همان ماندن

STAYS THE SAME

I’M READING ON my white couch when Carla comes in the next morning.

“Feliz cumpleaños,” she sings out.

I lower my book. “Gracias.”

“How was the birthday?” She begins unpacking her medical bag.

“We had fun.”

“Vanilla cake and vanilla frosting?” she asks.

“Of course.”

“Young Frankenstein?”

“Yes.”

“And you lost at that game?” she asks.

“We’re pretty predictable, huh?” “Don’t mind me,” she says, laughing. “I’m just jealous of how sweet you and your mama are.” She picks up my health log from yesterday, quickly reviews my mom’s measurements and adds a new sheet to the clipboard. “These days Rosa can’t even be bothered to give me the time of day.” Rosa is Carla’s seventeen-year-old daughter. According to Carla they were really close until hormones and boys took over. I can’t imagine that happening to my mom and me.

Carla sits next to me on the couch, and I hold out my hand my for the blood pressure cuff. Her eyes drop to my book.

“Flowers for Algernon again?” she asks. “Doesn’t that book always make you cry?” “One day it won’t,” I say. “I want to be sure to be reading it on that day.” She rolls her eyes at me and takes my hand.

It is kind of a flip answer, but then I wonder if it’s true.

Maybe I’m holding out hope that one day, someday, things will change.