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Sunday, October 26, 2014

Getting out of town fast. The move to Boston. Chapter 1

So my childhood friend Mark moved to Boston to start a new job and to get a new perspective on life. He was living with a friend he met named Priscilla, in the room above her garage.

As children, we used to hang out together playing in his back yard with his brother Gary. If I was lucky I was allowed to spend the night and get picked up the next day. Mark and Gary shared a room and with an extra body in the room, it was crowded. We got very little sleep. It was some of the most fun I would have.

Mark's father was pretty absent and would leave his mother home alone for long stretches. My parents would mumble to each other that they thought that he was having an affair. This turned out to be true.

I had a childhood crush on Mark's mother. Her name was Jane. She was sweet and kind and would laugh at all my jokes. She would hug me and tell me that she loved me. I wanted her to be my mother.

My sister and I named one of her Barbies "Jane". The Barbie also worked for Friendly's Ice Cream as a waitress. How lucky were Gary and Mark that their Mom worked at Friendly's? Sometimes we would go to visit her while she worked. My mother claimed that she needed to get out of the house.

Honestly, those visits weren't much fun, I usually ended up in trouble because I couldn't sit still and Gary and I would laugh at fart jokes.

My mother would finally separate us by yanking me into an empty booth far away from everyone. "Why do you boys like bathroom humor?" my mother would hiss, the veins in her neck bulging. "Why do you insist on embarrassing me?" She would continue pinching my upper arm until I would let out a yelp. If I didn't yell, she would get madder.

Now I would be sitting alone in a booth. Mark and Gary would keep their eyes down and away from me.

to be continued…


Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life/Down the Rabbit Hole". It cannot be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent

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