When is Enough Enough?

I admit it. I hid the bell. I deep-sixed it in a basket full of towels way in the back of the closet in the guest bedroom, where I knew my mother couldn’t go to look for it, since it was far more than 20 steps from her deathbed.

It was a little brass bell with a giraffe’s neck as the handle – my mother loved giraffes and collected them in all shapes and sizes. It was about 7 inches tall in total, so not very big or even loud when it tinkled. My Mom’s idea was that she would ring it from her bed whenever she needed something, anything. I had apparently missed hearing her call at some point, which was how the bell idea came to be.

I was absolutely horrified. I was already cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc., etc. (not to mention running my business in Tokyo over the Internet and on phone calls, taking advantage of the alternate time zone late at night when my Mom was sleeping, from the kitchen table where we used to have our family meals when I was in the third grade). When is enough enough? A freaking bell?!?!?!

So soon thereafter, while she was napping, I disappeared it.

One day when my middle sister was there at the house, my Mom asked her where the bell was (I’m pretty sure she knew that I’d hidden it, so she didn’t ask ME). I heard my sister say “oh yeah I think I saw it” and then I heard her footsteps heading for the guest room, where I stood (well out of the sight of Mom), blocking the closet where it was, waving my arms in the air and silently mouthing “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.” My sister quickly and dutifully reported to Mom that she couldn’t seem to find that danged bell, either. Where could it have gone?