My Mother, the Creeper

Over the course of a few months, the muscles in my mother’s mouth relax to the point that her lower lip droops much of the time, exposing her bottom teeth.  With her high cheekbones and hollow eyes, sometimes she resembles the skulls associated with the Dio de los Muertos celebration in Mexico. 

As my mother loses her attention span, she begins wandering around the house like a ghost, silently searching for something new to look at or people to watch.  She meanders around the living room, pulling out books and stacking them on an end table.  She seeks out family members who are doing activities she thinks is exciting, which usually equates to me washing laundry or one of my sisters drying dishes or my father watering the garden.  She seldom speaks as she follows us around.  Sometimes a soft rustling of newspapers on the table or the slight shake of houseplants in the corner of my eye is the only indication that she is now behind me. This becomes particularly eerie when I turn around and she has appeared, her bottom teeth exposed and her face otherwise expressionless.