This is an original short-story that I wrote this past semester. It's a little different than what I'm used to writing, but I figured "Hey, why not share it anyway?" So, on that note please try to enjoy it and please leave constructive comments if you deem it necessary.

Grape Soda

Philip’s mother was still in her lavender nightgown with the white daisy pattern and the lace trim, even though it was 4 o'clock in the afternoon at Volksboro Elderly Community Living Center She had undoubtedly forgotten to change this morning. The nightgown seemed to engulf her small frame even more than usual as of late and Philip wondered if she was forgetting to eat. When Mrs. Avery saw her son, she beamed up at him as she always did however, her blue eyes bright and sharply contrasting with the large ball of wispy auburn hair stuck to the top of her head, a few loose strands sticking out here and there, and the still fair complected yet clearly aged skin that hung in soft folds around her face.

Philip was always glad when people told him that he looked like his mother, especially now since he was full grown at 35. His eyes and thin frame mirrored her own, which he liked. Although he had undoubtedly inherited his blonde curls from his father. He didn’t like that much.

His mother’s false teeth popped out a little when she smiled, giving her a tremendous overbite, but Philip didn’t care.

“Hello my dear! Oh, I’m so happy! You haven’t visited your momma in so long!” Mrs. Avery kissed her son’s cheek and grasped his face tenderly in her hands.

She was only 63 but her strength and her youth had left her entirely. Her grip was now feeble. Dementia and advanced Alzheimer's has all sorts of effects, the doctors had said. Philip had just visited his mother two days ago, but he played along, like he always did. “I know momma, I’m sorry. I’ve been keeping the house clean for you though, just like you asked me to!”

Philip had moved back in with his mother after he had received his degree in finance from the state university to help her take care of things. He had even requested that he be moved to the Volksboro branch of Service 1st Bank & Trust so he wouldn’t have to travel very far to work every morning. But, after a couple of months it had become very apparent that Philip’s mother needed more care than just he could provide. So, even though it pained him to do it, Philip had admitted his mom to the community center, with a promise that he would visit every other day, and that he would take care of their house.

Mrs. Avery held her arms out to her son, requesting an embrace. Phillip carefully set the grape soda he had been holding in his left hand on the TV stand before kneeling and immersing himself in his mother’s arms. His mother might not be the same as she once was, but she still smelled the same. Cinnamon and vanilla, like freshly baked snickerdoodles.

“Today is a special day, Mom,” Phillip said, pulling away. “It’s Dad’s birthday. I’m planning to go visit his grave today.

She smiled. “Good dear, I’m glad. Your father would have loved you being so thoughtful.”

Philip was going to miss that smile when his mom was gone. He was glad she smiled now though, and that she didn’t remember. Philip had told her that his father had died several years ago when the dementia got more severe and she started asking where he was. So now, every year on his father’s birthday he would tell his mother the same story. It made her happy. It was better this way, Philip thought.

After all, Philip’s father hadn’t been a good man.

One December 20th, 1981 when Philip was 15, his drunken father had struck his mother because she was singing Madonna while making dinner. He caught her eye with his fist as he screamed, “I thought I told you singing gives me a headache Veronica!” and Mrs. Avery smacked her head off of the white kitchen tiles, sending her sprawling, knocked cold. Her hair spilled over, lips parted slightly. Philip had rushed to his mother’s aid after watching the scene unfold from the kitchen doorway, and as he knelt beside his mother, his father smashed the bottle of Fireball whiskey he had been holding in his right hand directly into Philip’s head, shattering the bottle instantly as glass shards punctured Philip’s scalp, ripping the skin open and sending him crumpled to the floor to lay beside his mother.

The next morning, Philip had woke in a hospital bed, his head bandaged. Groggy and mind pulsing with pain, he had barely noticed a new object sitting on the nightstand in his peripheral vision. Struggling to move his head, Philip was slowly able to focus on the bottle of Sunkist grape soda, his favorite drink, with a blue sticky note attached to it. It read, “He didn’t mean it. If the nurse asks what happened, tell her you fell. I love you. - Mom”

It wasn’t long after that when they left his father. Philip tried to forget most of the several months following. Too many screaming battles as police officers kept his mother and father apart. Too many court hearings. All Philip cared about was that his mother had won, she was awarded custody of him, and his father was sent to the Volksboro County Penitentiary on domestic abuse charges, where he remains. He has a few more months before his 20 year sentence is up.

After everything was legally settled, Philip and his mother had moved in with their neighbors, and within two months had found a new place to call home about 4 miles away from their old place. Mrs. Avery doesn’t remember any of that anymore however. She only remembers the happy times with Philip’s father. Philip preferred it that way though. His mother deserved to be happy.