A MOTHER TALES... part 1[short story] by MACREX

One of our friends snapped this photo.
Probably Andy, or whatever girlfriend he
had along that day. We’re standing in a
parking lot. Don’t know why. He’s got an
arm around me. I’m wearing his corduroy
blazer. He liked for me to wear that. Said the color went with my hair. Gosh, we look so happy. Young, and
dumb””but happy. We were happy. Not because of anything in
particular we were doing! In those days the
guys just circled tirelessly in their cool cars,
blasting music with their 8-tracks. Iron
Butterfly, Steppenwolf””stuff you never
hear anymore, even on the golden oldies station. To save my soul, I can’t recall
what we talked about. I think what made him and me happy was
just that we’d gotten so close that year,
like family
Maybe better than family. In my experience
family wasn’t always so great. Especially
Bernie, who used to rub up against my boobs
and say creepy things when Momma
wasn’t around. Back when I was a kid,
Momma used to be beautiful. Here’s an old picture of her. Will you look at that! That’s
when we were close. But by this time,
Momma just looked tired and frazzled. She
seemed to want me out of the house. Still, I knew what family ought to mean. It
ought to be your source of comfort and
support. In a family that’s working right,
those are the people you can show your real
self to. And everybody loves one another,
you know, just for being who they are. Even if you’re just somebody who rides
around town listening to music. The oldie I associate with those days is
“Cherish.” And I do. I cherish the memory of that time.
And that guy. He said I’d made his life sweeter. Guess I
do remember things we talked about. He
wanted to see my life get better, too. So, we figured
greater things were coming. Meanwhile, we
chased all over creation in his pitiful little
six-cylinder Mustang””the car I said was
pulled by six white mice. He didn’t mind
the kidding. He’d put racing stripes and fake hood pins on the thing, but next to
Andy’s rumbling GTO or Julian’s Camaro
or Gene’s sexy Jaguar””it was a toy. An
imitation muscle car was all his dad would
let him have. That was okay. What happened
inside it was real. I remember how we laughed about the
goofy sound track to The Good, the Bad, and
the Ugly that filled the theatre while Clint
Eastwood went cantering across the
lonesome desert, that brassy horse
laugh””wah-WAH-wah“”and the chanting from an invisible chorus. “Where
are those guys?” He whispered in my ear.
“Who’s that singing out in the middle of
nowhere?” We clamped our noses and slid
down in our seats, giggling like kids. We didn’t always laugh at the same things,
but we never fought. Not once. We did the opposite of fighting. And that was what messed things up. If we
hadn’t done that, we could’ve kept on. But his parents and my mom both got in the
act, when they found out. They barged
between us the way referees get between
opponents on the wrestling programs. And
after that happened, no crazy stunts on my
part or his really made much difference. Older girls had told me, unanimously, from
their greater experience, that guys were
bad news””fickle, dishonest, lazy,
undisciplined, disloyal, unreliable, selfish,
intolerant, disrespectful, petty, manipulative,
nasty, perverted, short-tempered, sometimes even violent. All men had glaring
faults. “Not mine,” I argued. They’d just
smiled, sadly. “You’ll learn,” they said.
“Everybody has to learn the hard way.” His failing was just the way he deferred to
his parents. I could not comprehend that. I
would have cheerfully defied everybody, if
he’d been willing to do the same. It would
have been tough, on our own, but I thought
we could do it. But if we did, his parents said, there’d be no college. They wouldn’t pay
for it, anyway. They figured no support
from them would be enough to discourage
me. See, they pegged me as a gold-digger. I
didn’t care about their stupid money. But
he chose college. At the end of that summer, he left. And then his family moved away,
too. Which meant he wouldn’t be coming
back. I looked for reasons to despise him. I have
this hazy memory of opening the door one
night, after I had an apartment, to find him
staggering all disheveled into my arms,
giggling foolishly, completely drunk. Or
more likely he wasn’t drunk but only pretending, as part of some juvenile game,
which repelled me. Or maybe he didn’t do
that, and I only dreamed it. I don’t
remember how that visit ended, so maybe it
never even happened. Well, anyway, he was too dependent on his
parents, afraid to think for himself or take a
stand. Immature. Lacking in confidence. Good
to know before he’d had a chance to let me
down in other ways. But that brought little
comfort. Even if it was true, thinking it spoiled my memories of his laugh and his
corny sweet talk. And the magic. If, by some
miracle, he did come back, I would still be
his. Instead, I had Craig, the manager of the
office where I worked after high school.
Craig was twenty-five! But for a while he
sort of filled the void. Craig worried me, though, the way he’d lie
in that sweaty bed raving about how I was
so much better even than the wife who’d
dumped him. And his talk of setting up house
with me, right then and there, just scared
me. Craig was my boss! Things became
awkward. So I quit that job and got away from Craig. I
know when that guy showed up at the door,
late at night, I didn’t open it. But then other guys were lining up. I dated.
The time with him had been Good. I thought
going through the same motions with
someone else might recapture that. First
thing I know, Ken’s giving me a diamond
ring. I accepted. He seemed so desperate that I take it. Then our paths crossed one last time, in
another parking lot. Guess he was in town
visiting Andy, doing the rounds for old
times’ sake. There they sat, idling in
Andy’s car, saying silly stuff around the
same music,In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, honey. Don’t you
know that I love you? And I flashed that ring
at him. It was a hateful thing to do, but I was
so mad because he’d waited till then to
show up. “Best wishes to you,” he’d
responded sincerely. His last words to me.

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