Me and Mom
“We have to go Ben, we have to go right away!”
Now if you knew my mom you would understand that this happens sometimes.
She once knocked down a 16th century suit of Japanese armor at the Utah Museum of Fine Arts. She really did.
I waited for 20 minutes in the car while she smoked out before we went in. I guess she was trying to take a closer look, but somehow fell on top of the armor instead! I was in the other room, but still heard the crash.
Let’s just say we got out of there pretty fast. I have learned from experience that it is best to listen if she feels the need to flee a scene. That’s my mom, and this is how my life has always been.
We had just eaten lunch. And I was saying goodbye to my friend. My mom had been smoking in the car and waiting for me.
I knew that panicked look in her eyes. My friend looked shocked when I turned and ran to the car. I hopped in the driver’s seat without a second thought. I started backing out before my mom even had her door closed.
The manager came running out of the restaurant as we were pulling away. He was a fat little man, but he ran after the car with a paper and pencil.
I looked at my mom as we pulled onto the road. She smiled, shrugged and nodded her head to the back seat were she had her favorite bong “little smoky” and a thick sack of weed.
I have told my mom that smoking pot from a bong in public is dangerous business. I even bought her some papers and a little rolling machine. But she says that she wants to get the most “bang for her buck”.
My mom likes to think that she is some sort of marijuana expert. She smoked pot with my friends when I was in high school. They called her the pot professor, she liked that. They came over every day after school. My mom laid everything out on the table. Four little baggies of pot all lined up in a row and labeled. Her bongs and pipes sat next to the baggies. They would smoke pot and watch M.A.S.H. until my dad got home. Then she would pass out scissors and glue and make all the guys help with her latest scrap booking project. Anyway, about the bong. She would always say: “now boys remember, if you have the luxury, a bong is the only way to get high”.
I laughed at the memory and smiled at my mom.
We drove nearly a block before a police car appeared in my rearview mirror.
“There’s a cop behind us, be cool,” I said.
She instantly flung herself around in her chair to look. I just shook my head.
“Do you think he knows?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said as I pulled into 7-11 on the corner. The cop kept driving. We both let out a sigh.
I got a soda, and (of coarse) my mom got a hotdog. I watched her pile the relish and mustard on the quarter pound of beef.
We sat on the bench out front to eat.
“So?” I asked.
“Well, I kept it low!” she took a big bite of the hotdog. “But this family kept looking out of the window at me!” she said with a mouth full of food.
I could just picture this family trying to eat lunch while some woman in her mid forties smokes a bowl five feet outside the window.
I couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.
“I need another hotdog,” she said, as she stuffed the last bit of the old one in her mouth.
“Knock yourself out, I’ll be in the car,” I said.
She tripped over the cardboard cutout of Jessica Simpson as she made her way to the hotdog counter.
The new hotdog was overloaded with chili and nacho cheese. She was attempting to keep the hotdog level as she climbed cautiously into the passenger seat. She took a few bites, and chewed slowly as she stared out the window.
“Ready?” I asked.
“They had this cute little girl…” She trailed off.
“Who did?”
“The family at the restaurant,” she said.
“Yeah, that was pretty crazy,” I said, “at least you thought to get us out of there.”
She set the hotdog on the dashboard and turned her head to look in the backseat.
I reached back and handed my mother the bong she’s had since I was five.
I put the car in drive. She lit the bowl and drew off a long breathe of smoke.
The water inside the bong bubbled as she sucked air through the bowl. She leaned back in her chair, still holding the smoke in her lungs. She let it out as she began to speak.
“The little girl was so cute,” and then my mom laughed so hard that she choked on the smoke, “the little girl wrote ‘hi’ on a piece of paper and held it to the window.”
She laughed and went reaching for her chili cheese dog on the dashboard. Her hand must have slipped because the hotdog, chili cheese and all ended up in my lap.
I looked down at the hotdog mess in my lap, and then at my mother’s horrified eyes. And I smiled.
I threw an arm around her shoulder. Still holding the wheel, I leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Thanks for lunch mom,” I said. |
