Emma's Grand Adventure

Rachel sat up on the sofa. Her sleep ripped away by the sound of bare feet slamming across the wooden floors beneath them. The noise resonated throughout the house. The footsteps that ran up and down then zigzagged across, went as quickly as they came. The darkness cloaked the room, and she squinted at the faint hints of moonlight that slid beyond the thin layers of curtains that hung from the windows. She could see the soft silhouette of the woman that darted through the dim shadows, her image catching rare beams of light, and the radiance exposing the white gown she wore. Its fluid movement danced and shimmered behind her. Rachel watched quietly as her mother ran in uneven circles, carrying innate objects, both real and imagined. Her silver hair and gown disappearing regularly into the absence of light-a bold reflection of the ghosts she chased into the night.

“Get OUT!” her mother yelled as she stormed into the room. She paused, began speaking, then listening, then speaking again before running off into the night once more.

Rachel remembered the day she noticed something was different about her mother. Nothing that she could ever quite put her finger on- an odd smile, a word spoken she’d not heard her use before. A family recipe she’d baked a thousand times but, when tasted, was not bad or inedible just not the same. The way her mother told the same story twice or asked a question again, and again, and finally again.

She and her family spoke about the situation. They agreed that perhaps it was nothing and dismissed it at the time. Not out of neglect, but ignorance - chalking it up to her mother aging, so they moved on. Not realizing that a thief was in the midst of them all the while, having eyed the prize long before the crime was committed. The offense was planned and executed seamlessly in a quiet, slow, deliberate manner. By the time they realized that the valuable was stolen, the thief was long gone. Stalking another sacrifice unaware. Her mother, the victim, looked none the worse for the wear; like the shell of an egg with a tiny hole that seeps its contents out. Outwardly it looks intact, but within the emptiness remains.

Her mother raced through the room with a broom above her head, swinging and punching the air around her. She paused and glanced at Rachel. “Did you see him?” she asked.

“No,” Rachel said, “Why don’t you…”

Her mother leaped forward and flew into the shadows. Rachel could hear one of her many conversations at the end of the hall. She could not make out all the words, but she was sure that at the moment, her mother was fighting off brutal attackers, engaged in an ancient sword fight, attending an elegant dinner party, and baking bread all at the same time. Her conversations jumped from one to the other as she danced and skipped from one room to the next.

The hallucinations started with small things-a non-existent key that was always missing, bills that never got paid or were paid twice, burnt pots of food on the stove, salt instead of sugar in the cake. There were endless rants about neighbors who used to be friends, 3:00 a.m. phone calls about nothing and everything, and full-on conversations with Aunt Elizabeth who died over two years ago, and Granny Nadine, who’d been gone longer than Rachel had been alive. It had been an ongoing descent down a rabbit hole and into a sticky abyss.

“No!” Emma, Rachel’s mother, snapped when Rachel had mentioned the doctor’s office. “I don’t need to go to a doctor, and I am sick and tired of you and your brothers trying to make me feel as if something is wrong with me!”

“Nobody is saying that…” Rachel started.

“Yes, yes you are!”

“No, Mother, we are not.”

“You lie! You think I don't know? I am not crazy. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing wrong with me, and you all are not going to make me feel like there is!” Emma slammed the pan on the counter. She was attempting to bake something but couldn’t remember exactly what it was. All the talk of doctors, tests, and hospitals made her feel more than anxious, and Rachel speaking about such things upset her all the more and did not help her delicate condition. “I am not crazy. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing wrong with me! You three have been conniving behind my back for weeks now! All the secret phone calls and whispers to family and the doctor’s office..."

"Mama, we just think…"

“You just think... Bobby just thinks...Adam just thinks. You and your brothers are always thinking. Always coming up with something to think about that involves me. Well, I am not having it! You just go on and think somewhere else, you hear me?” She pulled a small pan out of the oven and set it on the stove. She stood staring at the dials and tried to remember what she needed to do, but the details left her, and not wanting to let on to Rachel, she grabbed milk that she did not need from the icebox and set it on the counter.

“Let me help you?” Rachel whispered.

Emma folded her hands and stood quietly, seething.

“All we want you to do is just go talk to him. This doctor is a specialist. They think there is some medicine that can help you.”

“No.”

“Mama, please.”

“No! I said, no!” Emma tossed the metal pot into the sink before walking off. It would be one of the last coherent conversations Rachel would remember having with Emma.

