She lunges at me. Before her stroke, my mother and I had a bad fight. She is just out of the hospital after stomach surgery, after which she bled profusely. Most of the intervening years are now lost.
Unaffected by the residue of memory, her vision is fresh every time she sees her. Remember The Nutcracker Suite, Mom? Did you know your mother is a ballet dancer? My mother rarely knows where she is, but she covers well. My mother wears the pearls her father bought my grandmother in She is odd and small and full of startling energy.
We bought it because I was seduced by its fabric and color: My mother thinks our square foot apartment is a townhouse, because we live in a small building and our place faces the street. I wish it would help to say: Her longterm memory has dissolved in the blackness of night.
My mother knows the name of the doll she gave me when I was six. John knit dress and kisses me goodnight before she leaves for a date.
The woman in my living room wants to know where she is. She is certain I am holding her prisoner. She wears a St. She gave him her poems and he read them. The woman in my living room is furious with me.
To have your daughter love you?
She asks me if she is a prisoner here. How did I get here? Whenever she wakes up in our living room—which is also our dining room, office and playroom—she gazes through those windows at the quiet street below.
Do you remember our house in a cul-de-sac off Mulholland Drive? Her hair is chopped into a bob, by my own hand, because she loves to sit after the bath and feel my fingers sectioning the hair and snipping while she watches a movie.
My mother wrote poems while the dancers were on break, scrawling in a notebook in the rehearsal space. She comes at me, begging me to help her, begging me, I think, for clarity, and more importantly, for peace of mind.
I cover the futon in sheets and a blanket. How long will I be here? I cannot pretend she is still my mother.
I stumble into the living room. Usually, she just needs to be reminded of where she is and put back to bed. Then I bite my tongue for thinking it.
Time is wavy, history is scrambled, identity is fractured, the tie between mother and daughter is shredding. My mother finds nuance in novels and subtleties in movies that other people miss.
They illuminated the organs inside her belly by injecting iodine into her vein. I look through her Champagne essay and imagine our low-rise building as a six-story house with a grand foyer one flight down, a long hallway leading to a library, a dining room, and a spacious kitchen with a swinging door out of a s movie.
I snap some photos.Holy Grail. In Christian mythology, the Holy Grail was the dish, plate, cup or vessel that caught Jesus' blood during his crucifixion. It was. Mar 28, · At age 24, I left Indiana and hit the road in my Fiat X I was on my way to Dallas.
The car had a hole in the floorboard. It needed oil every 60 miles. Some college buddies of mine had told. Leslie Kendall Dye is an actor and dancer in New York City, where she lives with her husband and daughter. Her writing has appeared at Salon, The Rumpus, The Lit Pub, The Washington Post, The Toast, Brain, Child, Motherwell, The Establishment, and killarney10mile.com can find her at killarney10mile.com and at twitter, at @LKendallDye.
Last night, the food publishing world gathered at Chelsea Piers in New York for this year’s James Beard Foundation media awards.
Among the night’s honorees were chef and author Samin Nosrat.Download