Short Fiction--Two Old Biddies on the Beach: Part 4

"Who is your favorite character on Voyager?" I ask my mother one day.

"I dunno," she answers without looking up from her crossword puzzle. 

I stop what I'm doing and look over at her. Now, I know she damn well knows who her favorite character is. She's a Trekkie and all Trekkie's know exactly who they'd dress up as if they had the good fortune to attend a conference. 

"What IS that?" She looks up at me quizzically. "That 'I dunno' nonsense? You say that all the time to me."

"Well, I don't know," she laughs at me. As if it's funny. Which, it isn't.

I give her past examples. 

#1. 
ME--"Mom, what do you want for dinner?" 
HER--"I dunno."
ME--"Feel like...beer can chicken?"
HER--"I dunno."
ME--"Thai Seafood Chowder, maybe?"
HER--"I dunno."

#2.
ME--"What do you feel like doing today?"
HER--"I dunno."
ME--"Wanna go to the beach?"
HER--"I dunno."
ME--"I can pack a picnic--hey, and we've still got some cheery cheese cake I can bring along. That sound good? We can hit that tiki place on the way back."
HER--"I dunno. I dunno."

#3.
ME--"Do you like your new hair cut?"
HER--"I dunno."
ME--"It curls nicely. I like it!"
HER--"I dunno."

#4.
ME--"How you feeling? You OK?"
HER--"I dunno."
ME--"I'm worried about you."
HER--"I dunno."

#5.
ME--"Do you love me?"
HER--Silence.
ME--More silence. 
HER--"Wait--what?"

"It's called conversation, Mother. I'm just trying to have a conversation with you."

I didn't really know my mother. Not until this last year. We hadn't been close at all. Lots of reasons, none good enough. But, here we are, living life together as a unit, learning about one another after all these years. Learning about ourselves as women living with another woman rather than with a man. 

She puts down her paper and studies me. I don't recall her ever having done this when I was young. But, I find her doing it more and more these days. Seems like somewhere over these last few months she surrendered trust, and slowly, ever so slowly, she's been opening up to me just like the hard-balled Peony buds that are beginning to unfurl outside my window.

"Kes, I guess," she finally surrenders.

"Kes? Really? The quiet, soft spoken telepath?" I'm somewhat surprised by her answer and begin to silently analyze why she'd be attracted to that character and then it dawns on me and I look up at my mother in understanding.

Sweet, innocent Kes--whose life span was only nine short years, who is separated from all that's familiar, who finds friendship and purpose upon the USS Voyager, only to eventually fulfill her potential by evaporating into pure psychic energy and float away, aimlessly through space, alone.

I had no other questions at that time; Nothing more to say. In those three small words, she had offered me more than enough. 

Sometimes, the shortest conversations can be the most telling.