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We held a meeting in the bathroom, where there were no heating vents to carry our voices throughout the house like ghosts. A unanimous vote to do the chores because how would Mom do them? After her right arm disappeared, which wasn’t a big deal because she was a lefty, one of her legs vanished.
She still looked like a movie star with bright red lipstick and blue eyeshadow and milky pale skin. When her arm left, we thought it was a fluke, and it would eventually return. Maybe it got tired of all the chores or went to New York, where she wanted to go and see the play Merrily We Roll Along on Broadway. Dad said maybe, but they never went anywhere. When her left leg disappeared, her arm still hadn’t returned from wherever it went, and now she had to hop.
We did the laundry and made scrambled eggs and picked up our clothes and shoved them in our drawers. We took her credit card and went to the grocery store.
Where’s your mother? said the clerk, frowning.
She sent us, we said.
When she handed us the bag, we ran outside and ate all the chocolate bars. On the back lawn, we played with our dolls, dressing them, undressing them, and then Lucy snapped off her doll’s arm. Like Mom, we whispered, and Gloria and I did the same. Then we broke off one leg and played like that, hopping them around until they got tired and sad, and we laid them down in the grass.
At dinner, Mom sat quietly at her usual spot, and Dad didn’t say anything about Mom, maybe because Mom’s empty sweater sleeve was not in his view, and her one leg was under the table. He always had a lot to say, and Mom rarely said anything anyway, and her hair still curled under her chin like two hands holding up her head. We did our usual “Yes sir, no sir, yes sir,” and then his chair scraped against the floor, the TV blared a football game, and Mom hopped to the bedroom.
Weeks went by, and when nothing more of her disappeared, we got busy with our lives: riding our banana seat bikes in the cul-de-sac, playing chase and headless horseman. We fought over who got to be the headless horseman. Lucy punched my shoulder hard, and I grabbed her hair. When we realized Mom wouldn’t run out and break it up, we stopped fighting, and I said Lucy won, and that settled it.
We stopped doing chores. We hated them and it took time away from our childhood, which Mom had said was precious, the best of times, the freest. Dirty laundry piled up, so did dishes and dust. So what?
When we got home from school, Mom’s mouth was gone. We stood there and stared. How would she eat? How would she tell us what to do? I voted yes to call an ambulance; they voted no. Mom signaled with her one hand, No need, girls. Things are going the way they are going.
Dad came home, ate, and filled the room with news of his day.
Well, that’s all I’ve got to report, he said and left for the TV room.
We knew we were learning something profound and filed it away to be sorted later.
It wasn’t long after that Mom turned into mist. We couldn’t believe it, we could put our hands right through her, and when we thought we heard her laugh, we did it again and again, and we laughed. It was a game; Mom had invented a new game. Like the game she played at night, inventing another part of the story of the girl who flew to the moon. Then Mom disappeared, every bit of her.
We hurled words into the air; they were stones, and we aimed them at the place where Mom had stood a moment ago, but they didn’t hit anything. How could she! Enraged, we ran outside in the fading light and found our dolls in the wet grass. No one said anything, but we knew what to do. We dug a hole underneath the rhododendrons and buried them deep in the dirt. Something big had just happened, or it had been happening our entire lives. We stood in the emptiness, and the dark capsized and covered us and everything else in the world.
So original! Women everywhere can relate to this marginalization, especially in this political climate when our rights are being quickly stripped from us after generations of effort to finally attain freedom. Well done!
Thank you!
Excellent story – congratulations!
Thank you! I appreciate it!
Absolutely love a surreal story that feels entirely realistic. This is so brilliantly done.
So kind! Thank you!
Wow! I love how the story sneaks up on the reader and the girls in the story, and the language flows beautifully. Thanks.
Thank you so much!
Wow – incredible work. The tension builds so stealthily right from the first sentence, that I burst into nervous laughter at the line “We knew we were learning something profound and filed it away to be sorted later.” The image of the children as “ghosts” in the first line, is like a premonition that haunts the rest of the story, and into their future — and past — through the burial and the narrator’s wonderment about how their mother’s complete disappearance reshapes their entire world. Heartbreaking and beautiful – thank you for writing this!!
