Mother was roughly six feet tall. Her face was large and shined under the scattered fluorescent of the subway platform. Her gray hair was slicked at the top and gathered in a bouquet of crimped locks towards the back of her head. Mother's profile resembled General George Washington's and her exaggerated features orbited her clay-like nose.
She and daughter, Elizabeth (Lizzy) caught the train to middle school every Monday through Friday, except on the holidays. Lizzy was big boned and awkward. Thirteen years had her looking unflatteringly old because of her unfit, gangly limbs and her uniform softness. Come next birthday, or the one after, her body was sure to collapse into full-on-largeness. She was destined to develop into her gargantuan Mother.
Mother was mother but she seemed so much more like grandmother. The early commute was normally coupled with groggy lethargy and sleepy eyes. Cheerios cut with quarter-inch slices of banana hardly had the effect of a cup of coffee which accounted for Mother pulling Lizzy down the stairs, through the turn style, and across the platform in order to catch the 7:14. Lizzy fumbled her stops and followed mother. Mother gasped for air as they squeezed into the last two seats on the car. Lizzy was exhausted and rested her head on Mother's shoulder. Mother stroked Lizzy's dulling brown hair and spasmodically gasped for air while she whispered under the rumbling of the train.
"Isn't that something, Little Lizzy? Now, isn't that something? What do I say? What do I always say? What is it that I alllllways say? 'Good to be on time, better to be early.' Do I not always say that? Isn't this something I always say?"
"Yes, Mother."
"Yes, of course. You took your lunch pack, correct? Now, look, Lizzy. Here we are, early for school. Doesn't Ms. White appreciate your timeliness. We must make her very happy..."
Lizzy nestled her head deeper into Mother's shoulder, searching for that perfect ratio of bone and muscle. Mother was massive. She smelled like laundry and bacon.
The wind of the winter morning whipped down the subway stairs as the commuters emerged from the underground. Mother held Lizzy by the hand and together they counted the steps. One all the way to seventeen. No, no, eighteen, didn't count the first. Then came the hypnotizing aroma of the Riding Hood's Donut Shop. Lizzy licked her lips and she could just about taste the Boston Creme or the zest of the Lemon Frosting. Oh, but Lizzy knows today is not Friday. Friday is the day for donuts. How hard she has worked all week! Her homework done by 6 o' clock and the dishes always clean and set. It's Thursday and tomorrow is so close. She could smell Riding Hood's, and would it be a Chocolate Eclair or would she feel the need for the classic Powdered? Mother's hair looked like the powdered wigs of the 18th century. Riding Hood's was just about two blocks away, and although Baker St. was lined with restaurants, it were the donuts that cut through the crisp morning air and the quick hint of coffee coming from a sporadic carrier passing by. Lizzy listened to Mother's whispers while her nose listened to all the surrounding pleasures!
Riding Hood's red and white striped awning soon approached and Lizzy was always overcome with perplexity at this moment. She noticed the closer she was to Riding Hood's the fainter the smell.
"Mother, I'll have Chocolate Eclair tomorrow. I'm so sure of it!" Lizzy pressed her nose against the window and her fast breath fogged a small radius.
"Come, dear. Tomorrow is the future and the present holds no pastries for you, so you mustn't yearn for the things to which you are not yet entitled. Keep you're taste buds thinking of the past. They've been delighted nearly every Friday."
Lizzy squeezed Mother's hand and whistled London Bridge is Falling Down as they turned and continued on their way.
Mother bent down to tie her shoe in front of the entrance to school. What's this, Lizzy? You're shoe has come untied, as well! Lizzy looked over the hump that was Mother's back and thought about the gigantic, prehistoric turtle at the World History Museum. Her mouth was open in a perpetual sigh and her glazed eyes were fixed across the street watching the swarm of like-aged children while her mother was looping her laces ever so delicately. The children seemed to move in a careful wave towards the front door but the white noise of shouts and laughter created a sense of peaceful chaos. There were no faces, only woolen hats, scarfs, and gloves of all colors bouncing towards her, around her, and into the school. She knew them by their common association but there was no substantial connection. They were people with different thoughts and different mothers and different favorite kinds of donuts. They came and went according to a bell. They sat when they were asked to sit and stood when they were asked to stand. They went home and sat around a dinner table, maybe, or ate in front of a t.v. and cleaned their mouths and washed their hands. They scraped their scraps into a garbage and the took the garbage out when it was full for dear Mother because that's my job and Friday's coming soon. And then the garbage man comes and collects all the garbage from every household and all the recycling. All the garbage from the receptacles on mostly every street corner and all the garbage from every office building and how about all the garbage from every restaurant and shop where does it all go? It must be hidden so well because we never see it again like there's a garbage heaven.
Lizzy noticed she was stroking Mother's gray curls when Mother stood up and kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth. She wiped Lizzy's face and wished her the best of days!
