twenty-six

She was in her bed. The curtains and shades were drawn, the room dark except for the flickering of the television. Her head was propped up high on several pillows and she sipped from a big glass of iced tea with no ice.

“Hey, Matty. How’s my love today?”

“Can I ask you for a favor, Ma?”

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Can you drive me to West 48th Street and the West Side Highway? It’s very important. Ciro said we can use his van.”

“A van? What do you need a van for?”

“It’s a favor for a friend. It’s really important.”

“Which friend? . . . Oh, Matty, I’m in no frame of mind to drive a van right now.”

I was too late; she was sedated for the evening. I was hoping I could catch her before she dosed herself with whatever tranquilizer she had become partial to. She was right; absolutely in no condition to be driving.

“Why don’t you take a cab, sweetheart?”

It started before I could answer. First they welled up in the corners of my eyes, at the ready, drawn and cocked though not breaking the boundary of the eyelid. But once the butterflies in my solar plexus took flight, there was no way to reverse the flow and in an instant I was sobbing out loud. Blubbering like a baby, like a fucking little boy, my face striped wet. I was an infant, a child, and a runt to boot. Humiliated and disgusted with myself.

“What is it, my darling boy? Come here.” She sat upright looking very concerned and reached for me. “Let me hold you.”

I couldn’t allow myself to do that. The tears, the choking sobs, they were bad enough. There was no way I could sink into my mother’s arms and let her hold me. I couldn’t bear that. I tried to speak but the weeping was too much for my words.

“It’s fine . . . I . . . I just . . . I have to . . . it’s . . .” I was hiccuping and couldn’t complete a sentence. It was horrible.

“Sit down, Matt. Tell me what happened.” Worry enveloped her face.

I couldn’t look at her. I hated myself and hated her for pitying me. I stopped trying to talk and tensed all my muscles to stifle the crying. I had to get control of myself. Had to snap out of it. This was such a defeat. I took a deep breath and glanced up at her. Relaxing my muscles, I said to her: “It’s okay. I’m fine.” I wiped my face.

“No. You’re not fine. You’re scaring me. Where do you need to go? Why is it upsetting you so much? I’m gonna call your boss.”

“Please don’t. It’s okay. He has nothing to do with it.”

I felt bad that I asked her in the first place and was sorry I got her so worried and confused. I had to cut the cord and get away. I had to get downstairs and into the van. I had no choice but to drive the fucking thing crosstown. The hell with it. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. But I had to get out of there. Anything was better than this.

My mind raced to concoct a lie that would allay her fears and allow me to get downstairs without her calling Ciro and asking him questions. I went into a song-and-dance about how the favor I was asking her for had nothing at all to do with my tears. I confessed that I was missing my father lately and the last few days especially. This could not have been further from the truth but it was a convenient excuse that was there for the taking. I went on to tell her that my friend was a musician who was selling an amplifier and she needed someone to drive it crosstown but it was fine if it waited till tomorrow when her brother would be back from Milwaukee.

She looked at me with big, sad, narcotized eyes. “You can talk to your father, you know. I’m sure wherever he is, somehow he’s able to hear you.”

I didn’t believe this for a second. But I nodded and leaned over to give her a kiss.

“I love you, Matt.”

“Love you too.”

“Give me my pocketbook. It’s on the chair.”

I left with thirteen dollars in my hand.