Third Person

“Good morning Mama.” Though I said it loudly, there was no response from the elderly woman before me. “Good morning,” I said again, raising my voice as I gently touched her arm. The woman turned her head ever so slightly to look at me, smiling kindly.
“Good morning dear.” Her voice was as frail as her withering body, quivering with each word spoken. She had a careworn face that had more wrinkled than unwrinkled areas and had snow-white hair that fell in a sort of cloud around her face. She was hunched in a chair on a balcony, looking out over a forest. There was an empty chair beside her, which I took without invitation.
“Are you feeling well?” I said. She smiled in that same carefree way, turning to look back at the forest beyond.
“Yes, quite well. I keep wondering when Bill will come to see me. He’s never this late.”
I listened, smiling at her as she spoke. I imagined my father as I’d known him: strong, caring, dependable. I could see why my mother would expect him to be there whenever she needed him. In his life they had been inseparable, and even when my mother could no longer remember him he had stuck by her side. He was buried in the cemetery of their home town now, though I knew better than to remind my mother of this.
“Bill sounds like a very dependable fellow,” I agreed.
“Oh, he’s the most remarkable gentleman I’ve ever met. Handsome too,” My mother said slowly, looking back at me and winking. “Bit old for you though. I imagine you’re all married yourself though.”
“I am as a matter of fact,” I say with a note of pride. “To a young man named Paul. He’s everything I’ve ever hoped for.”
“Well you hold onto him then, dear. Not many like Bill and Paul are around these days.” She said with a smile. Looking past me for a moment she added, “My daughter Becca should be coming along soon. She’s just turned nine… So proud of it too. Why I remember yesterday she was prancing all around my house just gushing about how close she was to becoming a “double digit” girl like her friend Susan. She was so very proud of her age I hadn’t the heart to tell her that getting older wouldn’t always be fun.”
“That’s the thing about children, they’re always wanting to grow up and never really enjoy what they have. It’s the problem about people I suppose… That no one can just pause a moment and really enjoy themselves.”
I listened silently, placing my hand on her arm. Slightly startled she looked back at me, smiling just a little more.
“Excuse me though, I never asked your name, child. How very rude of me.” She said apologetically.
“I’m Rebecca,” I said softly, trying to hide the disappointment from my face.
My mother nodded a little, looking back towards the forest. “My daughter’s name was Rebecca,” She told me again. “We always called her Becca for short though ‘cause she was moving too fast to say her whole name. She’s really something, Becca. Always performing things for us and getting good marks in school.”
“She sounds like a really nice person,” I agree with a smile.
“Oh she is. I do hope you can meet her. She should be along with Bill any moment.”
“I think I’ll have to miss her,” I said softly. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh, well it was nice speaking with you, dear.” My mother said warmly. “I do hope you’ll pay me another visit soon.”
“Good bye Mama,” I whispered, standing from my chair.
My mother was no longer listening though. Her eyes were fixed on the scene before her, her gaze glazed over like she was thinking very hard.
“I wonder where Bill is…” She murmured to herself as I walked away. I shook my head a little, thinking of the past. I could only barely remember myself as she remembered me. I’d usually worn my hair in pig tails then, and I had always insisted on wearing dresses around the house no matter what day it was. These weren’t things that particularly stuck out in my memory however, but were things that my mother had told me during my many visits to her in the past years. To her I knew I would never be “Becca” again. I knew that she would forever feel scared and alone because she didn’t know where her darling little daughter had gone, or why her husband never came to see her. I couldn’t possibly explain to her what was really happening. Instead I thought of tomorrow when I would come by and have another conversation in the third person.