Dinner with Mom

Tonight I had dinner again with my mother, after the traditional
running of her errands.
She's been depressed, I think, though she would never use such a word
(depression is for psychos, in her opinion, and weaklings. It's not allowed.)

There are a number of reasons why, but that's beside the point....
The point is, she's been needier than usual lately.

She's alone, trapped on the westbank with no one there.
She's never driven, so I've been her only source of transportation since I was 15.
I try to go over every other day or so.

So we're eating our suburban meals at Chili's, and I notice yet another bruise on her arm.
She's always bruised up like she's been in a fight (blood thinner probably).

I ask, "What happened?"
I point at the bruise.
"Oh," she says. "I hit myself last night."
"How?"

"Well, I had a dream last night," she goes on, between bites. "I was choking this little boy. He wasn't behaving, so I had to choke him. I must have waved my arm around and hit the lamp. It was on the floor when I woke up."

"Umm...Oh"


And I wonder why I'm neurotic.