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 When I turned ten the hometown well sirs and polka-dot ladies sold enough lemon cupcakes and cotton toaster-covers to build us a new library in pink cinder block and blond wood. I wet my head with half a bottle of Vitalis Hair Tonic, splashed some of the remainder on my hairless chest, walked straight inside and headed toward the shadiest corner.Bottom shelf of three, below a long picture window looking out to summer maple trees. I sat on the floor and breathed the poisoned scent of new carpet. First book that took me I took out on my new card (co-signed by my mother, who was a smart and angry beast of a woman). _Eli Whitney, Master Craftsman_. I don't think I'd enjoy the book today; in spite of myself I've become too political in a phony way. But back then the story made me think that I, too, could invent. First book read to me in school -- that kept me held inside its story, that is -- was a version of the Beowulf tale. Eighth grade. Tall windows behind me. Wooden floors dusty with chalk. At least thirty randy kids must have sat around me, but I can't remember even one of them. Mrs. Detweiler sat on the edge of her desk as she read. Her jowls sagged loose and powdered. Bracelets jingled on her wrist and her mouth watered as she moved us further into the legend. I loved her much more than I loved the story. Beowulf frightened me and Mrs. Detweiler made me hungry. Questions I'd like further to pursue: 1. Was my mother Beowulf in a polka-dot dress? 2. Was Mrs. Detweiler my mother? 3. Was it Vitalis Hair Tonic, and not the scent of new carpet, I breathed? 4. Was Eli Whitney responsible for cotton toaster-covers? *** Dear Son, And this I should wake up to on the holiest day of the year? I was a beast, you say? And what of all those ammoniated diapers I scrubbed by hand because your dear father and I could not afford the Dydee man? Do you ever stop to think about that morning in 19__ when you sat on my lap and cried till snot dripped from your prominent nose and ruined my best polka-dot chemise? And all because your skinny girlfriend with acne under her makeup left you for a more ambitious boy? No wonder she couldn't take you! Do you know that years later she married a doctor here in town? Six-figure salary and membership in the Rotary. But of course you wouldn't know that, because you never bothered to visit us when we lived just a few thousand miles away from you and your tawdry hopes and tender fantasies. And so what did you, my first born dreamer, make of yourself? Each day you sit and punch nonsense at a keyboard. Poems? Hell, they've already been written by far better than you. Ezra sits here beside me this minute, and he tells me to tell you that you'll never amount to much, and so I guess it doesn't matter anyway, not now, then or ever. I just wish I'd known enough back then to have wrapped your tiny butt in waxed paper and thereby saved my hands the indignity of baby poop and the random pinch of rusty safety pins. You'll never make it in your chosen field, you sniveling brat, and after this latest remark on _my_ day, you won't have my polka-dot chemise to cry on anymore, so I hope you keep an ample store of woody tissues somewhere close to your computer. We'll meet again someday soon, dear son of mine. For a brief time, I admit; your room reservation in purgatory is for one night only, and I don't expect that after my testimony you'll be in the clouds for long with Dad, Ezra and me. Just long enough a time to pay you back before they ship you downtown to bake your butt. And one more thing: for all your praise of Gloria Detweiler, I'll have you know she didn't make it here. Seems it was more than her mouth that watered that afternoon she read my tale to you, and it wasn't Eli Whitney's mechanical inventions, so much as his imagination in other areas, that turned her on. You'll once again be able to admire those powdered jowls, although they'll likely look a little crisp for the cooking. Happy Mother's Day. Love, Beowulf Toscano *** Thanks for stopping by to visit us here at SpilledBeans.com. If you'd like to be notified whenever something new is posted to SpilledBeans.com, then please join the Spilled Beans notification list. -- Con affetto, Anthony V. Toscano, Editor SpilledBeans.com  |
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