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Mother’s Day, Part One of Two
From, "Pacific Review" (Volume 20, 2002)
Jeff’s mom looks peaceful in her
coffin. Her eyes are open and Jeff looks deep into
them.
Lightly, he glides his hand on the coffin’s
edges; it’s a Kingsley model.
He hears
a car door slam shut, and he draws the curtains
above the coffin and looks down the street where No
Doubt once filmed a music video;
a beat-up mustang is pulling away from the curb and
a tall Hindi woman is cursing at the driver.
The hour beeps on Jeff’s watch, and Jeff
sighs and silently says, “We’re going to miss
breakfast.” He watches her stomach rise and fall,
then leans over the coffin and shakes her gently.
“Come on Mom, Wake-up.”
She looks at him and smiles. “Good morning
Jeffery.”
Jeff doesn’t smile back. “You
overslept—we’re going to be late”
She yawns then holds her hand towards
him. “Help me out of this coffin?”
He
hesitates but helps her.
She stretches, walks to
her closet and puts on pink bunny slippers, then
turns to Jeff, who is tapping impatiently on the
coffin, and says, “I’m going to shower and put my
face on. There’s fish sticks in the freezer if
you’re hungry.”
“A shower!? They stop
serving the Egg McMuffins after 10:30. We barely
have enough time as it is.”
“I’m not going out ‘til
I’m decent. Go have a fish stick to hold you over.
We’ll decide where to go when I’m done.”
Jeff begins to protest,
but stops when she starts pulling off her
nightgown. He quickly leaves the room; in the hall
he hears the water turn on, and his mom begins to
sing “My Jesus, I Love Thee” in the wrong key.
He goes downstairs,
quietly swearing, then apologizing when he passes
the painting of Jesus in the hall entry. He goes
outside, picks up the O.C. Register, pulls
out Sports and leaves the rest on the porch, then
goes to the breakfast nook, where he reads the top
headlines while waiting; the Ducks have traded their
top player for four third-round draft picks to, as
the GM said, “assure we do not make it into the
playoffs”—adding they had created a new marketing
strategy which was, “The world’s full of losers—at
least we’re honest.” A related story rumored that
Disney was considering selling the Angels to Rhode
Island because T-shirt sales had not done as well as
expected. “Money happy bastards,” he says to
himself, tossing the paper across the nook.
The grandfather clock
chimes ten minutes late in the living room, and Jeff
leaves the nook to fix it. A vase with an
assortment of roses on the center of the coffee
table distracts him and he forgets about the clock.
A card is hanging out and he picks it out; it has a
black and white photo of a birthday cake and plays
happy birthday when it opens; “Happy Birthday, Mom.
Love, John, Amie, Peter, Phoebe, & Paul,” the inside
says (Paul signed his name in Greek). It’s in
Amie’s, John’s wife, handwriting and two weeks late.
He puts the card down and walks to the mantel; John
and Amie’s wedding picture is in the center. Jeff
likes to stare at the picture because he is
entranced by the fear in their eyes.
To the left of the wedding picture is Jeff’s
graduation photo from UCI and to the right is his
sister, Jennifer’s, graduation photo from Biola
(each are framed in a Winnie the Pooh picture frame);
“Poor Jen,” Jeff says picking up the frame and
rubbing his index finger on the glass.
Jeff’s stomach growls, and he goes to
the kitchen and gets a banana from the refrigerator,
then takes it to the couch to eat. He pulls a piece
of paper from his back pocket and writes ideas for
the novella he’s working on while he eats
It’s about a gay cowboy who is lonesome. He (the
lonesome gay cowboy) lives alone on a small ranch,
spending his lonesome hours watching cows have sex
and collecting Garfield memorabilia he finds at flea
markets. And he goes to church every Sunday. He’s
struggled with who he is sexually for several
years. He thinks it’s not normal for a cowboy to be
a homosexual, so he convinces himself he likes
women, he just hasn’t found any that arouse him in a
sexual kind of way.
“What’s that you’re
working on?” Asks his mom, walking down the stairs
in a long tie-dyed dress and holding purple sneakers
with her hair still wet.
Jeff hides the paper quickly in his pocket and
says, “It’s a new story I’ve been toying with.”
“You’re writing again,
then?”
He nods. “It’s actually
a novella. My agent says I’m crazy—‘no one sells
novellas anymore,’ he keeps saying.”
She sits next to him on
the couch and starts putting on her shoes. “Is this
the Jefferson Forster masterpiece everyone has been
waiting for?”
Jeff shrugs.
“Tell me about it.”
“I’ll tell you later. It’s
complicated.” He changes the subject, “I talked to
John on the phone last night.”
“Did you?”
He nods. “They seem to
be doing okay. Amie’s teaching a night class for
people trying to get their GED. And Peter’s writing
a editorial on new age religious movements in Orange
County for the Register.”
“Did you call him?”
“Yeah.”
She looks disappointed.
“I had these baseball tickets that I
wanted to give away.”
Jeff explains, “I thought John might want to take
Paul—you know how much he likes baseball.”
