What?

If I close my eyes and turn off the tv, I can hear my mom's voice. I can hear her voice everytime I get behind the wheel of my car in inclimate weather- especially snow. "Slow and steady, Sarah," she used to say. Mostly though, I can still hear her calling my name.

I spent my teen years in my bedroom, like most did. My mom would call my name from downstairs when it was time for dinner: "Sarah! Dinner!"Or, when the phone was for me: "Sarah! Phone!"

Many times, though, she would just call my name from downstairs. "Sarah!"
I would reply, "What!"

nothing....

Again, I would yell, only louder, "What!"

still nothing....

This would piss me off to no end. The no-reply thing meant that she wanted me to come downstairs for some reason that could not be explained with one word.

I would stomp down the stairs, turn the corner, and say in a snotty-teenage-but-not-enough-to-get-a-rashing-out, "What, mom?"

It was the every day....set the table for dinner....are you ready for dance class....who the hell did you call last month that cost two hundred dollars-you know, the normal everyday life conversations.

I was so used to the no-reply type calling that I would hear her calling my name, even when she really didn't.

I can remember multiple times, sitting in her room after school, watching tv, sweatpants on under my uniform skirt, and answering to no one, "What!" Then, repeating it, "What?" followed by storming downstairs, only to find my mom looking at me like I was an idiot, when I would come into the room in the middle of Oprah, and saying, "What, mom?" when she never called me in the first place.

I liked to call that "Ghost Mom."

Ghost Mom continued for a while- even after I had moved out of the house.

Today, I realized that Dylan has, at the tender age of 4, already developed Ghost Mom. While I stood in the kitchen, making non-fat brownies, Dylan came into the kitchen, stood in front of me, placed his hands on his hips, and said, "What now, mom?" I never called him.