He drove with his mother by his side. The night was a clear one, and they had just gotten on the highway. There was a blue car some 20 meters in front of them, the lights at its back red. The white lights of their car were softly reflected in the blue shine of the front one.
They had some nighttime music playing. The mom sat up with her back as regularly straight as a ruler. Her hands were quiet in her lap, the right palm on top of the left one. She was looking at a point so far in the distance that it seemed immobile. The son kept on driving. The highway was boringly straight: every curve was so gradual and lazy that it posed no challenge even to an absolutely lousy driver. The son had his left arm resting horizontally on the wheel up to his elbow, and he had leaned forward, his back hunched over like a turtle’s. Keep on driving.
“I did get on this new diet, you know.” The mom turned her head to the son very slightly, although her gaze did not abandon the carefully chosen distant spot. “I mostly eat cheese, low fat, of course, and vegetables. I am allowed to eat fruit once a day if I am certain it has not been artificially sweetened. I can also eat meat once every two days, but it needs to pass several criteria.” She brushed her short, white hair behind her left ear with a clean movement requiring the minimal amount of energy. “I am not allowed to eat any sweets, naturally, but I feel strangely relieved by not eating anything sweet. It makes me feel lighter, my stomach sticks to my back more firmly, and I don’t feel the guilt of eating anything that would cause my body to deteriorate.” This would usually be considered impossible, but her back straightened even more. A smile snaked upon her face: this is how happy she was with herself.
The soft, nighttime music kept playing. The son grabbed on the wheel.
“It truly allows me to feel I am pouring life into myself,” the mom added.
“Did you catch that?” the camerawoman asked.
“Of course I did, who the fuck do you think you are talking to? I might have transferred to your department three weeks ago, but I’ve had a camera in my hands all my damn life,” the cameraman replied. They stand in midair several steps away from the car, which, as any professional camera user could tell, is the perfect distance for a clear shot and a smooth video.
“She’s sixty-four, so we might have to take her in soon.” The camerawoman thought out loud. “These last few years need to be backed up by clear, solid recordings because her memories will still be quite clear and unaffected by time. I don’t want to have to create scenes, jam them in her recordings, and then convince her that they are her own memories only because you screwed up and missed moments of her last years.”
“I’ve made you create scenes exactly once. After that, you explained the exact same thing to me in the same fucking tone. I haven’t made you make up scenes after that. What makes you think, then, that I need a reminder?”
The camera kept on recording.
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