Driving Doctor Mayhem

[31] Thanks, Ma, Really

"Hello, Banksy!"

"Oh!" I nearly jumped out of my skin, slamming my back into our front door. "Hi, Ma."

"What's with you?" she laughed, glancing up from where she was chopping celery in the open kitchen. "You seem pale."

I discreetly looked up at the ceiling to avoid making direct eye contact and said, "I was just thinking about something." I was fairly good at lying, but I knew that my mother could spot a white fib from a mile away, and I wasn't looking to take any chances. I needed to change the subject.

"Hey Ma, you never told me what happened with Mrs. Goldfaarb."

"Nothing happened," she answered boredly. "She was gone when I came back from the grocery store."

"Right," I nodded, creeping away from her and towards my bedroom. "Good talk. Look, I'm going to hit the hay; I'm super sleepy. Don't bother me."

"Hey, wait a second!" she called after me.

"Yes?"

"It's about your father. I sent him a letter."

I whipped around. If anything was going to take my mind off Doc's possible nervous breakdown, that was it. "Come again?"

"I just thought it would be nice if you two were in touch before you left for college. Or your gap year, rather, I didn't know if you were going to get into Northwestern when I sent it. It still works, I mean."

I did not consider myself an irrational person at the time. I considered myself a perfectly rational person, even as my mind was suddenly swimming with curse words that I couldn't bring myself to say in front of my mother.

I continued to consider myself a rational person as I squeezed my eyes shut and squealed inside my mouth like a little kid.

"Did he ever send anything back?" I asked once I was done, you know, squealing.

"Yes," she murmured, smiling uneasily. "I wasn't going to say anything about it until he replied. It came today; I haven't even opened it yet." She held a perfectly white envelope out to me. "Here."

I snatched it from her. "Thanks, Ma." I meant for it to sound sincere, because I did appreciate the part that she'd done, but it came out sounding snarky, so I added a, "Really."

"Are you going to open it?"

"Nope."

Once I got in my room, I ripped it in two and tossed it out the window, watching the remnants flutter to the ground. It seemed like it would feel deeply symbolic, and therefore, satisfying. I mostly just felt guilty for littering, instead.