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“Are you sure you feel like going into the store today?” I ask Mother.
She fans herself with an envelope that has her grocery and Kmart list scrawled on the back.
“I'm sure I want to pick out my own cold cream.” She keeps fanning. “Turn on the air conditioner.”
“I haven’t started the car yet, Hon.” I call her sweet nicknames partly because it’s a southern thing, and as a way to soften the situation and hopefully get her in a good mood.
“You never get the exact kind I like.”
We’re back to the cold cream, I guess.
I pull the amber bottle of lavender aromatherapy oil out of the glove compartment and dab a little on the vents. It’s supposed to be calming. I have a feeling we’re going to need it today.
“I also need stool softeners and hair spray. Oh, and let’s get some of those Little Denny's pies.”
“Debbie.” I answer. The smell of lavender fills the car. I take in a deep breath.
“Who's Debbie?”
“It's ‘Little Debbie oatmeal pies'.“
“I don't want a pie — I want those little brown cookies with the cream in the middle.”
“I know, Mother, they're called pies.” I grab the amber bottle and cram it under my nose.
I stop the car at the shopping center, get out and go around to her side. I take in a deep breath, Mother’s outings are taking longer and longer. I open the door, gently lift her feet off the floorboard, and guide them to the concrete. Her hands are shaking today — it’s usually just her left foot. She reaches for the dashboard to steady herself.
“Get me a cart — I walk better with a cart.” She stands holding onto my arm, but her feet won’t move. I strain and reach for a cart with my foot.
She grabs hold of the plastic-covered handrail and pushes the metal basket. It rolls. I can almost see a light come on inside her. She’s going shopping. I place my hand on the end of the shopping cart to help her guide it across the parking lot.
“Slow down,” she says, “you're going too fast.”
“We need to get across, Mother — we're holding up traffic.”
“They can just wait.”
She shuffles about half a foot, and then stops. The sun bares down so hard it pushes us to the ground. I know she’s got to be hot, but I can’t make her move any faster. The furrows in my forehead deepen into ruts; I’m aging as we stand here. I look up to see a white work van with two construction guys staring at us. I give them an embarrassed smile. The driver shifts the van into park. I look the other way as two cars line up, waiting for us to cross. The lady in the first car eats a burger and gives me a nod. The teenager in the second car leans out his window to see what's holding him up, then turns the radio up full blast. Other people walk by in a blur. I run my fingers through my hair and nudge forward.
“Stop pulling the cart,” Mother says.
“I'm not.”
“You are, too. They can just wait!” She yanks the handle, shuffles, but I don’t think anything really moves. “Did you just see that fat woman walk past us? She ought to be ashamed of herself. I bet she weighs — "
“Mother!”
I don’t care now, I just want to hurry and get into the air conditioning.
“Jesus is coming, you know that?”
I ignore her.
“I said…Jesus is coming!” She yells to the cars.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“Well, all these people need to know.”
“He's gonna come back while we're still in the parking lot if you don't get a move on!”
She looks at me, startled. We both laugh.
We finally make it up the ramp. The van and the other cars whiz past each other. The automatic door opens. A rush of cool air welcomes us into the fluorescent-lit world.
“Let's get a Coke, then you go get the tissues and I'll be in cosmetics. “ Her face lights up like a little girl’s who gets to spend half an hour in the Barbie aisle.
“I’ll get the Little Debbies,” I answer as she takes off down the aisle.
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