MAGGIE

photo from konkas' photostream

Maggie sucked in her lips. Steam rose from the kettle as saturated tea leaves floated down in the blue stained teapot.  The last of the tea. When she’d have the energy to get more, who knew? Turning, she gazed at the fly-specked calendar.

May 5! Three days till her birthday. How old would she be? Well, didn’t matter. Sam was coming. He said he’d come for her birthday and that was good enough for her.

Settling in her multi-colored afghan-covered chair, Maggie blew on the mug of brew. The hot cup comforted as her wrinkled hand snuggled it against her chest. Pulling a hanky from her sleeve, Maggie wiped the edge of the cup.

She’d have to clean the place for Sam’s visit; move a year’s worth of newspapers, for one thing. Glancing around the crowded apartment, Maggie wondered what her successful son would say about the place. He’d never been here. Always busy. Important. That was her Sam.

But this year! He’d written at Christmas saying he’d bring flowers, personally, on her birthday. They’d go to church when Sam came, and round to see the neighbors. She’d show him off.

Her birthday. Let’s see. If this is l958, I’ll be 83. If it’s l959, that would make me 84.

Almost as old as Ma when she died. Maggie shivered and pulled her old green sweater around her wrinkled neck. Ma, the strapping Irish woman who’d borne eight kids and raised four. She still missed Ma. It’d been different on Ma’s 83^rd. They’d had a big do – all the neighbors – lots of family. Sam, at five, had dressed as a clown and performed tricks that had Ma over the moon.

Wonder if Sam remembers those fun times?

Maggie jumped at the sound of a knock. Sam? As fast as her creaky bones would allow, Maggie shuffled to the door.

“Howdy, Miz West. Here’s your mail.” Mail time? Must be getting on noon. “Thanks, Joe.”

“Letter from Sam, I noticed.” The mailman waved as he left the stoop.

“Mother,” the letter began. “Hope you’re well. It’s your birthday again.”

Bless him. He remembers. “I’m sending a gift. Hope you like it. Janet helped choose it. We’re on our way to Europe. Another business trip, but some vacation. Maybe we’ll look up those Irish ancestors Ma was always talking about. If so, we’ll let you know. “Hope you’re doing ok. Janet sends her love too … Sam.”

On his way to Europe. He’d forgotten his promise. Maggie stared at the cold tea. Course if it’s business, he has to go. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to stir herself to clean the apartment. So he did remember Ma. Said he’d look up ancestors. My, I’m glad he recalls what Ma used to say. He’s a good son. A good grandson to Ma. Maggie leaned back, pulled out the hanky and blew.

Gail Denham has published a wide variety of short stories, news articles, and poems, plus hundreds of photos nationally and internationally.  Denham and her husband have four sons and thirteen grandchildren. Much of her writing involves family times, humor, and nostalgia. One of her greatest joys is being with family.

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