I am supposed to meet Mom for
dinner at 5:15.
and I know she will be early. Still, I am two
minutes late. I'm a stickler for punctuality
whereas for her, being
on time is a rare
fluke. It's blustery and she's waiting in the
wind, hair doing
all sorts of funny things.
I think Mom's suffering from empty nest syndrome,
and she wants to spend some time on the town with
her girls. Tonight it's just me, though, and I'm
hoping she's not going to pull a heart to heart
on me. I am not equipped for rational discussion
of what and why and how I'm doing right now. I am
never ready for this sort of thing, and even less
than usual today.
But no. We chat idly; The car broke down - your
father is very busy lately - did you know I'm looking
to move into a different apartment, Mom - Oh and
before I forget, you got some mail at our place. The food is mediocre and the talk unsensational, but it is a warm room and we are comfortable people. She covers the check and we get our shit together and it's
What should we do now, then?
Mom's a walker, I get that from her. Show me where
you usually go when you're out all night walking,
she says. A fleeting moment of panic has me thinking
that she's going to start in on me now, on this walk,
as she's learning my city by foot. And maybe she's
trying to slip into my mind. But she can't, that's
ridiculous, she's just my Mom and happy to share
this something with me, anything I am willing to
give. Sometimes I understand her even less than she
does me.
We take Broadway heading north, this is City Hall - Tribeca's over that way - Canal Street, there's
that store I told you about, you know, Industrial
Plastics - then SoHo and (giggle) no, Mom Chelsea's
way up over there, northwest. Then it's Houston onto Lafayette, up through Astor Place and I never
knew there was a K-mart here!. In Union Square,
I show her the Metronome (the smoking wall and lit numbers changing).
On and on, finally it's Times Square and this is our stop:
Her Bus, my train, thoughts intact and unprobed, home.