My Mother

numbers dipped.

Then held.

Then slowly, slowly climbed.

Ninety-one.

Ninety-three.

Ninety-five.

I could hear myself crying, but it sounded far away.

Security arrived less than a minute later.

My mother stood near the wall, clutching her purse against her ribs.

“She attacked me,” she said immediately.

No one answered.

“She became hysterical,” my mother insisted,continue reading …