Waffle House Hash Browns

With sunrise came clarity. As Francie stumbled home on cobblestone streets, the morning sun warming her rosy cheeks, it all came flooding in a wave of discomfiture. Her already weak ankles gave out from underneath her, and she collapsed in a heap on the pavement, the crisp autumn wind stirring her chestnut locks in a whirlpool around her head. She slowly faded from consciousness; but with her last moments of sentience she felt gently being lifted from the hard sidewalk, her limbs going limp like the limbs of a ragdoll.

    When her eyes fluttered open again, she immediately clenched them shut. So hard she thought they would burst. Francie had seen the familiar pink walls of her high school bedroom, and the sight immediately evoked unpleasant memories. The posters she had decked around the room were no longer there, except for the cat poster she had decided to not take with her when she moved away. It was too babyish, she thought, and she was self conscious about what her new college roommate would think, nevertheless any gentlemen callers she might have over. All that remained in this room of Francie’s superego was this poster of a kitten in a teacup.

When she had the courage to do so, she finally allowed her eyes to open again. The light coming in through the curtains was minimal, so she could hardly make out the kitten’s shining green eyes. She turned her back on it regardless. As she attempted to roll onto her side, a sharp jolt of pain ran through her arm and up her spine. Her right arm had been broken, and was set into a plaster cast. She let out an involuntary yelp of pain and immediately regretted her decision. She anticipated with dread what was coming next. 

Just as Francie had predicted, there was a knock on the door.

Francie?

Hi, mom.

Hi, her mother replied, in her usual crisp, unpleasant voice. She opened the door and stuck her head in, an image Francie was all too familiar with. Francie lifted her head and made eye contact with her mom, a tactic often utilized by prey to drive away their predators.

How are you feeling? 

Well, I just tried to roll over onto my arm, which hurt.

Ouch. The doctor said to avoid laying on that side for a while.

I gathered that.

The sarcasm in Francie’s voice had become almost a permanent fixture. A slow, awkward pause followed the jab.

Are you hungry?

A little. I just woke up, so…

Well, I made you breakfast. It’s time for your pill, too.

Okay. I’ll come down.

Francie began to shift under the covers when her mother opened the door all the way.

No, it’s okay. I brought it up here.

Oh, wow, okay. 

Francie readjusted and used her left arm to push herself up to a sitting position. She turned her head to shift her pillows, and when she turned back around her mother was standing with a full breakfast on a platter. Pancakes, hash browns, a grapefruit, coffee, and orange juice. Her mother had even added onions to the hash browns, just like they do at Waffle House. She could tell from the smell. That was Francie’s favorite. 

Oh, wow, mom. You didn’t have to do that. I thought you just meant you had brought me a bowl of Cheerios or something.

Do you not want it? I can get you a bowl of cereal if that’s what you want, her mother asked, turning towards the door.

No, I do. 

The slow, awkward silence returned. Her mother walked to the side of her bed and set the platter down on Francie’s lap. Francie picked up a knife in her right hand and a fork in her left, and attempted to cut her pancakes. She failed miserably. Eventually, her mother couldn’t stand the embarrassment any longer and took the knife and fork from her hands, cutting the pancakes deftly, as though she was punishing them for disappointing her.

Thank you mom.

No problem. Cutting pancakes is easy.

No, I mean for breakfast. Thank you for breakfast.

Oh. Okay.

And thank you for cutting the pancakes too.

You’re welcome.

Her mother stood awkwardly next to her bedside, unsure of whether to stay or go. Francie looked up at her with a mouthful of food.

Di yuh wamfa sih ofeh der?

What?

Francie swallowed. Do you wanna sit over there? She gestured to her desk with her left hand. Her mother pulled the chair around and sat, watching Francie eat. Francie suddenly felt very rude.

Do you want some?

No, I already ate.

Okay. 

Francie had assuaged her guilt, but her discomfort remained. She ate in silence as her mother watched. She chewed carefully and thoroughly, remembering all the family dinners she had been scolded at for smacking her food or eating too quickly. She glanced at her mother from the corner of her eye to see if she was preparing to demand Francie sit up straight. But her mother didn’t have that line above her right eyebrow she usually got when she was angry with Francie. Her eyebrows were upturned slightly at their inner corners, a visage Francie had never seen before. It made her mother look younger, softer somehow. She was hard to recognize without her trademark stern glare.

You should take your pill before you forget. 

Okay, mom. I will.

