The wheelchair jolted as Jeffrey rolled it over the threshold and out onto the porch. Easily, he swung it in behind the small wooden table, noticing, as he did every day, the white paint peeling off its surface. The ashtray was already there and beside it he laid the day's Players and a Bic.
"There you go, Mom." Still standing behind the chair, he watched her fumble out the first cigarette, sparking the lighter one, two, three times before it caught. Her fingers were stained a sickly yellow and they twitched so that the smoke jittered away in crazy curlicues.
"Thank you, Jeffrey." She smoked fitfully. "Could you make me some coffee?"
"Sure, Mom." He went in to the kitchen where the kettle was already boiling, spooned the Maxwell House into a mug, poured the water. Stared out the window at the bright summer day, stirred, stirred, and watched the cream swirl in like smoke. It was too full. Damn fool. He spilled a bit into the sink and wiped the mug before bringing it out to her.
"You're a good boy." Holding up the cup in her left hand, she drank, hand shaking a little less now, and he saw the diamond there flash in the sun.
Why are you still wearing that? he wanted to yell at her. He wanted to tear it off her finger, wanted to see if the stone would score the window. Crazy bitch, he'd write and the contempt he felt was red and blinding for a moment. If only he could get away. He'd get a job. Have money. Save it up. Buy himself a car. Buy his mother a new diamond ring.
He sat on the porch steps and stared out at the lawn. Grass needed cutting. Clothes needed washing. A little kid from down the block rode by on his bike.
"Jeffrey, are you going out today?"
"No, Mom."
FINIS