The Waiting Room

As my parents grow older it becomes more and more difficult to think of birthday presents for them. So you can imagine how pleased I was, when this year, my mother told me exactly what she wanted. That meant no more plants that grew from bulbs, no more slippers and nightgowns and elaborate packs of creams and potions that wouldn’t be used. No, this year she was very clear, she wanted somewhere to keep her letters and documents.

That was easy I thought. I would take a trip into town and look in the antique shops for a letter holder. There would bound to be something fancy in one of them. But after speaking to my mother again I was told straight, she didn’t want anything ornate, just a basic metal storage file.

 “Just give him the catalogue number.” My father said.

I made sure I still wrapped it though and took it round for her birthday. And when she opened it, she seemed just as happy, if not more so, with her present this year. I was astonished that a black metal box with cardboard dividers could please her that much.

A couple of weeks later I went round there again to catch up with a cup of tea. I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on while my father announced from the living room how he had arranged for someone to come round and rewire the electrics and how the new central heating system was now up and running.

 “It will outlast me, that’s for sure.” He said.

I sat in the living room sipping tea and caught up with all the gossip from the neighbours’ houses. I looked up at the clock on the wall which was fifteen minutes fast as always.

 “Tell me again mum, why do you have that clock at the wrong time?”

 “I prefer it that way.”

“Is it because you think you‘ll never be late for anything?”

 “Not really, I just prefer it that way.”

After a while my father became restless and went outside in the garden for some fresh air. He went to inspect his runner beans.  Every year he swore would be the last year he would grow them. With him out of the way my mother gestured to me.

 “Come on I want to show you something.” She walked into the lobby and pulled out the black metal box file I had brought for her birthday. She opened it and was proud to show me that it was now bulging with paperwork. “I just wanted to make sure that you knew where everything was.”

As my father came back in from the garden, moaning that the neighbour’s cat had messed on the lawn again, we all instinctively moved back into the living room and took our seats. I checked my tea cup but it was fully drained. Then I looked up at the clock on the wall hoping desperately that it had been changed. But as far as I was concerned, it was still showing the wrong time and still too fast.