Two

It was Joe, “Mornin’ Joe,” properly and appropriately named, who introduced Ruby to the morning. She recognized the predawn crowing, with its sporadic hiccup, as the rooster that lived next door—Auntie Myrtle’s rooster—who was the epitome of correct timing, and often her sole morning alarm. Sometimes she was grateful for his timeliness—this morning, not so much . . .

Ruby stretched from under the covers, and by rote listened for any sounds of her mother stirring in the trailer. There were none. For that she was grateful. Still, she stepped, in the buff, down the hall and put her ear to the door of her mother’s room, the bell hanging from its knob motionless and silent. She padded back to her room, where, with the promise of some time before her mother’s waking, she could squeeze in a morning meditation. She powered-up her laptop, and while it maneuvered through the ether to the “web” she dressed in comfortable sweats and an oversized tee-shirt. Once on-line she found her bookmarked page to a guided meditation, and donning her headphones, set the volume low, and lay flat on the floor, a pillow under her neck and another under her knees as she focused on the voice that directed her.

Halfway through the meditation she heard, over the entrancing music, the tinkling of the bell on her mother’s door. She bolted upright, the day automatically begun in earnest. She quickly turned off the program, removed the headphones, threw the pillows to her bed, and stepped into the hallway just in time to greet her mother on her way to the bathroom.

“Mornin’, Ma,” she said, as she sidled up next to her.

Her mother looked confused, and wiping her sleepy eyes, asked, “Who are you?” Her hair was a massive pile, going in all different directions on her head. Her pajama top was buttoned and in place, but her trousers were down, halfway to her knees, and twisted, making her move like a robot, one foot shuffling directly in front of the other.

“It’s me, Ruby. How are you this mornin’, Ma?” she asked, reaching down to pull up the pajama bottoms.

“Oh, no. No.” her mother started pushing Ruby’s arms away and fighting her. Vera, with great strength, bent further to push her pants completely to her feet. “No!” she shouted. “No!” she shouted a second time.

“It’s okay, Ma,” Ruby tried to reassure her, but then, to avoid the conflict, allowed her mothe