Free For One More Day by Mitch Albom

found someone to give us directions. "Charley, look at all the books," she marveled as we walked around the ground floor. "You could stay in here all four years and never make a dent."
    Everywhere we went she kept pointing. "Look! That cubicle–you could study there. " And, "Look, that cafeteria table, you could eat there. " I tolerated it because I knew she would be leaving soon. But as we walked across the lawn, a good-looking girl–gum-chewing, white lipstick, bangs on her forehead–caught my eye and I caught hers and I flexed my arm muscles and I thought, my first college girl, who knows? And at that very moment my mother said, "Did we pack your toiletry kit?"
    How do you answer that? A yes? A no? A "Jesus, Mom! " It's all bad.
    The girl continued past us and she sort of guffawed, or maybe I just imagined that. Anyhow, we didn't exist in her universe. I watched her sashay to two bearded guys sprawled under a tree. She kissed one on the lips and she fell in alongside them, and here I was with my mother asking about my toiletry kit.
    An hour later, I hoisted my trunk to the stairwell of my dorm. My mother was carrying my two "lucky" baseball bats with which I had led the Pepperville County Conference in home runs.
    "Here, " I said, holding out my hand, "I'll take the bats. " "I'll go up with you. "
    "No, it's all right. "
    "But I want to see your room. " "Mom. "
    "What?" "Come on. " "What?"
    "You know. Come on. "
    I couldn't think of anything else that wouldn't hurt her feelings, so I just pushed my hand out farther. Her face sank. I was six inches taller than her now. She handed me the bats. I balanced them atop the trunk.
    "Charley," she said. Her voice was softer now, and it sounded different. "Give your mother a kiss. "
    I put the trunk down with a small thud. I leaned toward her. Just then two older students came bounding down the stairs, feet thumping, voices loud and laughing. I instinctively jerked away from my mother.
    " 'Scuse please," one of them said as they maneuvered around us.
    Once they were gone, I leaned forward, only intending a peck on the cheek, but she threw her arms around my neck and she drew me close. I could smell her perfume, her hair spray, her skin moisturizer, all the assorted potions and lotions she had doused herself with for this special day.
    I pulled away, lifted the trunk, and began my climb, leaving my mother in the stairwell of a dormitory, as close as she would ever get to a college education.
    The Middle of the Day
    "SO HOW IS CATHERINE?"
    We were back in her kitchen, having lunch, as she had suggested.
    Since I'd been on my own, I had eaten most of my meals from barstools or in fast-food outlets. But my mother had always shunned eating away from home. "Why should we pay for bad food? " she would say. After my father left, it became a moot point. We ate at home because we couldn't afford to eat out anymore.
    "Charley? Honey? " she repeated. "How's Catherine? "
    "She's OK, " I lied, not having any idea how Catherine was. "And this business about Maria being ashamed of you? What does Catherine say about that? "
    She carried over a plate with a sandwich–pumpernickel bread, roast beef, tomato, and mustard. She sliced it diagonally. I can't remember the last time I saw a sandwich sliced diagonally.
    "Mom," I said, "to be honest... Catherine and I split up. "
    She finished slicing. She seemed to be thinking about something. "Did you hear what I said?"
    "Mmm, " she answered, quiedy, without looking up. "Yes, Charley. I did. "
    "It wasn't her. It was me. I haven't been real good for a while, you know? That's why ... "
    What was I going to say? That's why I tried to kill myself? She pushed the plate in front of me.
    "Mom .. " My voice cracked. "We buried you. You've been gone for a long time. "
    I stared at the sandwich, two triangles of bread. "Everything's different now," I whispered.
    She reached over and put my cheek in her hand. She grimaced as if a pain were passing through