Mick Bennett
\nSpring Back<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Days before her aneurysm bursts, Mom calls me on FaceTime.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour stepfather\u2019s planning a so-called hunting weekend in the fall. I can\u2019t forget his past indiscretions.\u201d She\u2019s sitting outside, her oversized, dirt-crusted garden gloves on the picnic table. A red bandana holds streams of graying chestnut hair in place as she wipes sweat off her forehead with a sleeve.<\/p>\n
She\u2019s lucky to be alive but unlucky. My stepfather needs to answer her phone for her. “I can\u2019t work the TV remote either,” she says.<\/p>\n
~<\/p>\n
Weeks after she comes home, I get time off and make the six-hour drive. The lawn needs mowing. Clumps of dead grass from the last cutting sit like fallen bird nests among the dandelions. Inside she looks up at me, eyes welling. Her growing hair\u2019s a gentle carpet. She runs fingers over her scar, a pink rut from the top of her forehead to mid-skull. She\u2019s relearning to take care of herself. Memory and every day skills should return with time. She lets me help with her makeup. I pick out her lipstick.<\/p>\n
In the yard she has me clip spent blooms from her lilacs. She gazes at them, cradles them like keepsakes. \u201cYour stepfather won\u2019t deadhead.\u201d<\/p>\n
~<\/p>\n
Home from work, my stepfather pops a beer and says he\u2019ll grill burgers for dinner. Mom pipes up she wants to make my favorite potato salad. She grabs some russets, washes them, and finds her favorite copper bottom pot. It wiggles as the water comes to a rolling boil. Skins on, she halves each potato, lowers the heat, and drops them in. We watch the clock. An occasional drop leaps from the pot and sizzles on the glass top surface.<\/p>\n
The potatoes drain and cool in the sink. Mom holds the refrigerator open until it beeps. Closing it, she moves to her spice rack on the wall. Squinting, her head swivels back and forth and she leans forward as my stepfather returns to the kitchen.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d He slaps pre-formed burgers onto a platter.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m remembering.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRemembering,\u201d he repeats, leaving.<\/p>\n
Mom reaches a hand up to the spice rack. Three fingers tuck before thumb and forefinger pluck dried mustard and set it down. Paprika and celery salt follow. From the fridge come mayo and sweet pickle relish. Potato skins, dark bandages slowly peeled from a wound, fill the sink. As she measures, sprinkles, and folds, a regular kitchen whirlwind, I picture her trimming her roses again, mowing the front yard and spotting me next time when I come for a visit.<\/p>\n
She\u2019ll pause, anchor a fist to her side, and wave as if I\u2019m Santa Claus in Macy\u2019s Thanksgiving Day Parade. She won\u2019t try to yell over the mower. Then she\u2019ll straighten her arms, lean into it, and get back to work. I\u2019ll stand watching as she finishes up, one path at a time, her green-stained sneakers leaving angel footprints that vanish as the freshly cut grass springs back to the sky.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Mick Bennett Spring Back Days before her aneurysm bursts, Mom calls me on FaceTime. \u201cYour stepfather\u2019s planning a so-called hunting weekend in the fall. I can\u2019t forget his past indiscretions.\u201d She\u2019s sitting outside, her oversized, dirt-crusted garden gloves on the picnic table. A red bandana holds streams of graying chestnut hair in place as … Continue reading My flash fiction piece “Spring Back” as it appeared in the National Flash Fiction Day 2023 Anthology<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/578"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=578"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/578\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":580,"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/578\/revisions\/580"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=578"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=578"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.mickbennettnj.com\/Blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=578"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}