Jeremy's Mother

Jeremy opened his travel bag and looked inside. He frowned. Somehow that bag had become the reservoir of his dwindling will to go on. He just sat there and looked inside. "What's the point?" he sighed to himself. He lifted heavily from the corner of the bed, just another bed, and just another motel. He glanced out beyond the 'just another window' and watched the rainfall on just another highway. He breathed a groan and thought, "Just another day."

He pointed the vessel of his withering soul toward the darkened bathroom. He stood motionless, frozen by some unseen restraint. The bathroom mirror reflected a dingy silhouette of his slouch. It seemed to be mourning for him. Calling him to wash his face and brush his teeth. But Jeremy wasn't listening to the mirror. He had fallen into one of his fugues. He couldn't see the room anymore. It had vanished with his diminishing self-respect. "This is a dream," he thought.

Just another dream...

Jeremy was sitting with his mother, drinking coffee, eating cinnamon rolls, and discussing the newspaper. She was such a beautiful woman. Even in her sixties she still kept her hair long; braided in a single braid that fell toward the small of her back. Her back was strong, as were her heart and her mind. Jeremy loved his mother deeply. Perhaps too deeply for his own good, if his friends were to be believed. She was everything to him. He came to her whenever he was confused, estranged from understanding the throws of life, or hungry for forgiveness. He would fall deep within her eyes, under the spell of her soothing voice and her healing thoughts.

Jeremy fell helpless into the fugue, his dream, his fantasy. He had never met his mother. She died when he was three months old along with his father. A young couple and a suicide pact set the stage for young Jeremy's life, and he was playing the part with a whimper. And there was the mirror still calling out in soothing words for him to please wash his face and brush his teeth. "Yes, Mother," he said aloud. Switching on the light with his travel bag in hand, he approached the mirror. There he was --- staring back through sleep filled eyes. He recognized the face but just couldn't place a name to it. "Such a familiar face. Just another face," he thought. "Just another nobody in a sea of nobodies." This face seemed to need something. He could see it in the eyes. "I wonder what he needs," he thought. "He needs to wash his face and brush his teeth. Yes, that's it."

Jeremy ran warm water into the sink and put his hands in up to the wrists. Warm, loving water caressing him, holding him, promising him it would love him forever and never leave. A tear crept from its hiding place in the corner of his eye. Drawn to the warm water it fell sweetly and softly into the pool in the sink. "Just another tear in a sea of tears," Jeremy thought. His hands cupped a sample and lifted it to his face, pouring it over his forehead, down his nose, and onto the stubble below his lips; a gentle kiss, a sweet reminder of a mother's undying love. Opening his eyes again, he could see his reflection wavering in the warm pool, distorting his features. He stared until the water became calm and his image grew clear. "Such a familiar face. Someone I know. Someone needing to brush his teeth. Yes, Mother," the reflection whispered.

He managed to wash his face and brush his teeth in much the same way as a ferret manages to squeeze through a small hole in a wall, or as toothpaste as it is squeezed out of the tube: a wriggle and ooze. "Like my life," Jeremy thought, "More ooze than wriggle." Is that a telephone ringing? Jeremy placed his toothbrush and toothpaste back into the travel bag. Wasn't there something else? Yes, there was something else. He could see the shaver watching him. In its shinny chrome, he saw his face warped as in a carnival mirror. He scratched his chin and heard the comforting clicks of his nails against the stubble. "I need to shave," he thought.

Shaving seemed like rock climbing to Jeremy. It just seemed like more effort than it was worth. Hands touching rock, groping to find purchase, seeking a firm footing. There was so much area to cover and so much detail, and for what? A sense of accomplishment? "Rock climbing and shaving are solitary sports," he thought. Something we do in private to make us feel better in public. Shaving was a chore he hated. Yet his mother would be unhappy if he didn't shave. Sighing, he pulled the electric shaver from the travel bag. Was that a telephone ringing? He twisted the cap off the shaving head and plugged the shaver into the wall socket. Jeremy had always feared that he would electrocute himself one day, so he pushed the plug in gently, slowly. He saw his face reflected in the shiny metal plate that held the socket. "Such a sad face," he thought. "I have a sad face; a sad face that needs a shave." He shaved.

Jeremy felt clean now. The smell of the soap, toothpaste, and aftershave lotion made him feel clean. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled a crooked smile. Picking the comb from his travel bag, he carefully combed his thinning hair over the bald spot using warm water as Spackle. "There," he thought, "that's better. It won't fool anyone, but it's definitely better." He replaced the comb in the bag and zipped it shut with a quick zip. He moved to his suitcase and selected a shirt, socks, underwear, and a pair of pants. Methodically he dressed himself in the same order and fashion that he had always dressed himself. Mother would be proud. He slipped a tie around his neck and deftly built a perfect Windsor knot. Jeremy never used a mirror to help him put on a tie. That would be cheating. The phone rang.

"Hello?" Jeremy spoke into the handset. "Yes, Sir, that would be excellent. I'll meet you in the Cafe in five minutes with the sales presentation. Oh? You called? I was shaving. I didn't hear the phone. I'm sorry about that. I'll see you in five." He gently returned the handset to its cradle. "Bacon and eggs," he thought, "It's definitely a bacon and eggs morning."

Jeremy closed the suitcase, locked it, and placed it on the suitcase rack. He moved to the side of the bed, picked up the picture of his mother, and held it in both hands. He kissed it gently. "I'm getting stronger every day, Mother; every day and in every way." He put the picture back on the night table, left the room, and locked the door. As he stepped briskly down the hall he quietly sang the chorus of Chicago's "Feeling Stronger Everyday."