Who would believe my 92-year-old mother would like nothing better than to outlive me? That four years ago, at 88, she tried to turn me into roadkill?
I’d heard the hiss of brakes as I got out of the car in front of the post office. There she was, behind the wheel of her custom-made Cadillac — so close, her eyes alive with hate.
When we saw that look as kids, we tried to will ourselves to stop breathing — so terribly ashamed we had been born. This time she told me if she had hit me, she would not have been held responsible because I’d opened my door into traffic. This was confirmed by my lawyer cousin. “She may be creepy,” he said, “but she’s got her facts straight.”
Not even our extended family can wrap their minds around just how creepy she is, at least not all of the time. It was also my plan at the time to pretend this never happened. But then a bit later my mother said, “You know, Jane, if I really want to run you over, I won’t miss.”