Hi folks. This one is a bit different, but then maybe again it isn't. The reason why I think it's different is because I didn't make this one up. I also didn't read about this one on the net. This is a mostly true story. AlleyKat and I went to our first car show of the year, recently and an acquaintance of mine sat down and told me the whole story while people passed by and looked at our cars. He and his wife and daughter told me I could write the story. I did take a literary license and compress the evnts so they happened over a shorter time frame and I also took out a lot of drama involving his first wife coming back to haunt him, but it's absolutely true except for that. I should probably tell you though that his daughter's 04 GT now has similar rims and painted calipers to match her dad's 09 GT's. Thanks to Mikothebaby for her editing wizardry as usual and to AlleyKat for not insisting on new rims and calipers for her car after hearing this.
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"Mom, please slow down," I told her over the phone. With the way that she was crying and whining, I couldn't make out a word she was saying. "Mom, just put Don on the phone, let him explain it to me."
"He isn't here," she blubbered. "I don't know where he is. He should at least have told me if he was going out after work."
"Mom, I'll be right over," I said. "Don't do anything stupid until I get there."
I drove right over to the house I'd grown up in and had only been out of for the past year or so. Traffic was light and pulling into the driveway, I noticed two things right away. One was that this place, even more than my apartment, felt like home. The second was that my mom, in full freak out mode, was actually correct. Don wasn't home.
Before dealing with my mom I gave him a call. He answered right away. That told me something. Don should have been Mom's first call. If he wasn't answering her calls, that told me that there was something going on between them.
"Hey, D," I said cheerfully. My cheer wasn't an affectation. I loved talking to that man. The only thing fake about the call was what I called him. I didn't call him D for Donald. It was my own little secret. I called him D for what I wanted him to be. I called him D for the way I'd thought about him for most of my twenty two years. I called him D for what all of my friends thought he was.
"Hi Honey," he said. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said. "I'm like you. I'm always calm. It's mom who's freaking out. Maybe you should drop what you're doing and come home to calm her down."
"I can't do that Honey," he said. It left me in shock. Don had never failed to drop anything for either me or my mom, ever."
"I think that maybe her friend from last night at the restaurant is the person you should probably call. Can I call you back later, or just see you tomorrow at work?"
"Yep, I'll be home as soon as I'm done calming mom down. I'll call you when I get in. We need to talk more about next week anyway. There's something that I need to tell you," I said.
"Uhm..." he paused and it scared the living shit out of me. I thought for just a second that maybe Don had figured out the game I'd been playing with him for all of these years.
"Okay, call me when you get in. But call my cell phone, okay?" he said.
"Of course," I said smiling. "We have to keep this between us for at least another week. We don't want Mom to know."
"Uh, yeah," he said. His entire tone bothered me. And there was something else. There was something about his tone that scared me. It was as if Don was upset. I'd never known that to happen before. The man was unflappable. Even when we'd had a fire in the middle of the night, he'd been eerily calm. While mom and I were running around like chickens with our heads cut off, he'd been as calm and organized as if it happened every day.
He'd assessed the situation and gotten us both out of the house and made several trips back in carrying all of their financial documents and most of my important belongings while dragging the garden hose into the house and almost putting the fire out himself before the fire department got there.
We lived in a hotel for three weeks while the house was fixed. I got a whole new wardrobe, but it wasn't that big a deal. Don had saved my laptop, and my favorite outfit and even my favorite games and teddy bear. He'd also rescued my mom's most cherished items. Unfortunately, there hadn't been time to save any of his own belongings.
When I cried after thinking about it, he'd laughed and told me that my mom and I were his favorite things in the house. I vowed to be just like him.
My mom on the other hand...If you look up Drama Queen in the dictionary, they have her picture next to the definition. I was sure that whatever she was going off about was probably not very serious.
I walked into the house and saw that it was a mess. My mom was laid out on the sofa like a dying swan. There were boxes of tissues all around her and she was sobbing uncontrollably.
"What's wrong Mom?" I asked.
"At work today, I found out that all of my years of faithful service to that damned company mean nothing," she whimpered.
I groaned as I realized that this was just another one of her teacup tempests and I'd been sucked in. "Okay Mom, start from the beginning," I said. I had no idea how my life was about to be uprooted.
"About three weeks ago," she tearfully began. "The company hired a trio of new account execs. They're all young and just out of college. They're selling a lot of products and breathing new life into the company. The old man loves them. No one else does though, they're driven and arrogant." She blew her nose loudly and then continued.
"Anyway, for the past week or so, one of them has been treating me really nicely. He's been complimenting me and telling me how beautiful and sexy I am and..." She stopped and had to look at me because I was rolling on the floor laughing my ass off.
"What's so God damned funny?" she asked.
"Mom you're a forty two year old woman," I laughed.
"I'm the same age as Jennifer Aniston," she said.
"Yeah but Jennifer Aniston looks like she's thirty. You look like you're forty two on a good day," I said.
"Don always tells me that I'm beautiful too," she quipped. That was her last word on defense. She knew that if she said the magical word, "Don", I'd have to accept her logic, no matter how flawed it was.
"Yeah, but there's a reason for that," I said.
"What?" she asked.