I love your close reading! Thank you, Emi!
A powerful sprint.
Thank you so much! I appreciate it!
This story is mesmerizing with its poignant situation and descriptive details. The characters are layered and intriguing.
I didn’t mean to read this right away, but after the first paragraph I couldn’t stop. Brilliant writing and so much here that I’ll be thinking about for a long time.
Thank you for your generous words! So glad you got swept up and along.
I felt the same! Drew me in instantly.
Thank you Dee! And thank you for reading it!
This reads like a surreal answer to We the Animals. I love the little, thorny emergences of the first person within the collective too!
I love comparison! Thank you for reading it!
The mother fading away really resonated with me. My mother died at the age of 88, but I felt her fading away and she felt it, too. We made sure we made use of the passing of time.
Norah,
There is a sense of someone fading, there and not there.
Thank you for reading this story.
Nina
Nicely done
I love everything about this. Among many standout moments, this will stay with me: “He always had a lot to say, and Mom rarely said anything anyway, and her hair still curled under her chin like two hands holding up her head.”
Thank you so much for reading it and for your kind comments! I’m glad an image stays with you.
Truly original and thoroughly captivating. A beautiful little story.
So kind! Thank you, Lanette!
I had a spare two seconds so I thought I’d click the link and take a peek. I was pleasantly surprised and clung to every word of your story until the end! Expertly written, Nina!
Rosanna,
Thank you so much for your generous comments!
Warmly,
Nina
I love how this story doesn’t define what is happening with mom. It could mean so many different things. At first I thought she had diabetes or cancer. Then I wondered if it was depression and finally thought she was possibly just dismissed. In the end it doesn’t matter what took their mother, the feeling of fading is the so profound in this story. What do you do with that but throw words made of stone and when it ultimately changes nothing, you bury them as well. Well done Nina Schuyler!
Julie,
Thank you for your insightful comments. I really appreciate it.
Nina
Wonderful, amazing story.
Candace,
Thank you so much! So kind!
Warmly,
Nina
What an amazing story. I love the humor and the metaphor.
Deborah,
Thank you so much! I appreciate your generous words.
Nina
Nina…
This story is ingenious. The full effect and layered meanings of the story don’t hit home until you’ve read it several times. The weaving of a real and metaphorical life is beautiful. This story represents perfect flash style. I applaud your skill, and will look for more of your stories.So well done!
Oh, Joan! Thank you so much!
Warmly,
Nina
A very good, thought-provoking story which reflects thoughts which I often have about women simply not being listened to. Well done!
Thank you!
Where did the mother go? Why didn’t the father notice or care? What will happen to the children? Such a deep piece in so few words. It reminded me of one of my favorite books by Yoko Ogawa, The Memory Police, and yet was so specific to this family.
Alison,
Thank you for your insights and for reading this! I’ll have to read Ogawa’s book!
Nina
Writing this from the daughter’s point of view really added to the punch of this story. What a brilliant decision. And a brilliant story.
Amy,
So kind! Thank you.
Nina
This story will stick with me, Nina! I read it twice. Brilliantly written.
Thank you so much!
A disability story that does not hurt …or does it.
Thank you for reading it!
Wow. My attention span can be short at times but boy, you grabbed me from the getgo and I could not stop reading. I love the bits of humor sewn into this complicated, heavy story. And the narrator’s voice is SO good. I’d love to read more of your work. Bravo! JS
So kind! Thank you!
My heart wept; amazing to show how the family member’s lives changed once mom changed – Congratulations Nina!
Carina, thank you!
You have so captured the moms of the fifties—setting the stage for dads—teaching lessons they never meant to teach. Very well told in every way. Congratulations.
Thank you for your kind words!
Being present is all that’s needed, when it’s gone there is no protection from the truth. Only a big dark space.
I do like big BLACK things
I’m rather late to the party but glad I got there eventually! Such a sad and thought provoking piece. So beautifully written. Thanks Nina and Congratulations – you’ve got a lot of people thinking!
So generous! Thank you!
I frantically read this, wondering what was happening to the mother. I lost myself from the very beginning. I’ll be thinking about your story for a long time. It truly touched what it means to be lost. Thank you, loved it.