The photo hung on the wall of Mom's apartment. I studied it.
"After this, we'll get a knuckle sandwich! Yaayy!"
Me in the center (natch), ten years old (just like this blog! ya get it???), Chris doing a sort of boogie, and lastly Mark, hands behind his back in order to better contemplate the mystery of this photo.
I turned to Mom, my loupe in one eye and my monocle in the other. "When did you get this, Mom?"
Mom sat in her recliner, humming to herself.
"Mom?" I threw my top hat at her.
"Oh! I was just having a memory about meeting John Sebastian. Back when you were just a baby."
"Was he the postman?" My monocle popped out. Then I threw my loupe at Bailey.
"No. John Sebastian. The singer, from the sixties."
"Mm. Was he in the Electric Turtle?"
"The Lovin' Spoonful. He gave me a warm, gentle smile. It was at a farmer's market. He knew I recognized him. We had a connection. For a few seconds."
"Didn't he invent the autoharp solo?"
Lip biting is de rigueur for the autoharp, said no one.
"Anyway, Mom. What's up with this picture of us with the balloon? How did you get it? It must come from Dad's farm."
"I've always had it."
"Yes, but..."
Bailey spit out the loupe and barked. Chris came through the sliding door. Applause. He acknowledged the audience (me) and then pet Bailey.
"Mom wants you to water the bedroom. It's your turn."
"Actually," Mom said, "can you boys do me a favor? Can you check in the corner, behind the bed? I think there might be some poop from Mewy. Poor Mewy."
"Poor us."
Chris and I went into the bedroom and pulled out the bed. There we found several dried nuggets.
"Mio dios," I said, wiping my sweaty face. "It's the treasure of the sierra merde!"
"Ugh. This is gross."
I got a plastic bag and we filled it with turds and weeds we pulled from the bedroom lawn. "So do you know what's up with that balloon photo?"
Chris paused in picking cotton. "It's from Mark and Denean, I think, who got it from Maria, who got it from Dad. So now Mom has it."
"Huh. Then we'll pass it to Toots. Eventually everyone in the family will have it. I should do a painting of all of us, maybe on a balloon, flying over Denver and dropping poops on everyone..."
"Well? Where is everyone?"
"Yeah, that would be good. A painting of the whole family."
"Or I can have Mom looking sad hanging on a cross, and you laughing, with Denean in a hospital bed and Bailey sobbing at the foot of the cross. Dad sitting on bags of money with his whore. Heh heh."
"Actually, I just meant do a nice portrait of everyone."
"Oh, uh, right, I suppose I could do that, too."
"Are you two blogging about me in there?"
We came out, dragging the bag heavy with manure and bedroom clippings. Mom grimaced as she reached into her shirt.
"Mom!"
"I was just getting my lipstick out of my bra. I put it where Bailey can't get it. She's just a pickle!"
"What?"
The TV was so loud that it turned on Alexa in the next room.
"Alexa!" Mom yelled. "Alexa, be quiet!"
"You want I should take it out?" I said.
"And I think the toaster has been making fun of me," Mom said sadly. "Now, when you take out that bag, can you also do some other chores to prove you love me? I have a few bags of trash that need to be taken out. Will you do that for your old mom?"
"Can't you leave it outside the door, and they pick it up for you?"
"They do, but I don't want people around here to see how trashy I am."
"Maybe stop wearing that sequined tube top, then. Oh, wait. That's me."
"Please... will you do it? Will you be good boys for your old mom? Please...?"
Choking on sobs, Mom held out her arms, as if in rehearsal for the cross. Chris and I muttered, made our goodbyes, and went out into the hall. There we passed an old duffer with mutton chops and an autoharp. He shuffled past us, we smiled at him.
"My God," I said. "That was John Sebastian. I'm sure of it. I mean, who else could it be? Maybe he'll commit some old crimes with Mom? Stay tuned!"
No comments:
Post a Comment