“Did you ask him to call me?” John doesn’t call his
mom anymore (she’s left messages but he won’t return
them), and she doesn’t know why. The last time they
spoke was at Christmas when she went to his
Methodist church in Anaheim for the candlelight
service.[10]
Jeff shakes his head no. “So where do
you want to go?” Jeff asks, “IHOP has breakfast
all day.”
“I don’t feel like that.”
“You pick then.”
“There’s this thing at church—a
brunch.”
Jeff sighs, “So that’s what this ‘come
have breakfast with mom’ is about?”
She shrugs, “I knew you wouldn’t have
come if I said it was at church.”
Jeff starts to say something but
shakes his head instead. “Let’s just go.”
She smiles, “I’ll get my purse.”
The drive through downtown Anaheim makes
Jeff see his childhood—the old train tracks (where
Jeff, Jennifer, and John ran to as a kid to see the
Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus come to
town for the convention center shows) that ran down
Santa Ana street—the Anaheim police station (where
he once got thumb printed as a kid during a tour
with Franklin elementary) and main branch library
(where he went for story time with Jennifer as a kid
and “Buck-a-bag” book sales in high school). Then,
just past city hall, is his mom’s Baptist church.
Jeff opens his mom’s door; she wraps
her arm around his and walks with him proudly. She
introduces him to everyone she sees. He recognizes
some from years back when he attended as a kid
(there was Louise, whose son worked for In ‘N’
Out in high school and used to give him free
french-fries; Janice, whose husband committed
suicide when Jeff was little and caused a big
scandal
[Jeff later dated one of their daughters]; and
Elaine, who his mom had said for several months was
having an affair with the pastor until she got to
know her better). They all have daughters and Jeff
is curious about this.
“Lot of woman are coming to this
thing.” He says as they walk into the fellowship
hall where the tables are set up for breakfast.
“It’s a mother-daughter
brunch,” she says brightly, waving at a friend.
Jeff laughs, then looks around for
another man. There are none. “You’re joking,
right?”
“I asked if it would be okay since
Jennifer was working and I didn’t have anyone to
come with. It’s no big deal.”
“Everyone will be staring.”
“No one’s going to be
staring—stop acting paranoid. There’ll be plenty of
men. They’re cooking and serving.”
“Can I join them?”
She pushes him towards
the table, “Just sit down and don’t make a scene.”
“I already have,” he
mumbles as he sits at the table, which is lopsided
and cracked on one side.
She does not hear his comment; one of
her friends sits down at their table with her two
pale-faced daughters (one is in college, and the
other is Jeff’s age (she’s carrying a Bible in a
Veggie Tales bag)) and she is anxiously waiting
to introduce him. “Everyone knows my youngest son
Jeffery, right?”
“You were just out of
college the last time I saw you.” Her friend says,
patting his hand.
“He’s single,” his mom
announces to the two daughters. “He’s my writer
son.”
They both smile shyly,
and she quickly pulls his book jacket photo from her
purse.
“Where do you fellowship,
Jeffery?” Her friend asks, as his mom teases the
daughters with the photo.
“I’m not really into the
church thing anymore.”
“Oh.” Her friend says.
The two daughters suddenly become disappointed.
“He’s just trying to figure some things out.” His
mom says hopefully.
She turns to Jeff, “I’m thirsty—get me some coffee.”
Jeff obediently stands, “Anyone else want a drink?”
The two girls nervously say no, as does their
mother.
A girl in her twenties wearing a
Festival Con Dios t-shirt flirts a little with
Jeff while he pours coffee. “I think it’s really
cool that you can do this for your Mom,” she says.
Jeff smiles but says
nothing back.
“I’m Sarah.” She extends
her hand.
“Jeff.”
“Your sister was my Sunday school teacher when I was
a kid.”
“Really?”
She nods yes. “You’re her writer son,
aren’t you?”
He nods.
“I remember. You
published a book a few years ago. What was it
called?”
“Women I Have Slept
With.”
“That’s right. Your mom
sure was proud when it came out. I checked it out
from the library a few years ago. It was pretty
good.”
“Yeah? Most people don’t
really remember it.”
“Are you working on
anything new?”
“Off and on. I have a
hard time finishing things though. I guess I was
young with all kinds of energy the last time I
published—kind of worn off.”
“Sometimes you’re hottest when you’re
young. Have you read Zadie Smith? She’s good.”
“Yeah—I like her.”
“I like Neal Pollack too. And he’s cute, don’t you
think?”
Jeff nods. “It’s no
wonder he’s had sex with so many women. His mere
name gives me a stiffy.”
This makes her nervous.
Jeff apologizes, “I guess I forgot
where I was.”
“Yeah—well I better get back to my
table…I smell breakfast.”
“Nice meeting you.” Jeff starts
walking back to the table, but an arm stops him. He
turns.
A tall man with a beard and crooked
nose carrying a platter with breakfast for the
women, whispers, “Careful around that one—she’s the
church slut.” He winks, then chuckles and goes to
the one of the tables to serve breakfast.
