This assignment shows a son trying to tactfully broach the subject about his mother moving into a home, with a word count of 250.
The old women is loosely based upon my own grandmother, specifically the twiddling of the thumbs and the “can’t wait for me to die” line. She would twiddle her thumbs when annoyed or angry (which was about 80% of her waking life, to be truthful), and looks fairly aggressive action on a tiny scale.
Mother and Son
“You know,” said Dylan as he bandaged his mother’s leg ulcer, “You shouldn’t live by yourself in this huge empty house. Not at your age.”
Cissy twiddled her thumbs furiously and glowered at her son. “Why the hell should you care? You’ve never been concerned about me. I bet you and that bitch wife of yours can’t wait for me to die and get your hands on my money.”
“I resent that, mother.” He wrapped the final layer of gauze around the translucent limb, then gently lowered her foot into a slipper. “Done.”
“Hey,” said Dylan carefully, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you sold this place, and lived in some kind of home where people nursed you?”
Cissy stopped twiddling. “You said that last week.”
“Did I?” He looked away, guiltily. “Anyway, I’d feel less concerned if you were being cared for.”
There was silence as she thought about this, then Cissy smiled, slowly. “All right, son. I see your point, and I agree. It would be nice to be cared for.”
“Yes.” She stood up gently. “Help me pack a few things and we’ll be off.”
“To your place.”
“Wait – I didn’t mean we’d care for you!”
“What else did you mean? A nursing home?” She mock-laughed. “Not when I have such a concerned son to take care of me!”
Dylan looked daggers at his mother, and then sighed. “Or maybe you’re better off here?”
Cissy sat back down. “That’s a good boy.”