Tell Me That One Again
She's told me this one enough that I get a 25% contact high just hearing it again.
by LM Fontanes
My mom tells me there used to be this nowheresville bar in Jersey where college guys would take her on quarter drink nights. A quarter of a drink what a joke, I snort, though I know the real story. No, silly, twenty five cents a drink, she shakes her Brillo pad curls. Pretty watered down, though. Pretty watered down, I say. She's told me this one enough that I get a 25% contact high just hearing it again. But at least she could still string sentences together and at least I scrambled over here soon as I got the ping from Nick. He keeps an eye on his regulars.
We'd take the Tacony-Palmyra. Cheaper toll, I chime. Head south on, what's that 130. Why'd you take 130, ma? I don't remember. Her once fierce chocolate eyes search for the lost route then get off the next exit. One guy had this real spiffy Honda Accord. His dad made beaucoup bucks. He didn't live in Philly did he, ma? Not real Philly. Montgomery County or one of those. Gotta take the, gotta take the—Turnpike, ma. Yeah, the turnpike. I should put the kibosh on her nights here, I think once again.
Mom swirls the dregs in her rocks glass. Nick must be in the john because a girl I've never seen comes up and gives me the what-can-I-get-you look. I shake my head. She shrugs with just enough sympathy that I don't feel shitty. Barkeep semaphore to say she might be new, but she's already met ma. King of Prussia, my mom blurts apropos of nothing, and everything. King of Prussia exit, she looks around to make sure everyone heard.
Now she gets that look. The end of the night look. Did I ever tell you? Ma whispers so low I need to lean in even though I know this story better than the quarter drink story. Did I ever tell you? Tell me, ma. Our heads now side by side as she looks out at a world she seems surprised to be in.
Your father never took me to Jersey.
Yes, ma.
Your father never lived to see your first steps.
I know, ma.
As she takes one last sip but before she can raise her spotted hand with the skinny gold band to signal for another, I touch her bar-hunched shoulder.
Let's head out, I whisper, then slide her Subaru keys into my pocket and guide my mother toward the always swinging door.
LM Fontanes (fon TAHN iss) is a multi-racial, multi-genre storyteller who writes, teaches & leads. She comes from a family of educators and first responders in working class Philadelphia. Words in/upcoming: 34 Orchard, The Willowherb Review, Flash Nonfiction Food and the Sundance Film Festival among other venues.
