I visit Claude often now. He's been in the coma for the last month and a half or so. He's pretty easy to talk to. I don't know why. I think he's a lucky guy. He has a wife and kids who love him. I have a mother who smothers me. We probably have nothing in common, but that isn't too surprising. There aren't a whole lot pf people that I have a lot in common with.

"Hey Claude, It's me. How have you been? Well, I guess that's a dumb question. You are probably the same as you were 24 hours ago. I wish you'd wake up. You'd be glad to know how many people are worried about you. Nobody would be that worried about me." I think I'm going to end up telling him all about my pathetic life...

"Anyway. I work in the pharmacy downstairs, but you already know that. I live in an apartment here in Seattle. My sick mother lives upstairs. She still treats me like a little kid, even though I'm 45. She knows I'll ignore her if she yells down to me, so she beats the floor with her cane. She's been a little screwy ever since my father died. I was seventeen and we were eating dinner. All of a sudden, he just fell in his mashed potatoes. I thought it was a joke until he didn't sit up. Just kind of kept laying there in the mashed potatoes. My mother was screaming all over the place and I sat there chuckling." I can't believe I am telling him all this.

"Mother taught high school where I went and it was embarrassing. She would come up to me in the halls and use her spit to make my cowlick lie down. Everyone made fun of me. Mother didn't care though, she kept at it. By the time I graduated, I had no friends. After high school I went to the local community college. I've had jobs here and there, but I've worked at the pharmacy longer than anywhere else--8 years now. It's OK..."

"I really love my mother, but she is crazy. I think she lost it when dad died, and she's been on my case ever since. I have seen her everyday for the last 28 years. She refuses to let me live alone. She questions where I go, what I do, what I eat, what I drink. It hate it. I try to be nice to her. I used to stop at this little cafe after work and buy her a coffee. I used to see the same girl there every time. I don't go there any more. Mother decided she didn't like the coffee."

"I guess I'd better go now Claude. Mother will be upset."

It's raining as I leave. I am glad that I talked to Claude about my mother. If he could hear me, he'd probably think I'm a pansy. That's what everyone else thinks, anyway.

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