My Name Is Elizabeth
Part One
My name is Elizabeth. I’m a 25-year-old collage senior, I know—don’t even get started about how 25 seem a little old for a college student. I took a while off after high school to go backpacking through Europe. I would work as a temporary bar hand to pay for bed and board. I was supposed to just spend a summer there, but I guess I lost track of time. Anyways, now I’m history major; my focus is in the Punic wars. I’m also an archeology minor, and in my free time I like to attend experimental archeology exhibitions; and that brings us to why I’m here at my mother’s house in the middle of nowhere Illinois. When I tell people, my mom lives in Illinois they usually think Chicago or something like that, but no, not even close. For some god forsaken reason my mom decided to move to the most remote town in the most dusty backwater county in Illinois. There are literally no other inhabited buildings for miles, just crops and farm animals. Honestly it creeps me out a bit.
So, the reason I came out here is because there’s going to be this massive experimental archeology show right on the border of Missouri which isn’t too far away from my mom’s house. So being the broke college student I am I decided to stay with her instead of renting a motel room much closer. The problem is that I’m so stingy that I ran out of gas before I even got there; I need to get my gage fixed or something. Anyways, I’m not a scrawny wimp or anything but I’m not exactly world’s strongest women either, so there was no way I could push my car the rest of the way. I tried calling my mom to get her to pick me up, but there was no reception. So now I’m walking down this dusty road in the middle of a hot June day. I was almost relived when I saw Jim’s rusty old pick up coming down the road. Jim is the southern hick that my mom married a few years back. I’ve met him a few times, and honestly, I can’t see what drew my mom to him. He’s a slow talking scruffy hill-billy who makes eyes at everything with two x chromosomes.
He pulls up and rolls down his window, “Heyoo—Bess! How you been baby girl? Yer ma and I was waitn’ on you! Gosh you didn’t walk the hole way did yuh!”
He snorts, and I sigh. My name is Elizabeth as I’ve said. If he has to call me by a nickname it should at least be one derived from my name.
“It’s Elizabeth… My car ran out of gas, can’t you give me a ride? I’m burning up.”
“Sure thing—uh—Elizabeth! Hop in!” god his voice was annoying, everything about him was annoying. This weekend can NOT end soon enough.
Finally I’ve arrived at the miserable shack my Mother and Jim call a home, there’s some junk laying around the yard and a large barn in back accompanied by a shed and a garage. The house is at least sheltered in the shade of cotton wood trees, though the quality of the air conditioning has yet to be determined. I get out of Jim’s dirty truck as fast as I can, and make my way up to the front door. I have my bag with me; It contains enough clothes for the week end plus a few extras. The door swings open and I’m greeted by my mother, whom I haven’t seen in a few years. She’s gotten... bigger. I wouldn’t say fat or anything… but I don’t remember her being so pear shaped. She has the biggest smile on her face as she grabs me for a motherly hug. I’m hot and sweaty and now my face is being smothered into her bosom, which is almost as hot and sweaty, definitely not the most pleasant hug I’ve ever received.
“Oh Liz, It’s so GOOD to SEE you! Why don’t you come on inside?” these last few years of living in the country have not been uneventful for my mother apparently, she is now sporting the voice and accent of a southern belle. And ugh—she is wearing way too much perfume… I just decide to go inside and try to cool off.
Once inside I drop my bag next to the front door and have a look around my mother goes to the fridge to get me a cool drink that I asked for. At least Jim isn’t going to be around for a while. He still needs to go into town for something, and then he’s going to tow my car back here. I take a seat at the kitchen table and my mom places a tall glass of milk on the table in front of me. This causes me to look up at her puzzled, I believe I directly asked for water, and I’ve never been much of a girl for milk. She just gives me a sweet smile and waits for me to drink up, probably wanting to talk my ear off once I do.
The glass is clear and perspiring greatly, an indication of just how warm this house is. I wouldn’t know otherwise since outside is all that much hotter. I somewhat reluctantly grab the glass and bring it to my lips. It’s ice cold, almost shockingly so. I drink the milk hesitantly, like I said, I don’t drink milk—but this stuff wasn’t too bad. It’s creamy and almost a little sweet, certainly refreshing with how cold it is, and the aftertaste was nice and complex. The bottom of the glass tilts up more and more as I drink the whole thing. God I’m thirsty… So thirsty that I didn’t even notice my mom start rambling about something. Almost so thirsty that I didn’t question the second glass of milk that was placed in front of me.
“uh mom? I didn’t ask for another glass…”
“Oh don’t you worry ’bout that sweet pea. We got plenty. Tastes good right? It always tastes best fresh.” Now I remember why I don’t like southerners, they ramble on so much that they end up beating around the bush. Whatever, I AM thirsty…
I decide to drink the second glass too.
