We all have those times when a girlfriend just outlives her usefulness. You know what I mean? She sells her Camero and buys a minivan, so now you have to drive a ‘family’ style car and all your friends rag on you. Or she quits her night job at the bookstore so you’re right back to paying full price. Or she just gets, well, boring. Or you may need to break it off for some stupid reason, too. Add to this, a mother who likes to play cutesy little tricks on her ever-adoring son, and you get a triad of odd surprises.  

Such was I, my girlfriend, and my mother.

   As Brando said in Apocalypse Now, “The horror…the horror.”

So I’m walking through the check out line, minding my own business, and what should I see but the most stunning eyes staring back at me from behind the cash register. She really was a doll, absolutely beautiful. She smiled, I smiled. I stuck my tongue out and winked…just kidding. What I did was put on the ol’ Keck charm. I told her, “You know, the last time a woman looked at me like that, we both wound up in Bali for two weeks and needed medical attention.” She just smiled as she dragged my groceries across the laser. “You don’t believe me, do you?" Again, just a smile. “I can prove it, but you have to come to Bali with me.” Smile. “Ok, maybe Bali’s too far, how about…to my car.” Smile, but this with a slight giggle. “It’s right out side…it’s the silver Mercedes with the solid gold trim. I’ll let you play the radio and honk the horn…” Smile. “Okay, it’s the ten speed with the basket on the handlebars, but it can go really fast!” This time, a genuine laugh. “Alright, look. Just give me your phone number, and I’ll pretend this whole thing never happened.” She rolled those lovely eyes of hers, shook her head and sighed…but still smiled. “It’s fate, honey, let’s face it. Don’t fight it, it’s bigger than both of us. Just let it flow, you’ll be a better person for it, trust me.” She giggled again, looked at the total, then spoke for the first time.

   “Twenty-three sixty-two,” she said in a southern accented voice, dripping sweet honey from heaven.

   “What the hell kind of phone number is that?” I asked.

   She threw her head back in a full laughter. “It’s your total,” she said, shaking her head again…but still smiling.

   “Oh,” was all that came out of my mouth as I smiled with a frown and reached into my pocket. “Well, if you ever decide to leave this droll existence,” I said, half smirking half smiling, “And run away with me, I’ll start you out at forty-five thousand a year, with paid vacation, and full benefits.” As I gathered my two plastic bags of frozen pizza, apples, coffee, shaving cream, doughnuts, dishwashing liquid, and other masculine needs items, I noticed that she had taken a strip of blank receipt paper from the register and was writing something on it. By this time an elderly lady was laying stacks and stacks of canned goods on the conveyor belt, paying no attention to either of us. My quiet little cashier kitten handed me the paper and then started pulling the new customer’s things across the scanner. I looked at the paper. It had a number–seven digits–written on it, and under it was the name, Joan. I looked back up at her and saw her quickly sliding the older woman’s items over the glass square imbedded in the counter. Out of the corner of her almond shaped eyes, she glanced at me…and smiled.

 

(To be continued)

 

   Keck