Ch 3
What the hell was wrong with me?
I took a few deep breaths and tried to clear my head as I stumbled out of there. The hum of all the travelers didn't stop. The scanners rushed with noise. Agents ordered people around in a long, droning wave. I felt dizzy. And guilty.
I was looking at her. I couldn't stop.
I watched my own mother undress.
My incredibly beautiful mother.
I had to find her. I felt disgusting. My gut was flipping, my mind started screaming at me, about the kind of freaky piece of shit I was. I had to find her. I had to explain myself. A horrible thought crept into my mind that I had alienated mom by staring at her, right when she was at her most vulnerable. Vulnerable was the right word. All those layers of protective clothes were coming off. The color of her skin flashed into my mind, wiping it like it was a slate. It was a clear and beautiful alabaster, her soft and hairless skin was so unbearably inviting.
I shook it off just as mom came into view. She had both of our suitcases in front of her.
This time she looked calm. Her face wasn't red anymore. She seemed relaxed. Composed. Very collected and sure. She looked at me, all business, no embarrassment, no nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she didn't realized what was going on. Maybe she didn't notice the erection she caused. Maybe everything was fine, and this would be a hilarious memory to talk about during holidays.
"Your father," she started sternly, "he can't know. Neither of us are going to mention what we just went through." She took a deep, deep breath, her chest swelling as she closed her eyes and clearly dispelled even more of the strangeness of the situation. "He'd go absolutely insane," she said, finally. "It might give him a stroke. So we're going to keep this a secret for now. Alright?"
"Absolutely," I agreed. "You got it."
"Good." She handed me both of the suitcases and smiled. "You get to hold these, mister muscles." She winked, and I laughed awkwardly, embracing the return to normalcy.
Dad came out of the crowd behind her, holding a few bags of fast food. "Chow time," he said, surprisingly cheery. "You guys really took a while."
Once the terminals called for seating, we boarded our airplane and tried to relax in the infinite hospitality of economy class. Mom had a window seat. Dad sat in the middle. I had the aisle. Dad popped a few pills and stretched as much as one could within those tiny seats. "Piece of shit ripoff," he muttered, then continued sarcastically, "it's eight hours to paradise. Don't wake me unless we're falling out of the sky."
"Absolutely, honey," said mom. She seemed relieved that at least he was winding down. She tried to hold his hand, but he kept redirecting himself to his phone, a virtual golf game sucking the entirety of his attention. Eventually mom gave up, rolling her eyes.
A cabin host came up to us as we got comfortable. "Good morning," said some bright red lipstick lips. Dad opened one eye and looked her up and down, noticing the girl's thin legs, which he seemed to appreciate very much. Mom noticed and tried not to react while dad miraculously discovered his ability to pleasantly smile. The air hostess continued, "It looks like we have an opening in economy plus, so if one of you," she said, looking at me, "wants to go up there, we can consider it a free upgrade. And then," she hinted, looking at mom and dad, "a couple of you can get some quality time." She gave a plastic smile - the best that our airline could give in customer service.
Mom tapped dad's shoulder. "Honey, isn't that great? Brett can get some room, and we can have some time togeth-"
"That sounds great! I'd love to head up there," dad said hurriedly as he got up, grinning at the air hostess. He made his way out of his seat without even waiting, punching me in the shoulder as he passed over me. Dad scooted past the airline hostess, making sure to obviously look down at her body. I saw him wink at her. I'm certain mom did too. He quickly disappeared down the rows of seats toward the front of the plane.
Mom, hurt, tried raising her voice after him, "You don't want to spend some time with-" Her words trailed off. He was long, long gone.
The air hostess, stunned, still standing by, gave a quick look of pity to my mom, who returned with a withering scowl. The air hostess gave a final nod with her practiced smile and wished us both a great flight, before walking after my dad who was by now, making an ass of himself elsewhere.
Mom stared at the back of the chair in front of her and tried drilling through it with a look of pure frustration and hurt.
"Hey," I offered, "I'm sure he's just..." I hesitated. I wanted to say something like he was just impatient, or he was just really tired, but the way mom stared ahead told me everything.
She took a deep breath. Her shoulders dropped. Her stare went down. The anger disappeared in her. All that was left was a tired, embarrassed look. Her lips looked so soft and pale.
"Maybe it's not him," she said, finally. "Maybe I'm not enough, or something." She sat up straight and pulled out a magazine. The light from her window came down and across her chest, across her pale skin. It refracted and gave our seats a gorgeous, almost ethereal glow. I tried to say something until I realized that a small tear formed in the corner of her eyes as she tried to read.