Eventually I move to the couch. Some fuzzy infomercial is on. I’m sort of watching it but my mom keeps on going on and on from the kitchen. The infomercial is about some sort of miracle fabric that will keep you cool in the summer and warm in the winter. I don’t particularly want to be reminded about how hot it is here, so I switch the channel. I sit there for a bit, feeling almost like I’m coming down with heat stroke. I nearly drift off to sleep on the couch when my mom brings me over another glass of milk. It glistens in front of me. So cold. The glass is so sweaty, dripping with condensation. Fuck maybe I am suffering from heat stroke. I sit up and take the glass. It doesn’t take much time for my parched lips to find the cool refreshing liquid, and it takes almost as much time for me to drink the whole glass. I drank it so fast that my throat almost hurt. Now that I feel refreshed I look up at my mom who’s standing over me with her sweet southern smile
“Why don’t I show you to your room?”
At least the room I’m staying in has air conditioning. The rest of the house is practically stifling, but this room is nice and cold, and after three whole glasses of milk I’m feeling a lot less dehydrated. The house lacks any form of central air conditioning, resulting in each room having its own window ac unit and a radiator for the winter; more or less at least. The main room on the first floor doesn’t seem to have any form of climate control other than a fireplace which doesn’t do us much good in the middle of summer. Unfortunately for me the only source of entertainment exists in the front room, the room I was placed in is completely devoid of anything that could stimulate the senses. The walls are painted white stark white and the carpet is a perfectly bland beige color there is a full bed and a table with a lamp on it. Well it’s not so bad, at least the room is clean.
“Feel free to make yourself at home and I’ll let ya know when dinner’s ready. Ok?” my mom leaves and closes the door behind her
I lie down on the bed and think about things for a bit; my body feels hot when contrasted against the cool refreshing air. I feel exhausted from everything that happened today. At first I figured that it would get colder at night time, like in the desert or something, but I just couldn’t get cooled off. As I lay on the bed and stared at the celling, things start spinning, the room is so bright and perfectly white, everything seems to slow down, my heart is thumping, and it feels like there’s a weight on my chest. I wonder if I’m going to feint or something, then suddenly I black out.
When I come to I’m sitting on the couch downstairs, the TV is flickering brightly in the dim sitting room. I can hear my mom cooking something in the kitchen. On the TV there’s some news report about a local place that makes chocolate. I watch the worker on the TV pour this big thing of milk into a mixing machine, the editing is god awful, they hold the shot of the milk for way to long. This whole segment seems to be dragging on for some reason… they’re talking about the farm where they got the milk now. That can’t be the most interesting thing about making chocolate, right? Then my mom comes in with a pitcher of milk and a few glasses.
“Hey mom, is there something wrong with your TV? This looks hella old… and the signal is all messed up.”
“Oh we don’t get any channels out here, a friend of Jim’s tapes the programs for us” she says with her sugary voice, then she pours a glass of milk for both of us. “You feelin’ alright? You came stumbling down here. You might be dehydrated.”
“Yeah you might be right…”
She hands me a glass and I hold it up to my face and start drinking. My eyes are still glued to the bright TV screen as the reporter goes on and on
“Milk has a big effect on the taste of chocolate, if there isn’t enough milk in it, the chocolate will be dry. So the farmer puts lots and lots of milk in to make sure the chocolate is nice and moist. Milk also tastes very good; the chocolate would taste bitter without the sweet sweet milk.” The young reporter talks very slow and rhythmically. I sort of don’t pay attention to it for the most part, just sitting and trying to get myself less dehydrated…
“Uh, do they even have writers at this news station?” I ask finally
“Oh don’t be silly, why would they need writers to report the news? It’s not like they’re making any of this up right?” my mom says with a giggle
“Yeah I guess” that defiantly didn’t make sense, but I’m so exhausted to even bother thinking about it.
My mother gets up and starts walking to the kitchen “Dinner’s almost ready hon, why don’t you help set the table?”
I pour myself another glass and get up to help
Just as I’m finishing up with setting the table, Jim comes in from the back door. He walks over to the TV and ejects the tape, before putting in a different one. The roar of a football game replaces the monotonous news report.
Mom serves up a big plate of beef stroganoff. She really piles it on high before I can even say anything in protest. Oh well… I’m so hungry that my stomach hurts.
Jim sits down at the table and we all start eating, the football game still playing in the background.
The food is so salty and rich; I only get a few bites in before I feel like I can’t eat any more. It feels like my stomach can’t fit anything else inside it, but I know it’s probably just my taste buds telling me that I really don’t like the taste of my mom’s cooking. I decide to wash it down with some milk, and then I realize just how hungry I still am, my stomach is aching for food. I lift another spoonful of the creamy mess to my face an feel a little dizzy. The smell of this stuff is getting to my head or something. I get up and excuse myself to the bathroom to make room for the rest of it, and when I get back I realize just how little of a dent I put in it. I could have sworn I had eaten more of it, but oh well. I continue eating and washing it down with milk, losing track of just how much of the stuff I’ve drank today.
As I start reaching the end of the plate I get tunnel vision. I don’t even notice when my mom licked her plate clean, and I barely am able to process when Jim starts talking to me.
“By the way ’Lizzbeth, I took a look at yer car and I’m sorry to say this, but you aint goin nowhere for a short while. It’s all messed up every which way. I’ll try and fix it up as fast as ah can tho.”
I just groan as I stare at the plate of food in front of me. This may very well be the worst weekend of my life…