Chris began to question the wisdom of this trip before he pulled out of the driveway.  The last time he saw her was on his eleventh birthday, she looked beautiful as she carried his cake out singing the whole way.  They were best friends back then.  Chris was her accomplice when she went on wild manic shopping sprees, he would help her hide the purchases all over the house so his father wouldn’t see them.  Sometimes she kept him home from school just to go to the movies with her.  She didn’t have many other friends, could never really lock in to the whole suburban housewife thing with Tupperware parties and PTA, so she shared all of her secrets with Chris.  He felt the burden of this special friendship and always made sure to listen to her and respond like a grown-up, even when he didn’t really know what she was talking about.  He knew she wasn’t happy so he felt that her being there was temporary.  She despised his father and made no secret of this to Chris, so he never really trusted that they would stay married.  He liked to think if she left she would take him with her, but on some level he knew he would be left behind, so he checked every morning to make sure the twin bed in the room she shared with his father was slept in.  The morning after his birthday when he went in to conduct his routine inspection, he found the bed untouched and her closet empty.  The closet looked so big and white without her colorful wardrobe bursting out of it.  Chris sat down inside and leaned against the wall trying to go to another place like in the “Chronicles of Narnia,” hours later he emerged cramped and empty, realizing she was really gone.  As time went by she became no more than a strange voice on the phone every couple of years, a random Christmas card with no return address.  He became indifferent; he simply removed that part of him that loved her.  Years later he tracked her down using the internet and started sending her money.  It made him feel good to write a check with no note attached as if she was a bill he had to pay.

Chris wasn’t surprised when she called.  He had been expecting it for years.  He knew she would eventually want something more from him than a monthly check.  The phone rang late and no number registered on the Caller ID, classic signs of a call from Mom.  Without emotion Chris picked up and said “Hello,” and could hear her shallow breathing on the other end.  He sat there for a while, not feeling any pressure to fill the still air with words.  She would come to him.  Finally, the familiar gravely voice said, “Hi Chris, its Mom.  I need to see you honey, I’m sick.”  They agreed to meet halfway between their two homes at a “Denny’s” restaurant just off of the highway at exit 32A, only the best for Mom.  He did not intend to drive past the exit, but as he did the dread that had been his companion all day, melted away.  As Chris turned the radio up he realized that the words Janis Joplin was singing really were true, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”