Chapter 2

When he got off work, Bobby went uptown to the special bakery to get the rugalach his mother loved so much. He then got her flowers in midtown. He stopped by a dress shop and bought her a dress. She should dress up every once in a while. It might make her feel better.

At the hospital his mother barely glanced at what he bought her. Bobby's feelings were hurt but he put that aside. His mother was sick and that should be his focus.

"Let me fluff your pillow." Even as he said this he knew how ridiculous it sounded. But she leaned forward and he fluffed her pillow. He put some rugalach on a paper plate and handed it to her. "I know it's your favorite treat." He got a napkin and put it on the bed tray.

She smiled weakly and tasted the rugalach. She chewed thoughtfully then put the uneaten piece on the plate.

"What? Its not fresh?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, wiping her hands on the napkin. "My taste buds have been fried."

"Mom, I'm sure that's not the case—"

"What?" she asked defiantly. "Don't you think I know whether I can now taste or not?"

The wild look in her eyes frightened Bobby. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

She settled back on her pillow and looked at the flowers. "They're beautiful."

Finally, something pleasant. "Thank you."

"It's so nice to see such beautiful flowers, only it makes me feel like I'm at a funeral."

Bobby sighed.

"I soon will be, you know. My own."

"Mom," he said, then stopped. What could he say? She was dying, they both knew this.

"Will you bring me flowers then?"

"Of course I will." He then realized she was being sarcastic.

She pointed to the new dress hanging on the closet door. "Is that my funeral dress?"

"If you want it to be," he said before he could stop himself.

"Look at you, sassing your dying mother. Frank would never do that. You could learn a lesson or two from him."

Although by now he was angry, Bobby didn't have the heart to tell her what had become of her adored son. Frank was not here so it was easy for her to put him on a pedestal. "I'm going to talk to the doctor."

"Why? To ask him to drug your crazy mother? Why don't you just tell him to give me something to put me out of my misery! No, to put us out of our misery. That way, you don't have to keep coming here."

"Mom, don't."

"Where's Frank? When is he coming? I thought you said he was coming. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

She sat up straight. "You don't know! He's your brother, for Gods sake. How can you not know where he is?"

Because he's a homeless loser and its hard to keep track of homeless losers.

"You should spend more time with your brother, Bobby. I won't be here forever, you know. Before I die, I'd like to know that you two will keep in touch."

"I'm willing—"

"I find that hard to believe. Did you tell him I'm here?"

"I'm going to see the doctor."

She waved her hand and fell back on the pillows. "Go talk to the doctor. Tell him I give him my permission to inject me with a lethal dose of anything."

Bobby walked out of the room. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. He knew she didn't mean half the things she said but that didn't make it hurt any less. She asked for Frank more frequently and he wondered if it was a sign that the end was near.

He honestly didn't know what else to do. Maybe he should get a lethal dose of something for all three of them. No, he didn't mean that. He didn't want to die and neither did his mother. Frank, well, he didn't know what Frank wanted. He did know his mother was angry and he was a convenient target to lash out at.

Bobby wanted to leave hospital and never come back. What was the point of it all anyway? If he left now, she wouldn't miss him. She had worn herself out with her latest tantrum. He went outside and got in his car but he didn't go home. Instead, he returned to the soup kitchen where he last saw Frank. Frank. How the hell had he sunk so low? When did that happen? Bobby waited there until the soup kitchen closed but Frank didn't show up.