She washed down her usual antidepressant with coffee, and the painkiller with orange juice. She liked how the cold juice felt after the hot coffee. She then felt the hairs on her neck prickle. She had forgotten how much her mother hated this practice of hers, especially when she left both the mug and the glass half empty. She realized her transgression too late, though, and noticed both were only ¾ empty. She darted another glance to her mother, sure that a scolding was coming, but her mother was looking off to the side, chewing on her thumbnail. Francie quickly gulped down the last sips of both drinks and placed them quietly on the platter.

Thanks again for breakfast, mom.

You’re welcome. Her mother stood and took the platter from her lap. Do you want anything else?

No mom, that was plenty. 

Was it too much?

No, I just meant I’m full.

Oh.

Not in a bad way, though.

Uh-huh. Her mother’s tone indicated she didn’t believe her. Francie felt the anger swell up inside her but decided to quell it. 

I’m tired, mom. 

The doctor said you would be drowsy.

Well, he must be a really good doctor, then. I’m gonna go back to sleep.

Okay. 

Her mother carefully clanked away, cracking the door behind her as she left. Francie sighed, loudly enough she was sure her mother could hear, and got up to shut the door. Before she could reach it, though, it shut almost noiselessly. She heard her mother’s receding footsteps beginning to descend the stairs again. Francie walked back to bed and turned on her television.

When Franice awoke again, she heard voices, but not those from her TV. That had been turned off. Instead, she heard her mother’s voice travelling up the stairs from her study, a place she had strictly forbade Francie and her siblings from entering. She must have left the door open, Francie thought, even though she knew I was sleeping. Why does she get to come into my room when I’m sleeping to turn my TV off, but she can’t even be bothered to shut the door completely? 

Francie began rolling over to her right side, but remembered the pain and quickly switched to the left. As she closed her eyes to attempt to doze again, she heard her name in her mother’s voice. Francie crept slowly and noiselessly out of bed, tiptoeing across the high pile carpet to put her ear to the door. 

I found her this morning. She was in a pile on the street. 

A pause. 

Well, she wasn’t answering my texts. I got worried, and I got a bad feeling. I decided to drive down there and see if I could spot her.

Another. Francie creaked the door open and crept down the stairs.

I know. It was lucky. The drive usually takes an hour but I got there in 45. 

Francie heard her mother sniffle. 

I didn’t know what was going to happen, Margaret. What I was gonna find, you know? I couldn’t stop thinking all these awful things. I was crying the whole drive down. I, just...I had to see her. A mother just knows.

Even though her mother’s back was turned in her chair, she saw her right arm come up to wipe a tear from her cheek. 

She broke her arm. I think she was at a party and she fell down the stairs. She’s a little bruised up but all right. I made her a big breakfast this morning. A scare like that...just makes you grateful to have them around still.

    Francie suddenly felt guilty for spying on her mother. She crept silently back to her bed and crawled under the sheets, looking directly at the oxymoronic large kitten on her wall. She heard her mother finish her conversation, hang up the phone, and begin up the stairs. Her eyes immediately snapped shut, but she was careful not to clench, so as to give the appearance of sleep. Her facade didn’t matter in the end because her mother knocked on the door.

    Yeah?

    Hi, Francie. You’ve been asleep for a few hours. The drowsiness should’ve worn off by now, so if you want, I’ll drive you back to your apartment. Don’t take these before you drive, though. Make sure Madeline drives you anywhere you want to go. I’ll give her gas money.

    Oh. Okay, mom. Madeline should be okay with that. Can I stay here, though?

    You want to stay here?

    Yeah, just for another night or so. Is that okay?

    Yes, of course. 

    The pause returned, but it was no longer slow nor awkward.

    Francie...I…

    Mom… Francie began at the same time.

    Her mother came in and sat at the foot of her bed. 

    I know that I haven’t always….

    No, I haven’t either…

    They both faded away, unsure of what to say.

    Her mother began. 

    I just want to say, if you ever need a ride home, please call me. Okay? I won’t ask any questions. I promise.

    Okay, I will. Maybe...I could call you other times, too?

    A pause.

    Just to tell you about my day or school or whatever. Sometimes there’s stuff I don’t wanna talk to Madeline about.

    Yes, that would be okay too.

    Okay.

    They paused, and Francie glanced down. She noticed a tear falling from her mother’s cheek.

    I love you, mom. 

    Francie’s mother wrapped her in a big hug, careful to avoid her newly injured arm, crying silently and letting the tears pool on Francie’s shoulder. 

I love you too, Francie.