Henry laced his shoes while Mother stood in the doorway watching him, feeling both happiness and sadness that her forty year old son, now even more obese and obscene, was still living with her, she an old mother of two. Her body was getting older and weaker by the day, though she tried to cover up her decaying Subject, it was understood that she would soon die. “Time passes,” thought Mother, her eyes drifting downward into the looming future, away from her terrifyingly obese son. Her back was stiff, her legs were shaky, her boobs were saggy, and her soul was over-saturated with an obsession of time passing; “My time has passed,” she says, accidentally, perhaps subliminally or unconsciously, out loud. The pain of time pinched her heart—the memories of good fading—caused tears to form inside her ducts and cascade, trickle down her wrinkled cheeks. Mother sponged her tears with a dry tissue and tossed it into the wastebasket adjacent of Henry. “Under and over, Goes Mr. Rover,” Mother was speeding ahead of time and Henry was retarding behind it.
A fatty jiggle rushed through Henry’s body as he defied gravity onto his feet. The ground quivered. Soon they would venture outside and into the unfriendly city. Henry and Mother, they survived only with each other, but their togetherness was a curse: Henry was handicapped without a handicap and Mother was talented without an agent, not one seemed to care about another, each one independent as the next, each more important than the other—
“Oh Henry, Mr. Face is waiting for us! It’s been ten minutes since I asked you to get ready, what have you been doing in here anyways?” Mother insisted upon being timely; she cared about people, deeply, as much as she cared about being timely. As a principle, she was selfless, thoughts and actions always belonging to others, never hers. Life and living was always about the other or another and never about herself. Bystanders and strangers accused Henry of taking advantage of Mother, but of course, their accusations fell to deaf ears—for Mother cared for Henry as God cared for his only Son.
“I can’t concentrate when you are there just watching me like that. How many times? How many times!” Henry pulled at the shoelaces, defusing the two and starting anew, he must start over he thought, a shoe must never be tied in a hurry for fear of it becoming undone in the wrong moment, like when being chased by angry children in pursuit of a bouncy ball now stolen. Mother saw what he had done and left the doorway. She still had to feed the cats and