My friends joke that my mom doesn’t care about me. Its not that she doesn’t care, its that she has this faith that everything will be fine, or at least that I’ll be fine. That’s what she tells me at least. That and that it will make a good story.
There are many stories that reinforce this, but none so much as the time my friends and I went to see a late night movie in high school.
I’m not sure what movie it was. It may have been The Crow 2, or Mortal Kombat or some cheesy thing like that. Something that was surely marketed to high school boys. Regardless of the movie, Reggie, Keith and I were the only ones in the theater. It started at 11, or 10:40 or something similar to that. Last movie starting in the theater, and in my recollected memories I pictures the workers being annoyed that we actually showed up. It was in July or August, definitely summer, and we had nothing else to do. So we went to a late night movie, got some popcorn and soda, and settled in.
Keith had driven us. He was legal to drive, but was under 18 so he wasn’t allowed to drive after 10 o’clock (maybe it was 9, I don’t recall… all I know is that there was a drive curfew for kids under 18). We readily ignored those hours when we hung out, Keith drove us all over the place.
The movie was about two hours long and when we exited I don’t think they even tried to clean up the theater after us. They locked the doors, and while we were talking about the “awesomeness” of the movie outside Keith’s car and we watched them all drive off. When we finally got into Keith’s car to leave it wouldn’t start. We sat around a bit, tried starting it again and again it wouldn’t start.
Being the high school kids we were we carried no cash on us. Or at least had no coins. We came up with one quarter between the three of us. This was 1996 or 1995 and cell phones were non-existent. We thought about it a while and called my house. In the discussion of who’s house to call, we decided there was always someone up at my house because it was the busiest.
Sadly no one answered. I left a long extended call that went something like this:
“Hi. This is AJ. I’m with Keith and Reggie and Keith’s car won’t start. We at the theater on Route 9 and are going to start walking home. If you get this please come get us. We’re going to walk on Route 9 until we can cut through a neighborhood to Aviation Road, then Potter and down West Mountain. It looks like its going to rain. Thanks.”
After that we started walking. Although I always exaggerate the distance, it couldn’t have been more than 6 miles. It started raining almost immediately. We walked down the middle of roads hoping someone would tke pity on us and pick us up. We even kicked over construction barrels, but the police (who did drive by) didn’t think we were “hooligan-ish enough” to stop and talk to.
On Potter road we actually ran into some people I ran with on the Cross-Country team. However they were extremely drunk and stumbling down the road. Nice enough though. They even offered to drive us home but we smartly declined.
About a mile from my parents, soaked, and having walked for what seemed like forever we came to Reggie’s house. Both Keith and Reggie decided to crash there, but I was annoyed, tired and wet enough to want to head back home. So I said goodbye and walked the last mile home.
When I finally stumbled in the door I found my mother sitting at the island in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading. I was shocked, astounded really. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. I had to ask, so I did.
“Did you hear the message I left on the answering machine?”
“Yes. Actually it woke me up,” she replied.
“And you listened to the message?”
“Yep. I figured you’d be ok. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just shuffled by her and started down the stairs. Before I reached the first step my mom added one last thing, the one thing that made this story all the more fantastical.
“You know… if it were any of my other children I would have left right away to go get them.”
Yeah. My mom, she told me that. I didn’t even turn around. I just headed downstairs to my room and passed out.
To this day I swear that’s the story I’ll tell of my mom at her wake. Those are the words my mom told me. My brother, any of my three sisters; if any of them had been in that situation she would have gone to get them right away, but not me.
Of course it can be taken many different ways. At the basest it sounds like a statement that my brothers and sisters are more important than me. But that’s not how I take, nor how I ever took. I actually took it as a joke at first. My mom can make funny little quips like that.
But, and she insists this how she meant it, she meant it that I would be fine no matter what’s going on around me. That I can get through whatever is happening.
Its a nice admission, of strength, of support, of belief in who I am. That I’ve made good choices, that I’m the kind of person she can be proud of.
And of course…
It makes a nice story.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom. Love You.