Down and Up

Let's just say that things a day ago could not have been described as worse.

After just 3 hours of sleep, I picked up my mother.

My plan was to take her out to eat, rent a nice economy car with A/C, then turn my Geo in to be fixed. After dinner with just the two of us, things would smooth out, and we would have a great day at the ocean together and then go see a solid comedy show.

Really frickin beautiful. Right?

On the ride back from the airport, she decides that she needs to review all of my decisions and agree or not agree with them. Some how I played right into that hand, until I told her, with a quite unintentional squeak to my "serious" voice, I have made all the right decisions and that is that!

Over breakfast, she continued. I told her that she was not going to make me happy, no matter what she did, and she had better start getting used to that idea. That stopped the talking for awhile. All talking, really. Which was worse?

Then all rental cars were out. No chance. Not til Monday. Shit.

Then the goddamn part wasn't even at the mechanics, so, pissed off at everything, I told him to cancel and just to screw it.

Then she took me for a walk. 30 minutes later, we found ourselves in a book store. She wants to buy a book for me, but doesn't have the money on her, but we will just make sure it is here. I felt flooded with emotion, and thought I might vomit. I told her I needed to leave, which concerned her and we left.

On the walk home, I broke down. She tried to tell me a story about a man with terminal cancer, who is living out his dreams on an Alaskan cruise, but finished the story with the tangent, "he will probably die on the cruise"! Was she trying to cheer me up, and then forgot, or was there a lesson in that tale?

Again, she told me that when we get home I should lie down. I yelled that I was not tired, and that no matter how many times she told me to lie down, it still would not make me tired. I told her to drop it.

Three minutes later, she said that if I just lied on the bed, I would feel better, and I didn't have to sleep, just lie there, and that not to feel like I couldn't use the bed, even though I told her she could use it.

I told her that A) I just wasn't tired yet, and B) when I got tired I would tell her, and C) I had told her to drop it and this is not what I meant.

That stopped the talking for awhile.

We got the car door fixed on the cheap, and put that behind us.

Later she invited the aunt that she hates to dinner with us. They sat on either side of me, and verbally tried to one up each other. My mother, dressed in a bright polka-dotted dress, with a perma-grin for the public plastered onto her face, repeatedly told tales of how emotionally miserable I was all day. My aunt, bitter and angry, dressed all in brown and black, came back with stories of how I was really happy now. I thought that they were the angel and devil sitting on my shoulders, and if I leaned far enough back into my chair, they would get small and rise up in my vision, and it seemed like that was indeed what was happening. I remember thinking I couldn't wait for the next cartoon to start, so that this one would end.

Later that night, I smoked a cigar on the patio, and wished like hell I could tell someone, anyone this story.

The next day, she woke me late (so that I could sleep!), so breakfast by the ocean was actually lunch. Then the car door wouldn't open, and she had to crawl in from the driver's side. Really dignified, great leap from nice A/C, to 50 year old squat-hopping over the emergency brake.

On the beach, as I smoothed out the bumps in the sand, a metaphor that did not go unnoticed by either of us, she told me how life would get better and how regret was something that I should not let get me. Was she telling me, in the same breath, that I would both be okay soon AND hate all of my choices? I didn't know what the lesson was. As her lips moved, I remember thinking to myself, "shut up. Just shut up."

Later, to fill the space, she told me of a boy that was beaten to death with his own bike lock. Then the killer skipped out on bail, a bail his family had put up. What was that supposed to mean?!?! Why are you telling me this?!?!? Just shut up!

That's when I decided that she needed to start spending some serious cash on me, otherwise I was going to look back at this and well with rage.

So, far, she has dropped about $550 on things I didn't even need, and I don't know if they will even dent the pain. I just kept saying yes, hoping something would make me smile and ger her off my back.

Later that night, I chipped off the lower half of my left front tooth trying to bite my own finger nail. She said my teeth were probably bad due to stress. Really?!

Then today. I had no plans. I had given up. Went through most of the day consuming. Jeans, shorts, music, tuna.

Nothing made me smile. Nothing made me want to start a conversation. I just hoped she wouldn't start one herself. I think she felt that. She had her first glass at 12:30.

Then we went to the spa, that she insisted on, and, thank god, we were seperated. I sat, naked, in the jacuzzi, and read GQ, and had Ernesto pour me some more iced citrus water. I had my massage, and actually felt myself relax mentally. I didn't think that was going to happen. After, I returned to the jacuzzi, and pretended I was some very important person who had just completed a big deal, and I sat all pompous and naked, lording over the bubbles.

Then at dinner, my wife stopped by. She needed a check, and had meant to come by while we were out, but had run late. Now, she had smacked into that which she so desperately had wanted to avoid: Mommy, now 5 glasses in.

I must say, Mom did ok. She hugged, and chatted, and made a light snack, and told a joke that actually made my wife burst out laughing. Something I have not seen in months.

But the whole time my wife was there, she was bitter, and dropped hints to the fact often. I caught myself thinking, "Oh, just let it go and be happy, for god's sake!" Then I realized that my reaction to my wife's pain was exactly what my mother's reaction to mine was. Then I softened. I tried to be nice to my wife, knowing where she is at, and when she left, I sat my mom down and told her all from the start.

After, she told me with far too many words, that all she wants for me is to be happy, and that she thinks I am doing the right thing, and that I will always make it work.

I remember thinking, "stop, stop right there. Don't speak anymore. That was it."

That stopped the talking for awhile.