Someday my daughter will be standing in my place， and I will rest where my mother now sits.
Will I remember then how it felt to be both mother and daughter？ Will I ask the same question too many times？
I walk over and sit down between my mother and her granddaughter.
“Where is Rick？” my mother asks， resting her hand on the table next to mine. The space between us is smaller than when I was a teenager， barely visible at all.
And in that instant I know she remembers. She may repeat herself a little too much. But she remembers.
“He’ll be here，” I answer with a smile.
My mother smiles back， one of those grins where the dimple takes over the shape of her face， resembling my daughter.
Then she lets her shoulders relax， picks up the dice.
十幾歲的孩子與母親生活在截然不同的兩個世界裏，他的世界由母親監控著。當然，幾乎每個人都曾生活在這樣的世界裏，這是無法避免的困惑。
如今，我也處於這樣的監控地位，女兒十幾歲時，我便開始用另一種眼光去看待我的母親。有時，我甚至期望時間停滯，讓母親停止衰老，不再讓她無休止地嘮叨。
我們在餐桌旁坐著，陽光照射進來，射在地板上形成馬賽克圖案。女兒安娜坐在我母親身邊。
“瑞克什麽時侯到？”母親問起了我丈夫。
“我也不知道，媽媽，”我耐心地答道，“反正他會來這兒吃飯。”
我歎口氣，站了起來。在短短的幾分鍾裏，她已經問了不止10次。
母親和女兒在玩強手棋，我則忙於做沙拉。
“不要放洋蔥，”媽媽說，“你知道，你爸爸最討厭洋蔥了。”
“知道了，媽媽。”我回答著，隨手又將洋蔥放回冰箱。
我洗好了一個胡蘿卜，準備把它切成小塊。我用力切著，一片蘿卜掉到了地上。
“千萬別往沙拉裏放洋蔥，”她提醒我道，“你知道你爸爸最討厭洋蔥了。”