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Tom Tried To Marry His Mother
When I came off the plane in Phoenix I was amazed to see his mother standing next to him. As I neared them I saw that it wasn’t his mother; it was merely a young woman facsimile…same height, same champagne blonde hair, same poodle cut, same dowdy clothing, same quietness. He said he liked the fact that she went to the hair salon once a week and she did laundry every single day.
Move ahead four years.
It’s Christmas 2000. Tom walks in with a woman on his arm. She’s wife #2 and a spitting image of wife #1…just a few inches taller, same demeanor, she even has the pointed nose of his mother and that famous poodle cut which no one has worn in thirty years.
Mom. Mom. Mom. It’s all about mom.
Ironically he looks razzamatazz handsome like Matt Dillon and is money-over-fist successful.
He prefers vanilla… grocery-store brand…bland.
Tiny Bubbles
Two of my girl cousins and myself are talking old days. We had stumbled upon the subject of the Berrinson’s, a huge Catholic family of 5 boys and 6 girls.
“Where’s Aaron now?”
“He’s in Florida selling light bulbs.”
“What was the name of the one I went with?”
“Cal”
“Cal. You sure?”
“Yes, it was Caleb.”
Having forgotten this whole chapter I asked, “How long did you go with him?”
“I think it was close to a year.”
Cal was a blank to me too. But I think if I fucked him for a year I would remember that part.
My only recollection of this family is Aaron’s crazy-wild handsomeness and Roddy’s hilarious sense-of-humor. Oh and one other thing…
After my mother died I took to wearing her expensive full-length mink coat, swing style, for everyday.
On a visit to Aaron and Christy, Christy went mad for my mink. Two weeks later
Aaron gave her a bundle of cash to purchase a new wardrobe for a new position as a court recorder. She blew it on a mink instead. It was a dull ratty-ass fur. It was nothing next to my mother’s vintage fur. She didn’t even get why I was wearing it.
That was when I decided I might be more mentally stable than most regular folks.
Swimming To Paradise
It was a two-day retreat at a Christian camp on the lake. No swearing. Put your booze in an innocuous paper cup. The cookout was a washout. We picked up KFC instead. Chattering cousins, all 30ish, reliving early days knee-deep in drugs. “There were two or three years back then when we all did coke. It’s amazing none of us died.” Said the one whose picture just appeared in the paper for a prestigious honor award. We all are professionals, behave!, now earning over 100K a year. Honorable citizens with stained pasts. Funny how the ones that partied hardest were now the most successful. They ate roasted sweet corn butterless, discussed the merits of kayaking, and put on wetsuits to do a swim across the vast lake.
The sun started tinting the water a soft orange and I took my cabana chair down to the water’s edge sticking my feet in the motherliquid. Suddenly a black animal swam past my splashing feet. He streaked under the pier. I jumped up and ran to the pier to get a closer look. He was gone. I ran up the hill to the cabin. Breathlessly I explained the animal. “He was this long,” I said holding my hands about 18” apart. “Thin” I held my finger in a circle. “And shiny black.” I scrunched up my face “an otter?”
“No.” said the man who knows everything. “A mink.”
I also learned what “drop tine” meant.
Later, deep into the night, when I couldn’t sleep on the 2” pad-on-plywood bunk, I read L.A. stories. I watched a LOT of people heading into the restrooms. I wanted to go mink swimming, but I was afraid. I did get halfway down the steep hill before the lightening illuminated my silhouette. Hiroshima. I ran back up the hill and when back to bed.
They woke me up for breakfast…pancakes, eggs and bacon. Two of my cousins said they couldn’t sleep either. “I wanted to come over and talk to you. But you looked okay, reading. We would laugh too much and wake everyone up.”
Yes, sleeping in a grass hut with screens all around is difficult. Christians like quiet.
Behave.