The resentment

My grandmother lay there dying, her body a snarled version of what once was. My mother is making me take care of her while she works.

“Remember to feed her soup,” my mother said.

“I don’t want to. She’s mean.”

“It’s your grandmother, you will do as I told you.” With that, my mother left the house to go to work.

I prepared a Campbell’s chicken noodle soup at 1pm. I stood there and stared at it until it went cold. I mustered up the courage to walk upstairs.

“Hi, Grandma.”

“You little snot, I’m starving.”

I pushed the button to incline her bed. My mother must have spent thousands on it. I began to feed her soup.

“It’s cold.”

“Sorry, grandma.”

I shoved another spoonful into her mouth the spoon hitting her tonsils. She began choking. I didn’t know what to do. I stepped back and slowly walked away.