South of Moosonee (Nonfiction / Essays)

by Greg Lambert

Mom’s in the Hospital. I went in to visit her.

She told me they tried to take her teeth out before she went into the operating room. They thought she had false teeth because they are so straight. Smiling is her superpower.

She said dad came and didn’t stay very long. They have a hidden life between them. A language they learned to speak before I was born. She talked about the woman beside her getting flowers…so I bought flowers, yellow ones.
I’m a thoughtful son, and a mommas’ boy.
The house feels empty without her. She adds the color, my father creates the shape.
This is what happened.

A few nights ago, when Dad was in Timmins, mom came into my room and woke me up. She said she had a pain near her stomach and couldn’t stand straight. It took me a few seconds to figure out who was talking. She was hunched over and looked like some kind of evil creature with her crooked body and her fuzzy hair. I was out of it because I just took an Actifed and was in that sweet spot where your body starts to feel soft and comfortable. I got up and went downstairs with her. Each step was painful and slow. I felt a bit guilty about being impatient with her, wanting her to hurry up. We went into the living room, I put her down on the chesterfield. I was going to start the car and bring her to the hospital, but she said she would lie down on the couch and see if it went away. Being the lazy piece of shit that I am I didn’t argue with her and just went back to bed.

Later I could hear her yelling.

I started the blue bomb in the garage. I still had my pajamas on, the cold air grabbed every inch of my skin. You feel it on your face first, the sting on your cheeks and then the nose hairs freezing and then your lungs. Just don’t breathe in too deep or you’ll start coughing. I remembered to plug the car in, it started right away, letting off a cloud of exhaust that filled the garage. I love the smell of carbon monoxide.

I went back into the house and helped my mom get up and into the car. I covered her with a blanket when she was in the car. She looked like one of the old women I’ve seen in my national geographic magazines, warn away by the elements, ready to die. While I was driving, I could see her bent over, breathing in slowly. The blanket went up and down then stopped when she held her breath. I fought my instinct to drive fast, it’s so easy to slide into a snowbank and get stuck. Who would help us at 3am?

I drove to the emergency entrance, down that little dip that lands you right in front of the door. It was locked, so I knocked on the door, then I rang the bell. I could see my mom staring at me, wondering what I could be doing wrong. No one came. I keep knocking and ringing the bell. Still, no one answered the door. My mom waved me into the car and told me to drive home, we would come back later. She said she felt better but I know she didn’t.

I hate this fucking town.