Months To Years Winter 2019 Months To Years Winter 2019 - Page 46

Speak to Me By Matthew Menary I miss my mom. I sometimes go sit in a corridor of me closer to her, but it’s all I’ve got. I sit. I stare. the hospital where she died, where long ago she I listen. I try to be aware of the smallest thing worked, and where she was admitted again and in that narrow space. I hope that by creating a again over the years. I sit on a modernistic, curved stillness, I will find something to say, or I will think couch in a hallway between the lobby and the of a few words my mom would have said to me. cafeteria. I sit and stare into space and I listen. Then, I wait. I listen to snippets of conversation of the people who pass by going to eat, or going upstairs via Most of what I hear are fragments, many— “Uh- the nearby elevator. I stare out the windows into a huh.” “Really?” “She said what?” type of blurbs. courtyard at plants, blue skies and statues where I usually hear, “Going up or down?” from the people with a lot on their minds can rest and people by the elevators. I also frequently hear reflect. some form of, “Where’s the lobby at?” There is talk of what to eat, or what the doctor thinks or As soon as I take my spot, I recall as clearly as I knows or said. One June 30, three men dressed can my mom telling me, “Speak to me,” during the in green scrubs came down the hallway and one many times when we would sit together. I don’t said, “Well, I’m officially working Christmas Day.” know if being in proximity to where she spent A man in another group of three, a woman and so much time and where she died could bring two men, said, “I should have made myself more 46