An Ether of Fire

I left my mother alone for most of the day yesterday.  I was going to meet the boys for a five o'clock outdoor happy hour, so I stuck around with mom until noon, taking her to the drugstore to pick up a prescription and getting her some groceries.  I prepped the things she would eat for dinner.  And at noon, I left the house.  

I won't go into the fiasco at the drugstore in much detail.  I'll just say my mother has gotten so used to me doing everything for her, she can't or doesn't want to do the normal things that must be done in life.  I let her make the transaction with the druggist.  My mother can't hear and so it began poorly.  When it came time for my mother to pay, there were questions on the credit card reader to answer.  Why a drugstore would require so much from the elderly picking up prescriptions is beyond me, and they are making their own trouble.  My mother was beside herself.  

"I can't read this.  What does it say. . . what?"

The counter woman, who wasn't pleasant from the get-go, was very put out.  I, however, remained a non-participant.  I could have stepped in and done it all, but I wanted to see how my mother was faring.  

Fifteen minutes later, the transaction was mercifully over.  Back in the car, my mother said, "Everything is hard."

"I see that, and it makes me wonder.  What are you going to do?"

"I'll be fine once I can use two hands again."

Uh-huh.  

Back at the house, I prepared for the day, packing up the things I would need in transition, getting dressed for the gym.  When I walked to the car, my mother's 91 year old neighbor was there.  She was yelling something for a second or third time trying to make my mother hear.  I asked my mother if there was anything I needed to do before I left.  

With trepidation, I backed the car out of the driveway not to return until well after dark.  

I don't think I've given you any numbers on my weight loss.  That is on purpose.  I was at a hideous weight.  I've lost a lot of lbs, and that number is not complimentary, either.  All I'll say is that I am now four pounds from my goal.  I can hit that I think, by the end of the month.  In the effort to become young again, I've been jogging on the treadmill at the gym, only a little bit at a time.  In between, I walk.  My knee won't take a solid, long run, so I am baby stepping it.  But it is good.  I keep my heart rate up in the fat burning area, and I sweat like a drunken pig.  After two mile on the treadmill, I get on the bike for 20 minutes.  Random hills.  Legs a pumping.  After that, I spend twenty or so minutes on a good, long stretching and breathing routine.  This is the advantage of not working, although, somehow, I did all this, and more, when I was working, too.  Everything they say about retirement is true.  You can't believe what you once could do in a single day.  

And so, after the gym, I went home and took a long Epsom salts soak and a shower.  Then I threw the towels into the wash and went to the cafe for a green tea.  It was uneventful.  When I came home, I put the towels in the dryer.  I still had an hour before meeting the boys, so I decided to light a cheroot and have a sip of beer on the deck.  I haven't been able to do this for five weeks now.  The day was glorious.  

Until I looked in the sink.  There was detritus covering the enamel.  WTF was that?  I turned on the water to wash it away, and the drain backed up.  Uh-oh.  I ran the water with the disposal going and it drained.  No. . . it came up into the sink drain next to it.  Holy shit!  I kept working at getting the water to drain, but it wasn't working.  Of course I thought right away that the maids had done something.  I hadn't been living here for five weeks, hadn't, in memory, even run water in the sink.  Then I noticed something.  There was water on the floor under the washing machine.  Shit, piss, fuck.  I went outside to look at the drain thing where you can feed a snake into the pipes.  Things got worse.  The wood was wet and rotten.  Something big was wrong.  My heart sunk.  There was nothing for me to do.  I would have to call a plumber and start there.  This, I was afraid, was going to be huge.  

So I lit the cheroot and sat out and calmed myself.  Whatever, I said.  Shit happens.  You'll just have to get it all fixed.  Expensive pain in the ass, but there is nothing else to be done.  

I tried to put it out of mind, or at least on the back burner.  There was nothing to be done at 4:30 in the afternoon.  But holy smokes. . . what did I do?  My life. . . what happened?  I felt disembodied, floating in an ether of fire.  Money is flowing in the wrong direction, but now instead of a trickle, it was a flood.  I would be broke soon enough.  I needed another income.  

Etc.  

I met the boys at the beer garden.  They were sitting at an outdoor picnic table.  I hate sitting on a bench.  I need back support.  But there was nothing to do.  I ordered one of the lighter beers and told them of my plumbing woes.  I got the usual response one gets to such tales of woe.  They'd rather talk shit, not dread.  There was a young waitress to chat up.  I put my elbows on the table for support and listened to the chatter.  

"Run away," I told the waitress when they started grilling her.  "I'm not kidding.  Run away.  Lie.  Don't tell these guys anything.  Make shit up.  Trust me."

Rather, they got it all out of her.  College student.  Played water polo.  Had grown up here and went to high school nearby.  I could only shake my head.  But she seemed o.k. with it.  She smiled and laughed and played the game.  

When she left, I said, "You know she likes girls, right?"

"Sure," they said.  "She played water polo.  She has lesbian piercings.  And the tats."

It was true.  O.K.  

I went inside to order food.  I didn't want the pub food they served outside, so I got some shrimp tacos.  When I came back, they were all eating ribs and wings and sharing the largest pretzel I'd ever seen.  More drinks.  I was still nursing my beer.  As we finished eating, the waitress came to clear the table and take more orders.  What the hell, I thought.  I'd have a scotch.  

Jesus Christ. . . it was good.  It was really good.  While they all drank their foo-foo margs and old fashioneds, I inhaled the scotch.  

Some of the billionaires boys club showed up at another table and Tennessee went over to join them.  He'd already picked up my drink tab, and everyone else had settled up.  

"Shall we go across the street?"  It was going on eight.  The boys were ready to light it up.  

"I've got to get back to my mother," I said.  The boys just nodded.  The two groups were now merging and it was sure to be an action packed night at the Irish pub.  Terrible and wondrous things always happened with this group.  I was only half sad to miss out.  

Before I got back to my mother's the phone blew up.  It was Tennessee.  The waitress was asking about me, he said.  

"Bullshit."

There were photos.  In a minute, the phone rang.  Tennessee put her on the phone.  

"Why aren't you here?"

Then, Tennessee.  "She wants you to take pictures of her.  I'm serious.  She said she needs some professional photos."

Smoke and mirrors, but then I got a text.  It was her phone number.  

"She's serious," T texted.  

Yea, yea, yea.  O.K.  That was nice.  But I was going back to my mother.  I had a big problem at my house.  I wasn't able to enjoy the moment.  

"Hey, mom.  Did you eat?"

We ran through the day.  I told her about my plumbing problem.  It's always something, she said.  Yes, I said, it certainly is.  

We watched tv. and I drank jasmine tea.  I hadn't done badly--one light beer, one scotch, and some shrimp tacos.  That was fine.  I wanted to crawl into a bottle of whiskey and forget about things, but I wouldn't.  

It was time for bed.  I wondered if I would be able to sleep.  Would I think about the plumbing or would I flatter myself and wonder about the girl?  I lay down and tried to think of nothing.  I listened to my breath.  And there I was. . . floating in an ether of fire.