Jeff nods and goes back to the table
where he does his best to make conversation with the
girls. The oldest starts telling him about the
Left Behind series, and Jeff pretends to listen
as he stares blankly at the wall.
“I was like, these books should win the Pulitzer,”
she explains of the series as she eats her eggs,
“They were the best, most inspiring, awesome, books
I’ve ever read.”
“Wow,” Jeff says continuing to stare at the wall.
At this, the girl pulls out a copy
from her purse, “Want me to read you some of my
favorite passages?”
“That’s okay—I think I’d rather rush
out and buy the books so I can discover them for
myself.”
She smiles and nods, proud she has
made a difference.
Jeff eats quickly as the youngest
tells him about the series the pastor has been doing
on the parable of the lost sheep. “He’s given some
powerful examples,” she explains, “But his point is
that all of us have struggled—been lost and
questioned, but Christ will bring you home.”
“That’s really great,” Jeff says finishing, then
turns to his mom, “We need to get going—I don’t want
to be late for my appointment.”
She looks at him oddly, but goes with
it and nods. “Just let me finish my bacon.”
“I have to meet with one of my
students.” Jeff explains.
In
the parking lot his mom pokes him in the ribs.
“Appointments? That was embarrassing.”
“What?”
She
shakes her head.
“Come on Mom—those girls were driving me nuts.”
“Let’s go, you’re in such a hurry.” He opens her
door and she slams it before he can close it.
She sighs as Jeff gets in, “Was it
really so awful to spend time with me?”
“Let’s go do something just you and
me. That movie about the kid hacker who tries to
start a war with Cuba is out now. It looks kind of
good. There’s an exclusive screening at Downtown
Disney.”
“I’m not really in the mood for a
movie.”
“You said you wanted to spend the day
together. How about the Bowers museum? The Dead
Sea Scrolls are on exhibit. No church—just you and
me.”
“Fine,” she says, still unhappy.
They’re
both silent as Jeff heads for the 5 freeway.
Jeff brings up John’s kids as he
merges onto the freeway, which always makes her
happy. Peter, thirteen, is the first of them.
Phoebe, nine, comes next.
Paul, five, is last and Jeff’s favorite.
The white top of Matterhorn Mountain
can be seen and Jeff starts to make a comment about
the California Adventure, but stops when a black
object falls from the overpass and smashes through
the front window. His mom screams and Jeff slams on
his breaks. He looks at his mom, who is crying. A
bowling ball has landed on her lap. “Dear God!,” he
says.
“Do something,” his mom cries.
Jeff calls the police on his cell
phone and heads towards the UCI Medical Center; the
dispatcher laughs at first, then tells him to remain
calm and doctors will be waiting at the hospital
when they get there.
“I’m going to miss the hallmark
movie tonight,” his mom says.
“I’ll tape it.”
“The quality’s not the same.”
“Well do you want to go home and
watch it?”
She thinks for a moment. “No—no that
would be silly.” She pauses. “Do you have to drive
so fast?”
He slows down.
Whimpering more, she says “thank you”
then, “You’ll have to call the minister at my
church. He’ll know what to do. The number’s in
purse—under the ball.”
“I’ll get it when we’re there.”
They
pass the Crystal Cathedral and his mom tells him
softly about when she went to Schuller’s church when
it was still a drive-in and he wasn’t a Dr.—“Me and
your father use to take the pickup every Sunday when
we were first married—he was a good preacher then.”
They
get off the freeway at State College and his mom
asks if he remembers riding on the bike trail behind
the hospital.
“Doesn’t it hurt to talk?”
She says yes.
“Then
stop.” But he did remember the trail.
They get to the hospital and a fat
doctor and two male nurses pull her from the car and
put her on a stretcher. “Don’t forget the
minister,” she says as they push her into the ER.
end of part I of II
[9] A writing student who never
wrote a story because he didn’t know how to
write gave Jeff Angel tickets in return for
a C-.
Paul is bilingual in French and has a tutor
teaching him Biblical Greek; he likes
watching Spanish cartoons, but he’s not
fluent yet; he also loves to read Victor
Hugo in the original French.
A month ago John had Jeff and
a bunch of people over for a BBQ to
celebrate ascension day, and Paul, who was
standing in front of the screen door with a
little navy blue suit and his left shoe
untied, said, “Uncle Jeff, what’s the
meaning of life?”
“That’s a pretty serious question for
someone your age.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Mother and Father say I’m very advanced for
my age.”
“Well, to tell you the truth
I don’t know. But that’s one of the
mysteries that makes life so exciting—you
never know what to make of it.”
“That’s an interesting
theory. The French writer Sébastien-Roch
Nicolas de Chamfort says that living is a
sickness that sleep provides relief to every
sixteen hours. It’s a palliative. The remedy
is death.”
“Well Mark Twain said
whoever has lived long enough to find out
what life is, knows how deep a debt of
gratitude we owe to Adam, because he brought
death into the world.”
“I’m
not familiar with this Mark Twain fellow.”
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