As told by Janet, 43, brunette divorcee, 5'7, 145:
John's friends were always around, even as kids. We had the biggest yard, and then got a pool when Bob, my ex, got lucky on a horse. He's gone five years now, so it's just John and I.
Being musical, my son was always in makeshift bands, some actually being decent. We had a two-car garage, so he begged and pleaded, and the cars went outside and a musical menagerie developed.
By the time he was 18, John was adept at piano, guitar, and tuba from his days in the marching band. Don't laugh, he got offered a free ride in college, but chose not to take it.
Sometimes they practiced, sometimes it was just a jam session. I play piano and organ, so on occasion, I sat in, too. Apparently I was considered a cool mom, whatever that entailed.
Along the way, they picked up Tommy. They were all eighteen, he was 20. When I first saw him, I thought he was homeless, with a scraggly beard, mussed brown hair, and deep blue eyes. John had warned me not to judge him too quickly, and I listened as they tried a few old standards with Tommy singing lead.
The kid was amazing, the depth and range of his voice, solid, resonant. He didn't embellish the way young people do today, letting the music and lyrics take him to another level. It wasn't about him, it was about the song and the overall performance.
They took a break and I came in to meet him. John introduced us, and Tommy's eyes flash when he first saw me. He had a shy smile, and shook my hand politely. He said, "Nice to meet you, Mrs Butler." No one calls me that.
"Oh, please, call me Janet, everybody does." John nodded in agreement and Tommy smiled again. "Thank you, Janet."
"Mom, do you mind if Tommy crashes in the basement? His place is getting fixed."
Tommy seemed annoyed. "No, I told you John, it's okay!"
John shrugged. "He's been showering at the Y and sleeping in movie theatres and his car, Ma."
What could I say? "Of course he can stay, the pull-out needs sheets, you know where they are, and towels for the bathroom down there." I turned to Tommy. "I won't force you, but you're more than welcome. If you're anything like John, you eat like a bird, anyway!"
"T eats like a horse, Ma, he ate that whole pie at Vito's remember?"
"Did not!"
"Well, you two fight it out. Nice to meet you, Tommy. Either way, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."
Two hours later, they called it a night, and I heard the cars leaving, except the old black Jeep. That was Tommy's, I surmised.
They came in the kitchen, while I was enjoying my third martini, Tommy carrying a back pack, probably with his clothes.
"Do you guys want something to eat?" I asked.
"I just want to crash, but I bet he can eat, right, T? I'll get his sheets and stuff."
"I already made the bed for him. I got bored just sitting here."
"You should have come out and jammed! T, you gotta hear Mom on the organ, man!"
Tommy's eyes widened as if he saw me in a different light. I said, "Don't flatter me, Mister. Tom, we have plenty of cold cuts. I'll take some bread out for you."
John showed T where to leave his bag and said goodnight. T sat at the counter, peeling cold cuts off the pile, seemingly afraid to take too much. I told him to pile it on, like a nice deli sandwich, and he did.
He went at it like he hadn't eaten in a month. I poured soda for him and another martini for me. As the drinks took affect, my fascination with T grew. He seemed to have a defense mechanism, as if some time in his past, he'd been hurt, badly. I was so curious about him and his family and how he came to be sleeping in movies and his car at such a young age. But I felt that was prying, and wanted him to feel relaxed in my presence, not intimidated.
"I think you have a great voice, T. It seems so pure and natural."
He blushed. "Thanks, Mrs... Janet. I just do it the way I think the writer wants it done."
"Well, it works!"
He smiled again. "I really appreciate the bed and food. I got a place lined up, and I'll be out of your way, as soon as I can."
I patted his hand, and felt a spark! He did, too! "Ooh, did you feel that?" I touched it again, and said, "That's better! I was gonna say you're not in the way. You can even come and go as you please. There's a side entrance. One rule, though. No drugs or parties, or women. Same goes for John. I don't want neighbors complaining about the comings and goings, and the way young girls are now, you may think they're of age, and they turn out to be 15!"
He was staring at our hands until the end, then those blue eyes peered at me. "Oh, I'm the other way, you don't have to worry about that."
