Generations

Generations

Tim walked into his mother’s house. It was a wreck! Heart suddenly beating a hundred miles an hour, he started yelling for her and racing around the house. There were things flung everywhere, someone looking for money? His heart beat even faster as he thought of how this might end.

Suddenly hearing a noise upstairs, he went up quickly, grabbing a lamp as a possible weapon for once he got there. Flinging open the door of her bedroom, there she was, half under the bed. There was no one else there. Running to her he grabbed her feet and started pulling gently to get her out.

“Hey! Stop!” came her voice from under the bed.

“Mom! Is everything okay here?” Tim cried out, relieved that she could still speak.

Mom slid out on her own, “Fine, why do you ask?”

Tim collapsed in relief, “The house… you under the bed! I thought someone had attacked you,” he said finally.

“Pffft” she said back, “I was looking for my phone.”

“Your phone…?”

“Yes! I lose it twenty times a day. I just can’t seem to remember to keep it on me. It makes me so angry when I can’t find it! I just can’t get used to having it on me all the time like you young people do.”

“I’ll call it, it’ll ring.” He did, it did, it was in her pocket.

“Mom!”

“Well, I didn’t look there, I keep my wallet in that pocket, I thought that was my wallet. Oh look, thank goodness my wallet is still there too.”

“Mom! You have to find a way to remember your phone, it’s important!”

“Well, for seventy-five-years it wasn’t that important, maybe I’ll figure it out in my next seventy-five.”

“Very funny.”

“Yes,” Mom said, “unfortunately, still true…”