Curtis, part one

Leta and her daughter Vivian were sitting at the table in Vivian’s kitchen. It was a warm Tuesday evening; the sun was setting, casting a thinning streak of light through the kitchen window. Vivian’s son Don was outside playing with his friends. The days had begun to lengthen, but it was almost time for him to come in and prepare for bed. Vivian’s husband Ed was running an errand, or so he said.

In truth, he wanted to leave the women alone.

The air was filled with ambient sounds—a dog barking, hammering, child’s high-pitched voice, door closing, an occasional car driving by, the percolating coffee pot. Vivian was silent. Without directly looking at her mother, the younger woman was watching every movement, holding a fixed, closed expression.

Leta tried to remain composed, even stoic. Her heart beat slowly, her breath faint and her mind empty. She wanted the comfort of a steaming cup of coffee, so she listened to it gurgling and gasping on the stove, letting it breathe for her.

It went on like this for several more minutes. As the coffee neared the end of its cycle, Vivian stood, retrieved two cups and saucers and the matching sugar bowl from the cupboard, two spoons from the drawer and the cream from the refrigerator. She set the table and then turned to pour the coffee.

“No cream for me,” Leta said faintly.

“What?” Vivian asked, turning with the pot in her hand.

“I said, no cream for me. I like mine the same way you do. Black with sugar. Ed likes cream,” Leta said in a monotone.

“Of course,” Vivian noted. She poured the coffee, grabbed the creamer, put the coffee pot back on the stove and returned the creamer to its fixed place in the refrigerator.

Suddenly she became tense and froze in front of the refrigerator, facing away from her mother.

Leta had placed one teaspoon of sugar in her coffee, but sensing a change, looked up at her immobile daughter. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what she could say. How could she even start?

Finally, Vivian exhaled, turned and focused her gaze on her mother.

Leta choked back a tear, squeezed her hands into fists and then released them when she began to dig into her own flesh with her fingernails.

“Mom—“ Vivian began.

“—No,” Leta interrupted, “I know.”

But that’s all she could get out. Vivian waited a few moments for her mother to continue before speaking again.

“How did this happen?”

To be continued.