"What? Like...today?" I flicked a bit of eraser and sent it careening off into the corner of my dorm room. It landed somewhere in the shadows between my mini-fridge and my gym bag, briefly illuminated by the rays of light that illuminated my small cell before vanishing into the void.
"Yes, today!" My Mom's familiar chirp always shone through when she was trying to get her way. "I'd really like it if you came. It's in a few hours, actually. Is that alright?"
I pretended to thumb through my nonexistent calendar for a second before inevitably replying. "Uh-huh, yeah, that works for me."
"Really?" Mom's voice perked up even more. "Oh, thank you, honey! You know how I hate waste, and throwing these tickets in the trash would have been the spoiled cherry on my woefully melted sundae."
I chuckled, entertained by my Mother's imaginative comparison. Not wanting to be that spoiled cherry, I was happy to oblige her request.
My Dad's birthday was a week ago, and Mom had bought them two tickets to watch his favorite team play the Yankees; a game that my Father ensured me would be a real treat. He had recently broken his leg after he fell off a ladder while fixing the gutters and was forced to miss the game, but the tickets were non-refundable so Mom's attendance was set in stone. Mom promised Dad that we would record as much as we could, but he said that would basically be like watching it on an even smaller television than he usually did.
Though I wasn't much of a baseball fan, I recognized that Mom would have been somewhat crushed to abandon the chance at a fun afternoon out so I wanted to be the one to brighten her spirits.
It had been weeks since I had seen my Mother and, though we occasionally talked on the phone, I was looking forward to the chance to have fun like we used to when I was younger. My Mom was always the goofiest parent at the PTA meetings and though some of that chaotic energy had spread to me, I had recently been feeling the burden of my undergrad longing to drag me down into an endless abyss. A day out was as necessary for my mental health as it was for the cabin fever she contracted from spending all day tending to my Father.
No, he didn't need the endless help she provided, but Mom was always keen to play nurse when one of her boys was sick or injured. Her tendency to "over-mother" was something not lost on me or Dad, but we loved that about her.
Mom quit working a couple of years ago, thanks to the large pension provided by my Father who was nearly ten years her senior. Her early retirement meant that the two of them had been spending more and more time with each other. Though they were still very much in love with one another, her brand of independence can disappear after so many years with one person. Giving up work to live on my Father's -- admittedly enormous -- pension had given a blow to that independence, so any reason for an adventure was one she would gladly take.
While I knew she was enjoying the freedom to garden at her leisure, I was sure there was an even greater desire to get out in the world and connect with people. My Mother was a social butterfly and, being that I felt sequestered to my cocoon most days, I was thrilled to be getting out of the house for something other than a casual beer with my friends.
Mom continued to excitedly plan our outing while I looked through my laundry for anything salvageable. I didn't usually go out on laundry day, but I knew "I have no clean clothes" was not an excuse she would accept. My choices were sparse; a pair of menacingly thick sweatpants (a quick glance at the pavement melting in the heat outside told me to keep searching) or the baggy cargo shorts I had sworn to burn in a barrel next time I saw one alight. I seriously considered my options, and concluded that a fashion faux pas would suit me better than a fatal heatstroke. Cargo shorts, here I come.
"Does that work for you, Muffin?" The mention of my childhood nickname snapped me to attention.
"Does that...does that work for me? " I repeated, hoping to buy some time without revealing I was busy rifling through my dirty laundry for something salvageable. "Uh, yes! Yes, of course it does."
Without finding so much as a pair of semi-clean boxers in my dresser, I was forced to accept defeat. Going commando, here I come.
Mom giggled excitedly. "Oh thank you, baby, I'll see you in about forty minutes."
Mom said something about finally being able to wear a new "flowery sundress" she was excited about before she hung up. If I hadn't dropped the phone while trying to tighten a belt around my horrifically ill-fitting shorts I might've heard her, but I don't focus well in a rush.
Thirty-nine minutes later my phone buzzed with Mom's signature ringtone. I was going to the bathroom to avoid using the dreaded communal nightmare known as "the public urinal", so I had to rush to grab my phone before I missed the last ring. I would have missed it if not for my incredible reflexes. Well, perhaps not so much "incredible reflexes". A more accurate phrase is "my disastrously impulsive rush, resulting in a zipper jammed beyond repair".
"Shit!" I vocalized my frustration, gripping the zipper and yanking it upwards with all my might as I answered the phone.
With a sudden release of tension the small piece of metal snapped off in my hand. I stared at the black rectangle and clicked my tongue with disapproval before tossing it into the trash bin. My fly was left irreparably agape, so I knew I would have to keep that in mind if I wanted to avoid embarrassing myself in public. "Piece of junk, you are."
"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you." Mom's voice lost its typical chipper. "I'm a what?"
My stomach sank. "No! Oh my god, no. I'm sorry, Mom. I broke my damn zipper and-."
"Dang." She corrected me.
"Oh, right, I broke my damn dang and now my shorts-."
"Evan!" She hollered. "I know you think you're being funny, but that kind of language is simply unacceptable!"
Beat.
We both burst out in a fit of laughter, neither one of us winning the game of chicken she thrust us into.
"Almost had me, Mom." I lied. Half my mind was running the numbers on how likely I would be to keep my dick in my pants without a proper zipper, but nothing came to mind.
"Damn right, I did! Now, get your ass down in this car before you have to bring my remains home in a soup bowl." I could hear the A/C blasting in the background, so I knew she wasn't kidding about the heat.
Is it really that hot outside? I groaned to myself, stifling any hope of survival if I opted for sweatpants instead of my newly zipperless shorts. I begrudgingly tightened a belt around my waist and folded the front flap so it stayed closed; the single line of defence stopping my dick from flopping out the front.
Just relax, nobody is even gonna notice it. Who needs boxers, anyway? They're totally overrated, just sit still and don't shuffle around too much so you don't blah, blah, blah...
This kind of internal assurance ran laps through my head until I stepped outside into the familiar warmth of summertime air, at which point I was too distracted by Mom's outfit to keep any other thoughts in my head.
My Mother was adorned in a bright white sundress dotted with vibrant yellow flowers that stopped just above her knees. The hem around the bottom sported a subtle, delicate frill of lace that was nearly thin enough to overlook, with a thin, brown braided belt stretching across her tummy that held the whole thing together. Her arms were slightly pudgy, legs sturdy but not chubby, and her cream coloured skin reflected the light in such a way that the word "angelic" would be an understatement. When compared to most women her age -- hell, even half her age -- she was immaculately put together.
