His mother Boubonne is rocking yes, upstairs. He is afraid to go there because he thinks perhaps he is still dreaming. Maybe he really is dreaming of Boubonne, as not really alive.
No he is awake, and Boubonne is real , she must be,
she was yesterday. But then she is getting on in age,
and who knows she may have died in her sleep. He is
very anxious because he has never left the house, since her illness. He is home bound with her, and by now, after ten years of taking care of her, he had
become reclusive. It’s just tv and snacks, and
constant craving for booze.
He has drawn all shades because he thinks the CIA is
bugging him for his comments about the governor.
He has gained about eighty pounds since becoming a prisoner in his moms house, up to 250 lb.
Must ring up vons for s new shipment of food. Maybe I should go up to mom, to see what she wants coffee
or tea, he thinks, but is apprehensive about what he
may find there. There is no squeaking or rocking now. Maybe she is sleeping.
And then shrivels herself again, and thinks it’s too early to get up. The pet owl hoots some and he dozes off.
There is sound coming from the street, the kids are arriving to the school across the street, and the cars seem to cruise very slowly up the sizzling street, as if in retarded motion. All is still, and she can be heard breathing slow, with regular hisses of air enimating through irregularly set teeth.
She looks at him, as if outside of her body. Gently, very gently now, the hiss grows louder and insistent.