorney not speaking to me. At that point I was starting to get angry.


“Excuse me. I believe you have paper work, such as checkbooks for my mother?” I asked, stepping in front of the Attorney as we exited the building. I had successfully blocked his path so that he couldn’t go down the few steps to the parking lot and car. M. with a perfect tag team move had stepped behind him and was perfect 6 foot, angry looking wall.


“I have some paper work of hers at my office.” The attorney answered after a glance over his shoulder. If I had been a mob boss or holding a gun, it would have looked like a gangster movie. However, I was a 5 foot woman all in black, including a head scarf (Orthodox rituals, married women must cover their heads). I imagine we looked ridiculous.


“Okay then, when can I pick it up?”


“Whenever…” He tried to push past me. A move that notched my anger up and allowed polite to abandoned.


“Okay, then we’ll be there tomorrow at 10 am. I want everything you have of my mothers. Is that clear.”


The attorney paused clearly taken aback. “I can’t at 10.” He said rather indignantly.


“Okay then what time between 7 am and 7 pm will you be there for us to get it.”


He opened his mouth to protest. M. his arms across his chest as mine went out to reach for both sides of the railings down the stairs. The attorney would have to literally come into physical contact with me if he wanted to move from the spot.


“I’ll be there at 9.” He answered annoyed.


“Okay, so we are clear. We will meet you at your office, in ---- at 9:00 am tomorrow at which time you will have ready and turn over any thing you have of my mothers. Is that correct?”


“Yes.”


“Then it’s clear and you understand me.”


“Yes.”


“And you’ll see me tomorrow when?”


“9:00 am at my office.”


Only then did I step aside, allowing him to pass. M. and I returned to our spot on a bench. M. chuckling, me stewing.


I waved as W. showed up. He had aged since the last time I saw him. He was still round and overweight, with hair a little too long and a mustache, but now instead of looking like a Geek, he more resembled a weeble. He was alone, but that was not surprising. His wife would have to work, it was a Monday and his children in school. He came up to M. and I and sat down on the bench opposite us.


We had a moment conversation about the weather and then on to his side real estate business. His main job was still teaching social studies. I could sense that M. was getting annoyed, but this was W. He never had good sense or taste.


One day about a year after we had become friends, he knocked on the door of our apartment. It was across the hall and one floor up from his. He was standing in our doorway a pillow case over his head and a flaming cross newspaper ablaze in his hand.


Mother and I stood in the door way stunned. This was nothing we found funny. At the same time, his round little form was doing a little jig that looked like he desperately needed a bathroom. Before us as he shouted, “Oh no! oh no. Help me put this out! Help me put this out!” as the building’s smoke alarms started to go off. Letting him in, he ran to the bathroom with the bits of burnt paper fluttering after him and dropped the cross unceremoniously into the toilet.


“Well, that’s not what I thought would happen.” He said to us, who then stood with the same stunned look in the bathroom door rather than the front door.


I had stopped listening to W. when I noticed another car pull into the lot. H. H. was our Deaf friend from Boston, who was studying herself to be a rabbi. I explained this to W. and stood, saying we should go great her.


“Oh, I didn’t know you had friends, S.” W. chuckled as I stood. At any other time I might have sneered back at him. Made some joke, known he was teasing. But sweltering in the heat waiting to see who was going to show up for my mother’s funeral, with out having received one call from any of our so called family or family friends, I couldn’t find the humor. I walked away.