Young Writers Society

I drank from the coffee mug as I sat on the porch with my mother. She was growing old and frail, I lived with her, took care of her, and I wouldn't ever leave her. She was paging her way through a photo album, ranbling on and on about what she could remember about birthday's or Christmas's. I listened, half out of curiosity and half for courtesy. My mother had a tendency to forget and end up repeating herself.

But I loved my mother, I told myself as I drank from the mug, and she loved me as well.

My mother closed the album and turned to me, staring at the cup. "I remember when I first got that cup." She pointed at it and I handed it to her after finishing the coffee. She held it between both of her hands and smiled as the lingering warmth filled her hands. "Your father gave it to me as part of a six-piece set for our wedding day. What a glorious day." She stared over the mug to the sun. I watched her.

"Tell me, what happened to all the other mugs? This is the only one left Ma." I retrieved the mug from her as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. I wondered if she had fallen asleep but she steadily began to rock the chair.

"Ahh, it was back in '77. He had just proposed to me three years earlier. He couldn't afford a diamond ring like all the other girls got from their men, but his dear old mum let me have hers. It was georgeous. It's like the one that you have right now only there was an engravement inside the band of a heart. Anyway, once we could afford the wedding we held in in a chapel in New York City and had the reception in ... I can't remember. I can remember the giant butterscotched cake ..." Ma let out a deep sigh as she was remembering. I sat there, thinking, butterscotch cake? At my wedding we had a tall take, layers high, frosting so sweet you'd never want anymore chocolate or sugar again. But butterscotch?

"And we opened the gifts. I gave him this golden wrist watch, Rolex? I can't quite remember, but I remember that he gave me those mugs. Six of them, all alike, and he had made them in some pottery class or what's it's called. Anyway the look on my face was captured in one of the photos, somewhere, misplaced or it was lost in the fire..."

Fire? My eyes glazed over as I stared at her. "Ma, what fire?"

Ma sat up and rubbed her elbow as the sun began to rise above the trees. The trees shimmered and sparkled under the light, and swayed with the easy morning breeze. I was suddenly annoyed at her slow response.

"You don't remember. Well, I recall, you were three, your father and I were in the kitchen, the dining room had a fireplace and it was lit. You were playing with one of the mugs, letting your teddy bear drink from it. Goodness, it was adorable. Well, anyway, we were not paying close enough attention and there was horrible screaming from your father as he went to the dining room. Apparently the rug had caught fire from a loose ember and were ran out of the house. And you were still carrying that mug."

I felt suddenly warm all over my body. I had saved something special and close to my moms heart. I suddenly felt a pang in my heart. Was this the day my father had died? From the look on my mothers face as I turned back to her, it was. I was left to believe that the mug was now even more unique and meaningful than it would have been if he was still alive.

"I will never forget that night ..." Ma closed her eyes and rocked back and forth in her chair, and suddenly she stopped. Her breath became calm and even, she had fallen asleep.

I took the mug back inside and washed it, placing it carefully inside the shelf. I stared back out the window at my mom as she slept calmly, dreaming of my father, perhaps of the mug.

It's... not... getting... better