“And where are you?” Maga asked, as she always does.
“I’m at my mom’s house in [State].”
“Oh, yes.”
“You know it well, don’t you? You grew up here.”
“I didn’t grow up in [Same State].”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
Now we were a pair of confused ladies. Her because 99yo memory. Me because 39yo memory. Who had the facts?
“Well, you were born here, right?” I asked.
“Yes. I was born in [State]. As I got older, I started going to school in [State]. What else did I do in [State]? I went to a lot of school. What did you do in [State]?”
“I went to high school here.”
“Oh yes. I know [State] well. I kind of grew up there.”
Me, nodding. “Yes, yes. I thought so.”
“Where are you right now?” Maga asked.
“I’m in [State].”
“[State]. I know about that state. I was born and raised there.”
Me, triumphantly punched the air. “I thought so.”
All during this conversation, there was chewing and rattling and clattering of things on the other end. As usual, it was dinnertime there. “Oh,” she said. “This is a cookie. I like cookies. Always have.”
Well, there’s something we both agree on with complete clarity and without name-dropping [State] again.
Abigail Mumford 