“hurts so bad,

makes me feel so sad,

like needles and pins.”

Tensions flare when Ms. Rose, a defiant widow, summons her adult alcoholic son Ed to run errands for her. This leads to a boiling confrontation between the two of them, hinting at unresolved issues.

She thought she heard a gunshot. She paused for a moment, holding her breath, waiting with a head tilt and a squinted left eye. The moment passed. Nevermind.

She was sitting at the table in her kitchen when she made a final decision. Playing in the background on the radio, “Hurt So Bad” by Little Anthony and The Imperials. It was this kind of music that made her mood somewhat romantic. She was sitting at her table listening.

While clipping coupons from the weekly newspaper and writing out her shopping list in long hand, she sharply told herself, “I’m just not going to do that anymore. I am not. I will not cover my gray anymore!” She continued. “It is the seventies and I am seventy years old. It’s time and I’m tired.” That was that. Covering gray hair was no longer on her agenda of things to do. “Good!” She said out loud as she crumpled up the Lady Clairol coupon and threw it into the trash.

When Ms. Rose was in her twenties there was no need to cover gray hair because she did not have any. Nor did she have to look after babies, cook food for anybody or be there for someone. She was young, she was single, she was free. But later on in her life, time and distractions gave her a list of things she always had to do, even when she did not want to.

“Ed!” Ms. Rose called out to her son. No answer. She called out to him again. “Ed!” She yells louder. “Ed, you hear me calling you!” Ms Rose, although seventy was quickened in her thinking. She knew exactly what she was doing when she called out to him. Interrupting his drinking.

Forty year old Ed was in the back room where his bedroom was. He was on the phone with his ex-wife. One of his wrists was in a plaster cast, he was holding the phone receiver with the other. He and his ex-wife were in the middle of re-hashing an old argument. The same argument about the same things for the past ten years. It was so crazy that if you listened in on them it would have sounded rehearsed. Between the two of them they knew what the other was going to say before it was even said.

Ed heard Ms. Rose the first time. He guzzles down the rest of his beer and starts putting on his overcoat and gathering his wallet and keys. Speaking into the phone receiver Ed insists “I gotta go.” He continues, “I will call you back. We can finish this later.” He pauses. “I told you I have to go to the store for Ms. Rose. You know how she gets when she wants something done.”

He listens for a moment before speaking again. “It’s like I said before… that’s not …” He pauses. “Why you always acting like I made those choices all by myself?” He was yelling. Ed thought he was speaking in a whispered voice. He wasn’t. He was speaking loudly because he was arguing. Ed was listening to her voice on the phone but he was not really hearing.

More angry now, Ed paces wildly, stomping his foot down on the floor, as if somehow it would change the mood and she would see things his way. This did not happen because on her end she kept arguing her point. But Ed, exhausted and resigned complains. “Always with you, the bitching, the nagging. I just can’t bare dealing with you anymore.” There is brief silence. “Hello. Hello! Hello!”

The conversation was over. She hung up on him. Ed slams the telephone receiver down on it’s cradle and looks grimly around the room.

He then finishes putting on his coat and walks through the hallway to the kitchen, stops and eyes Ms. Rose before speaking. “You got your list?” He continues over to the refrigerator, opens it, scans quickly and reaches for a can of beer. He stops short, and as if having suddenly remembering something he triple taps his finger on the top of the beer can and quickly retracts his hand back. He slams the refrigerator door closed. He looks over to Ms. Rose and asks, “List?” Rolling her eyes at him she gives him a look of disgust and hands him a piece of paper. “Look Woman, don’t be sniping me with that look.” Finishing with, “got the money?” He holds out his hand out, palm up.

She reaches into her blouse and pulls out a knotted handkerchief from her bra. After fussing with it some she opens it and takes out a wad of cash. She licks her finger and peels off five one dollar bills and hands it to him. Ed takes the money, adds it to the list and stuffs them both into his front pants pocket. Ms. Rose snares him a harsh look before speaking. “And you, back there with all that yellin’ and carryin’ on, keeping the phone all tied up. Plus, I told you I was expecting a call.” Adjusting herself in her chair she continues, “sounding like a fool and smelling like beer!” Ed, feeling like he was staying on top of it responds quickly with, “And this kitchen smells like you cooked the whole goddamn hog and it’s not even lunchtime yet!” He goes over to the sink, stands over it briefly enough to look at and admire the hand painted curtains of soft pink and blue pastel roses.

He then glances down at the sink, making a conscious consideration of the pile high dirty dishes. Clenching his jaws he snaps out of it and roughly throws the curtains open and pushes the window open. He turns to Ms. Rose, yelling. “You need to let some fresh air in here!” Unaffected, she turns away from him and picks up her newspaper.

“The whole head of a pig! Including the snout! On the stove!” He denounces. “Do you know what it’s like to walk into a kitchen and see eyes looking back at you?” Mumbling, “It’s like John the baptist with his head cut off.”

Ed is more hyped now and makes his way to Ms. Rose. Towering over her he speaks tentatively, “Ms Rose you know what the doctor says about that stuff?” He attempts to repose himself by slowing down his speech and speaking more softly. “It’s bad for your health.” Ms. Rose snaps back at him. “Mind yo’ business. I am making hoghead cheese.” Ed jumps in. “And what about your high blood pressure?” He repeats. “Hmm.” He puts both hands firmly on the table and looks at her directly. “What about your blood pressure Ms. Rose?” Ed, still trying to be reasonable. “What about that part?” Ms. Rose casually reaches for the radio that’s sitting on top of the table, turning the knobs raising the volume. She tells him, “don’t forget to pick up some candies to give out to the childrens tonight. It’s Holloween.

Heaving with anger now Ed explodes and throws his hands in the air and starts towards the door. He turns to Ms. Rose again. “And that’s what I’m talkin’ about momma, can’t nobody never tell you nothin’!” Ms. Rose pays him no mind, avoiding direct eye contact with him. Ed, irritated but unsurprised looks at her while shaking his head. He storms out of the house, snatching the front door open practically ripping it off it’s hinges.

Ms. Rose stares after him for a moment, lets out a sigh, ties a couple of knots in her handkerchief tucking her stash carefully back into her bra and goes back to what she was doing. She licks her index finger and turns the pages of the newspaper. This time she turns to the society section, studying the pages only as an observer.

Ed gets into his 1958 Ford truck, patina green. Starts it up, puts it in gear and drives off. His driving reflects his mood. While infuriated he was thinking, “this is the kind of shit that raises my blood pressure.” At that moment he passes a liquor store and shakes his head “no.. um umm, it is too early in the day for that.” Driving further along he passes up Smokey’s Bar. In head-jerk contemplation he grips the steering wheel and presses his lips together tightly. Suddenly he quickly doubles back, parks the truck and goes inside the bar. Right then and there he knew he was going to be a while. So, in his head he started practicing the argument that he and Ms. Rose was going to have.