Metrofusion

Carlotta Senior called one weekend for her routine chit-chat about absolutely nothing in particular. During the course of the conversation she asked how the DC boys were doing. When she got to Michael I told her that he had left for his trip to Chile a few days earlier.

Mom: That’s right. He’s going to be gone for almost a month, isn’t he?

David: Three weeks I think.

Mom: Well … you could probably use the break.

Easter Weekend 2007
Washington, DC

The DC Contingent met my mother over drinks and hors ‘d’oeuvre at my apartment on Saturday night. We spent a very pleasant night swapping stories about relationships, parenting, and coming out. After a few cocktails, mom started running her hands through her hair and gesturing emphatically when she spoke. The boys, amused by my slightly inebriated mother who began to open up as the night progressed, dubbed her Carlotta Senior.

When asked if I’ve always been a good kid, Carlotta Senior pressed her hand to her chest and declared, “Well, he’s always been good to me.” Then, shrugging her shoulders, she added, “But I don’t know about anyone else.”

Ask my mother and she will tell you that, overall, I was a good little boy. My aunts who had a hand in my upbringing would eagerly concur. Of course, not without first sharing a memory from my childhood.

Mom would likely tell about the time I tormented her during a feeding. Apparently I found it more entertaining to get mom to fetch my spoon than actually eating my food.

Gracie usually remembers the time she briefly left me with a bottle of talcum powder in the crib. She returned to find a brand new bottle of talcum completely emptied on my head and all over my crib.
But it’s my aunt Cari who has the best story.

When I was about four or five years old, I spent the night at her house. Visiting Cari was always fun for me because she had cable and a swing set in a big yard.

As dusk settled over the sleepy little Rio Grande Valley town of San Juan, Cari sat in front of her antique vanity applying creams and lotions to her face. Already at a young age I was learning the importance of moisturizer. A telenovela was playing loudly in the background. I was gazing out her window at the doberman/shepard mix puppy in the yard.

Suddenly, the puppy stopped dead in his tracks and squatted in the middle of the yard. I had never witnessed anything like it before. The puppy pooped right before my eyes. I was apalled and beside myself.

My tiny voice yelled for my aunt Cari telling her about the dogs audaciousnesses. Not only did the puppy poop in the yard, I explained, but he just got up and scampered off without wiping his butt!

Cari looked at me amusingly as I repeated myself. And if you can imagine, I spoke in Spanish because I didn’t know any English back then.

Cari immediately instructed me to run to the bathroom and get the dog some toilet paper. Within seconds I scurried out to the yard, toilet paper in hand, and chased after the unhygenic puppy.

Several minutes passed before Cari called me back to the house where she and my cousins watched in raucous laughter at my attempt to capture the puppy and teach him to wipe after going poopie.

To this day I have to wonder what would have happened if I had caught the puppy.

I hadn’t thought of my mother as old until her visit over Thanksgiving. She has a torn meniscus, the cartilage in a joint, in her knee and a strained tendon. It made getting around difficult for her.

Mom had oupatient surgery this morning and should be home by noon.

I hope she’ll be able to get around DC when she visits. Maybe having my car there will help.

My mother is a tremendous woman. She is probably the only person in this world with the ability to stop me dead in my tracks and leave me silent.

Several years ago I was visiting my mother at home. Nearing the end of my trip, we were beginning to get on each other’s nerves. She hadn’t seen her then-boyfriend during my visit and I missed my own place. On my last afternoon, we piled into the car on our way to lunch. For some reason I cursed, causing her to bark, “Enough with the cussing!”

I turned to her, smirked, and said in a sing-song tone, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah? Well I wish I could, but I haven’t seen my boyfriend.”

I quietly slipped the car into reverse and drove us to the restaurant.

* * *

Paul invited my mother and I out to Cork & Co. on Saturday night for flights of wine and cheese. We were enjoying ourselves and even had an opportunity to chit-chat with a few friends.

Well into our fourth glass of wine my mother brought up a former lover. She had originally planned to see him that weekend, but changed her plans. Noticing me roll my eyes, mom turned to Paul and said, “David doesn’t like him.”

“He’s a big prick” I huffed.

Her eyes widened as she asked, “How did you know?”

I leaned in and spoke slowly. “He is a prick, not he has—” I suddenly realized what she thought I said. “Oh God!”

Paul and my mother laughed loudly as they clinked their glasses.