Rachel eased to the edge of the couch. She noticed the time; it was 2:00 in the morning. She listened to see if perhaps her mother had tired out and laid down. It would be a welcomed relief since she herself was tired and would have to go to work soon. Her sister-in-law would come in the morning. She’d stay with Emma until the evening and then her younger brother would come. It would be his turn to spend the night.

Emma flew into the living room wearing a long coat, a flowered hat- and carrying an empty purse. It answered Rachel’s question about whether or not her mother had quieted down.

“I tell you what Cookie-Dough,” Emma said, proceeding to button her coat “I am not staying at this party another minute. I’ve had quite enough of these shenanigans. I have lots to do tomorrow. I need to get an early start. Got over three dozen cupcakes to bake for the school fundraiser, and I don’t want to be up all night. Call the driver to come and get us.”

Rachel sighed. Although she felt frustrated that her mother was more than wide awake, she was happy to hear her call her Cookie-Dough. It was a silly name her mother had called her most all of her life. A name that she absolutely hated but now felt relieved to hear because it was a sign to her that somewhere, deep within the empty shell, there remained remnants of her mother- bits and pieces that the thief missed on his way out.

“Did you hear me, Cookie-Dough? Get a move on. I told you I don’t want to be up all night.”

Emma proceeded to button the coat unevenly at the top and left the rest open. She pulled out imaginary things from her purse and laid them out on the table. “See this lipstick I have on? Got it two days ago when Elizabeth was in town visiting. I tell you my sister can find a bargain.” She puckered her lips, admiring the color in her invisible mirror.

“I thought we might spend the night here,” Rachel said carefully. She’d had enough experience with her mother's loud and sometimes aggressive outbursts to tread lightly. She was never especially violent with them, but she could snap things into a million pieces suddenly and without warning.

Emma looked up from her mirror. “Why on earth would we do that? I just explained to you that I have things to do at home.”

“I know, but it’s so late. Maybe we could stay here until morning and then go. We could buy the cupcakes at the bakery and take them to the school later.”

Emma sat down across from her and smiled. “You mean cheat? Take store-bought cupcakes to the fundraiser and pass them off as our own?” She laughed out loud. “I love it!”

“How about we have some hot milk and get some sleep before we have to get up early and go?” Rachel whispered the words.

“Well, alright. I guess so…"

"Rachel, but I really do need to go.”

Rachel eased off the couch and went into the kitchen. She proceeded to lightly heat the milk. Then, crushed together three small pills along with added sugar to stir into the warm drink. The medication helped her mother sleep since she had refused to take them earlier in the evening.

“Here, Mother.” Rachel handed the warm milk to Emma and watched as she immediately began to blow into the cup and drink it.

"This is so good!” Emma squealed in delight. "Remember when we used to make this in the wintertime, and we’d sit in front of the fireplace and eat those fabulous chocolate-dipped cookies? Mama used to make those for us on Saturday nights. You remember?"

Rachel smiled. It was bittersweet. For a moment she thought Emma was remembering their time together. She was somewhere else, lost in a childhood memory with her sister Elizabeth, a place she often retreated to when she needed to feel safe.

After several minutes, Emma began feeling the effects of the medication, and Rachel could tell she was much more relaxed. She walked over to her mother and removed the hat and purse setting them to the side.

“Don’t lose my purse,” Emma said, “I have my money in there.”

Rachel nodded and unbuttoned her coat.

“Stop that!” Emma snapped. She pulled the coat together and held it close.

“I just thought you might want to take that hot coat off and get under a light blanket instead.”

Emma frowned. “I would not. Just leave my coat on. I need it on for when we leave in the morning.”

“Ok.”

“And hand me my purse.”

Rachel gave the bag back to her mother and watched as she slid it under her head and stretched out on the sofa. Now the medication was taking full effect, and Rachel watched as her mother drifted off to sleep. She lay on the other side of the room staring at Emma, watching her chest rise and fall and searching every intricate detail of her mother's beautiful face that she could now see clearly in the moonlight. A broad bright smile crossed Emma’s face and Rachel wondered to herself who her mother was talking to in her dreams that brought her such pleasure, and what food was she tasting that was more than delicious? Where in the world had her dreams carried her so very far away? As she closed her eyes, she imagined her mother standing on top of a mountain, lipstick on, purse in hand, heading to her next grand adventure.