A friend and I were discussing how some habits are so very hard to break. Even good ones. Her mother had taught her to fold clothes a certain way and even though she is middle-aged, she still folds them the way her mother taught her because she wants to please her mother who has long been deceased.

Her story amazed me. And I told her that I, too, had this funny feeling every time I wiped anything (other than a clean dish) with a clean cup towel. I always seem to wait to hear my deceased mother's voice, "Don't you clean that with my white cup towel! I am watching you." We both laughed.

After our mother died I didn't want to change some things. That way I suppose I felt that I could hold on to her just a little bit longer. Finally, I had to take some action. I asked my sister, "Can you go with me to the bank to close mother's safety deposit box?"

"I'll meet you there." We set a time and a date.

I decided on a box type briefcase not because of a vast amount of valuables, but because my mother kept things in little boxes as some elderly women are wont to do.

Square little boxes. Rectangular boxes. Odd shaped, small receptacles. Etc. That way I could just pack everything and close that chapter of our lives.

On the appointed day I take the day off from the school where I work and arrive at the bank, briefcase and all and wait by the large glass backdoor. The security man looks me over. No big deal. I wait some more shifting from foot to foot. Other folks in the bank look my way. I look at my watch and then I look out the large, clean glass windows. The security man looks me over, again. No big deal.

I think about my sister. I begin pacing. Back and forth by the back door. Big mistake. A second security guard comes up. He looks me over. Two security guards are now stationed near me. (Oh, great they think I am going to rob the bank-pull a heist. That's why I'm carrying the big briefcase.) I stop pacing. Big mistake. I look at my watch again. Wrong action. Now they think I am going to make my move. (Where, they wonder is my "piece"?)

I am having thoughts of my younger sister. Not good thoughts. Then I remember we are there to bring closure to this part of our mother's life. My mind is muddled, what with the two security guards surrounding me. I look out the glass doors toward the parking lot. My face feels flushed. An armored truck arrives. More men with guns step out of the truck. I look for my sister. Now everyone looks at me and my briefcase. I feel as though they are going to surround me with their guns, slam my body up against the wall and say, "Hands up and against the wall!" like they do in TOP COPS.

Finally, my sister arrives. "Gee, I'm sorry I'm late. A client walked in just as I was walking out. You look sick. I know this is a sad moment, but you really look bad. You okay?"

"I'm all right." I mumble other things to her, but she doesn't hear me. It's just as well. Limply I hold on to my enormous briefcase, and we walk into the main bank and leave all of the armed security people behind us.

I think, "Mother, are you still watching us?"