Read Cowboy Ending - Overdrive: Book One for Free Online Page B

room” but in truth I spent so much of my
time living downstairs and out of her way that it was hard to think
of it differently. Many years ago this room had been a disaster
zone of toys, spilled milk stains and the sight of many a flashcard
session to learn me some basic mathematics as I grew up.
     
    These days it
was a much quieter place.
     
    Dad’s old chair
was still near the little used fireplace, next to the side table
with Mom’s reading lamp. A two person faded loveseat that had seen
better days stood off to the left while it’s full length couch
counterpart sat on the other side of the room. An older knee-high
imitation oak coffee table sat in the middle of the room covered
with used and unused tissues, several dirty dishes, a half full
coffee mug and a variety of pill containers. Over on the old
tube-style TV screen Dennis Beyak and the local TSN crew was deep
into the action during the first period of the Jets game. Sidney
Crosby hadn’t caught the old “Lemieux Flu” and had actually shown
up to play in Winnipeg, giving the high priced ticket buyers a
chance to see the top player in the league in action against our
local boys.
     
    “Two nothing
already?” I muttered.
     
    “Oh that Crosby
is a menace,” Mom said in a small voice. “He’s always down in our
end with his stick on the puck. It’s not fair.”
     
    Propped up on
four or five different pillows and tucked up to her waist in
comforters, my mother Linda watched the game with rapt attention.
She watched all the games though I’m not certain she’s ever really
understood what was going on. Always with insistent cries for her
team to “Go to their end, stay away from ours!” and other such
helpful advice. To be fair she came by it honestly, as I remember a
lot of similar things being shouted at my grandfather’s TV screen
as we watched his beloved New York Yankees when I would visit
during lunchtime as a kid.
     
    Though Grandpa
used a few more expletives that I wasn’t supposed to know or
understand as I recall.
     
    Mom coughed
wetly again into a tissue as I scooped up a few fresh ones and
handed them to her, sweeping as many of the used ones into the
nearby plastic bag we always kept handy for just this purpose. Some
weeks we went through more tissue paper than anything else in that
house.
     
    Seeing her laid
up on the couch always made my chest ache, and she was the one
battling early onset heart disease. I always remember an energetic
dynamo of a woman, bustling me from school to home every day.
Constantly involved with the church, the PTA and still finding time
to work part time with a local market research firm in the
evenings. Tireless, enthusiastic and brilliant. Driven to set a
good example for her kids and lead them by the ear to her level of
energy even if we went there kicking and screaming.
     
    Which I often
did.
     
    Now Mom spent
the majority of her day laying back on that couch, propped up nice
and high to help with her breathing. Never a big woman to begin
with, the thirty or so pounds she had lost in the last few years
left her looking frail and like a woman much older than her late
fifties. Skin the color of chalk and the clamminess of a damp rag.
Her hair – once thick and curly like mine – was stringy and
limp.
     
    Doctors had
wanted her moved to a medical care facility but Mom had refused.
“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I am old enough to be in a
home” she had said. The house had plenty of room now that it was
just the two of us and held everything she needed. Plus, she was
comfortable which was the most important thing. A home care nurse
came by every other day while I was working to check her blood
pressure and to help out with things that came up. A benefit that
Mom resented needing but accepted out of reality.
     
    “Don’t stare at
me like that, Joseph.” She admonished without looking away from the
TV screen. “I’m right as rain.”
     
    A smile forced
its way onto my face. A small