CHAPTER 3:

In the home Pokey Oaks Estates there lived an old lady, she had blonde hair and old blue eyes but an absolutely vibrant face. The younger staff at the home called her Mrs. U, she didn't use her first name much. She always had a story to tell and spent her days painting in the garden under the trees of the large estate style retirement home. Mrs. Utonium led a happy and quiet life, ever since her husband had passed a few years back she led it day by day immersing herself in her hobbies.

She looked at the painting of the square headed man in front of her, the oil paints merged into an abstract of a mans figure but showed no obvious facial features. "I think I shall call this 'Family'." She paused thinking of the men in her life, she had son but he like his father lived in his own little world chousing to focus on work rather than the realities of life. "It was her fate perhaps" She sighed. In her younger days she was a dreamer and an artist and Dr Utonium was a researcher she had met while on campus, opposites attracted and she ended up marrying a man her complete opposite, which was lucky for her since she couldn't imagine what being married to someone with her characteristics might be like. She pitied her son sometimes; he had to grow up polarized between being like her or like his father a confusion which had manifested it as naughtiness in his younger days.

"How many times did she have to go down to school because he had put glue in a girls hair again?" She asked herself. Still she always reminded herself that boy would be boys and that would always be the memory of him that she had. That bratty little boy, she fancied him to grow up as a rebel and join the heavy metal band or something else rebellious, funny thing he turned out a boring person like his father it was very much unlike him, but he never told her what. In high school, she would worry that her son might get into drugs or anti-war protests, instead he brought back straight A's and she had to save her speeches. Not that she would have complained, she would have packed his bag if he wanted to march on Washington.

"Mrs. U, phone call for you."

"Thank you Richard, it must be Greenpeace again. Honestly, give them a hundred thousand and they keep calling you nonstop." She nodded at her personal assistant. Too bad her son had left when he was so young, his father had left a good amount of inheritance for him. Still, Saving the Whales sounded much better than Saving the Harvard Graduate didn't it. As she picked up cordless phone she thought, a professor now isn't he?

"Hello Mother, its me." It was her son she smiled. Thankfully she had kept their old house number since she moved.

"Why Professor, how nice of you to call." She teased. Pretending to be grumpy but letting her laughter be heard.

"Oh Mother still the old jokester aren't you. How are things at the home? Not torturing the staff with your antics are you?"

"I've won worse resident of the month a few times, but old man Jones has one up on me cause he's the grumpy old sort. I just compete with people born to be old. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" She snickered. She knew her language would make the professor uncomfortable just like it did his father. For an old lady she surely was childish, she knew that. But keeping the soul young was the first step to keeping the mind and body youthful.

"Well" He began in his analytical tone. "I was just wondering, what was I like when I was younger?"

There was hope for him yet she thought. "You were a typical little boy weren't you, unless you count that time I caught you playing with dolls. Why do you ask? Not thinking of blaming me for some childhood mental scarring are you?" She teased again. She just loved toying with analytical minds.

"No, just going through the old photo album and…" He lied, but it was a little white one. His mother didn't know about the girls, and this wasn't the time to tell her.

"Found some mug shots in there eh proffy? You were a little rat when you were young, I remember than time you glued that Keane girl's hair and the time you were caught with a girl in the bathroom. Quite a little ladies man you were when you were five." She snickered. Those were the days.

The professor actually had a notepad in his hands and was jotting down notes about his youth as if it were a collage lecture. Such was his habit; it didn't occur to him that these were his actions not a history lesson.

Mrs. Utonium held the phone between her shoulder and her cheek; she motioned to Richard to prepare another easel and canvas. "All this reminiscing is giving me inspiration." She thought. As she started with the stencil, she continued reminding the professor of his younger days the way only a mother can.

The professor's hand felt like he had been writing for ages. Thankfully, he was used to making long and detailed notes from his years in collage. "Thank you again Mother. I'll send flowers over." He knew his gestures were superficial, but he didn't have time to visit. Neither did he want her visiting him, he wasn't ready to face her again, even after so many years.

"Goodbye Son" Mrs. Utonium put down the receiver. She was of course still painting; her wrist movements showing power and practice just like the professor's.

"Richard, do a search on his number on the Internet, I think its time to pay my son a visit don't you." She knew something was wrong if her son suddenly called up out of the blue. And what better way to find out then to show up.

END CHAPTER 3