"Oh, mom," I lifted the arm rest and moved a little closer, into the seat next to her. "Come on, mom." I put my arms around her. I assessed it as best as a freshman with one psychology class under his belt could. "Dad just doesn't know what he's missing. He can't help it. People get stuck, mentally. That's how it is."
"He doesn't know? That's how it is?" Mom gave a small laugh, wiping one of her eyes. There were no more tears. "This vacation's going to be..." She couldn't finish that sentence. "Well, at least there's you." Mom sighed. "I just wish your dad cared enough about all of this. Maybe if I looked better, he'd be more excited about staying on a fucking beach together. If I were more beautiful," she suppressed a sob, choked it back, "then we wouldn't have these problems. Damnit, I bought new swimsuits for this!"
"But you are beautiful," I said without thinking.
She turned and looked at me. Her dark eyes seemed deep, like wells. The whites of her eyes were pink from her suppressed crying. Under her eyes, there was a color like dusk. The sun reflected off of her shoulder now, illuminating her from behind, putting a halo around her skin and under her dark brown hair. It was incredible.
I repeated myself, meaning it more than I did before, "You are so, so beautiful."
Mom stared at me more intently. Our eyes were glued to each other. The light from the window behind her shimmered. I felt my heart opening, thudding out of my chest as I waited for her to reply. I even felt myself shaking. It felt like talking to a girl one on one for the first time.
Then I felt like she'd laugh at me, tell me I was ridiculous, maybe push me away, say I was being a little too kind. But the honest truth was, I didn't regret saying it. I told her the truth. Her soft cheeks were a light pink. I could almost feel them. She nodded at last, sitting back.
"I think I believe you."
With that, she seemed to relax. "Alright, go back to your seat," mom pushed at my arm. "Let's enjoy all this room your father gave us."
The plane took off. We got our peanuts and our sodas and made some small talk. I tried going through the magazines they had in the seats but got tired of looking at the same overpriced shit they advertised the last time I flew. I looked over every once in a while. Mom looked at her phone, glued to her social media. She scrolled through other people's pictures - of their homes, their families, their happy, smiling lives. Handsome husbands holding their beautiful wives. She pondered over the pictures where the husbands seemed proud, satisfied, where the wives looked thin and tan and blonde. Her lips pushed out in a frown as she saw them. Her brow furrowed with worry.
The roar of the airplane seemed to cover everything, except for the strange feeling that I was watching somebody in mourning.
A couple hours went by. By now we were getting close to the Gulf of Mexico, vast swathes of browns and blues below melted into the heavy drone of the airplane engines. I felt a little tap on my arm. Mom was looking at me, her eyes a little pink. "I'm exhausted, baby," she whispered. I wasn't surprised.
"Well, yeah. You've been up since, what, four?"
"Yeah. I had to pack everything. Your father..." she started, "well, let's just say the man doesn't give a shit about preparing. For anything." My mother's tone was bitter.
"You had to do everything again, huh?" I tried to laugh and to make it light, but the look on her face told me I should stop trying. I gave up and looked around in vain for a pillow. "I don't have anything for you to sleep on. Maybe I could get out my suitcase, and see if I can-"
"Oh, just let me put my head on your lap," she yawned and pulled the window shutter closed. The armrests were already out of the way. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over, her soft dark hair draping over the upholstered seats. Her soft cheek pressed against my leg. Her gentle hands went over my thigh, and soon, I could hear her soft breathing, barely audible over the sound of the plane engines. I had my jacket rolled up next to me, so I draped it over her, covering her shoulders. She gave a little moan of thanks, snuggling closer to me. Her hands softly pressed into my leg. I moved a hand over to hers and felt it. Her skin was smooth. It was strange - you'd think with all the cleaning and work at home she's put up with that her hands would be a little tougher. But instead, the skin was smooth, soft. Lotioned.
I took a deep breath through my nose and could almost smell... a perfume. A clean scent, of shampoo, conditioner, of perfectly laundered everything. My mother softly snored on my lap. I drank in the scent of her and moved a hand to her shoulder. Her face was lightly covered by her hair. I took a finger and gently moved it to the side, revealing her face, her white cheeks, her defined cheekbones, a pleasantly curved jawline. Natural, full lips.
Mom was gorgeous. The kind of woman that must have been a bombshell in the 90's. Even now, she had a queen-like beauty. Her face was relaxed as she fell deeper and deeper into sleep.
Long minutes went by. I pulled out my phone and spent some time on forums, read a few comics, sent a few dumb jokes to my friends. Mom's quiet breathing settled into the rhythm of deep, deep sleep.
