End Game by Nancy Ludmerer

Our mother wasn’t gentle. Party girl, Father called her. She forgave his rages. “You deserve it,” she’d tell us, when he grabbed his belt. But all that’s old now. Now she can barely speak.

My two brothers absconded years ago. “How is she?” they croak on the phone in alcohol-infused slurs, one on each coast, I in the heartland. I want them to suffer. So I invent a mother they never knew. “Yesterday she called me ‘dear’ and ‘sweetheart’,” I say. I threaten them with good news: “She’s improving. We’re singing old songs. Having fun.”

In truth, I lead. She follows.

“Rudolph the red-nosed rein!” I sing boisterously. She cries, “Dear!”

“Let me call you . . .” I holler. She yells, “Sweetheart!”

“Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of . . .” Silence. I squeeze her fingers. The swollen knuckles, the wedding ring.

“Come on,” I mutter, squeezing harder, furious. “Before Nurse gets here.”

“Fun!” she screams.


Nancy MontaukNancy Ludmerer‘s flash fiction appears in Green Mountains Review, North American Review, KYSO Flash, Vestal Review, Gargoyle, and elsewhere, and her microfiction “First Night” (River Styx) is reprinted in Best Small Fictions 2016. She lives in New York City with her husband Malcolm and cat Sandy, a rescue from Superstorm Sandy.

 

 

Previous
Next

Back to Issue #23

FacebookTwitterGoogle+Share

4 thoughts on “End Game by Nancy Ludmerer

  1. Nancy Ludmerer

    Thanks so much, Paul. I especially appreciate the praise coming from such a master of the form. And thank you also for introducing me to cahoodaloodaling to begin with (by publishing your own great work there)!

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>