Fluke (23 page)

“Rough night?” Jennifer asked.
 
I thought about how she had started wearing sweats to work every day, and had talked profusely about her love for track.
 
It made me wonder why a person so into running would choose a school with no track team.
 
Sometimes I didn’t understand anything.

“You could say that, yeah.”
 
I rubbed my tongue along the roof of my mouth and felt what seemed to be a slimy, bitter film lining it.

“Sounds like it.
 
I noticed the store wasn’t opened while I was out jogging and stopped to check it out.”

“Oh.” My mouth tasted like I had been licking mustard out of a dirty ashtray all night.

“Yeah.
 
I can cover for you, if you need me to.” She was a pretty nice girl, with two loves in life: running the track and running the college bookstore.

“Thank you, Jen.
 
I can’t tell you how much this means to me.
 
I just...can’t even move right now.
 
I owe you.”

“Yep, yep, yep…and we’re closed next week for Thanksgiving…did you remember that?” she chided me.
 
Why was I always the unreliable one?

“Well, no.
 
The week after that…I promise…I’ll hook you up.” I glanced at Sara, who was now snoring lightly.
 
“Promise.”

“Okay, Fluke.
 
I won’t forget this one.
 
Have fun on your day off.”

“Thanks, Jen.
 
Really.”

“Bye,” she said.
 
I heard the quiet beeping of the cash register as she tapped the buttons.
 
She was ringing someone up.

“Bye.”
 
I shut the phone off and set it aside.
 
The glowing red numbers on the digital alarm clock read 8:08 a.m.
 
“Fuck classes,” I said, under my putrid breath, and promptly went back to sleep.

“
Fuhhhck
,” I groaned, looking at the clock again…8:45 a.m. The phone shrilled through the house.
 
Sara still snored, far removed from the noisy waking world around her.
 
“Hello?”

“Good morning, Adam!”
 
It was my mom, famous for her calls at inappropriate times. She was well aware that I avoided rising before nine a.m. at the earliest, yet she consistently called me at the crack of dawn.

“Hi, mom.” Little fingers of guilt slowly started grabbing at my mind, reminding me that I hadn’t actually spoken to mom since I had met Sara.

“I got your message saying you moved, but you didn’t leave a number, and you aren’t listed in information! I finally found your friend Sean’s phone number, and called him.” I could hear in her voice that it wasn’t the only information Sean imparted upon her; I hadn’t told her about Sara.
 
Sean wasn’t the gossipy type, but he must have let something slip.
 
My mom was also a predator when it came to needling information out of her unsuspecting prey, which was Sean in this case.

“Oh, sorry, mom.
 
I thought I left the number on the answering machine.
 
Are you sure I didn’t?”

My old-school mother, who refused to accept the fact that I had a cell phone. She only called the house phone, and she only looked numbers up in the phone book. She had seen news stories about cell phones supposedly leading to brain cancer and didn’t want to risk contributing to someone’s cancer. She’d never be able to live with herself, she had said.

“
Yeeesss
, Adam.
 
I’m sure,” she said, and I heard it again.
 
She sounded a little too gleeful, and I could just imagine her with visions of grandchildren dancing through her head while she sat at the dining room table with her reading glasses on, probably making a grocery list.
 
Little did she know.
 
“How are you doing these days? You haven’t given your poor old mom a call in a while.
 
What’s new?”

“Oh…I don’t know.” I stalled, trying to clear my head.
 
The pain was back now.
 
Piercing the middle of my forehead, slicing it down the middle like a ripe melon.
 
“I’m giving college another shot…the old college try?” I told her, dodging, avoiding, and throwing in a weak attempt at humor.

“Well, that’s good, honey.
 
You know what your dad and I say about the importance of an education.
 
You are so smart, and I hate to see you waste it on that Paul’s Pizza Place.
 
You can do anything, you know.”

“I know, mom.” I didn’t bother to correct her on the name of my former employer; it seemed pointless.

“But, that isn’t all, is it? Sean told me you moved in with someone.”
 
She paused, trying to lead me into it, but I didn’t say anything.
 
“A girl,” she added.

Damn
.
Too early for this.

“Um, that’s true, mom.”

“Okay…Are we ever going to get to meet…” she trailed off, once again waiting for me to hand over the information.
 
I don’t think I would have minded, but Mom’s little games were no fun in the state I was in.

“Sara…Sara
DuBeau
,” I finished for her, quietly, looking again at Sara who continued to snore.

“Sara what?”

“
DuBeau
, mom.”

“Sara
DuBeau
,” she said, and I could tell she was contemplating the ethnicity of the name, trying to figure out what might be wrong with her based on that knowledge.

My mom was from an old school of thought, the fifties and sixties school that generated many of the needless stereotypes that flew around the world.
 
She was harmless enough with her stereotypes, but they infuriated me often.
 
She once told me that the quality of service at the local smorgasbord restaurant had decreased significantly since “the
blacks
took over.” I was mortified when she told me this, nearly to the point of sitting mom down and having a talk with her, but the old adage about not teaching an old dog new tricks rang more than true with my old-school mother.

“That’s pretty.
 
Is that a French name? And, when did you meet Sara
DuBeau
?” she asked me.

“Yes, it’s French, and I met her about three months ago.”

“Well, that’s awfully quick, isn’t it Adam?”
 
The Catholic schoolgirl in her made a brief appearance.
 
I was living in sin.

“I don’t know, I guess so.
 
But, mom…” I stopped, realizing what I was about to say.

“But, what, Adam?” she asked me.
 

I faltered for a moment, but she already knew what I was going to say.
 
My mom had an instinct for things like this, these matters of the heart.
 
“I love her, mom.”

“
Ahhh
.
 
I see.
 
So when do we get to meet her?”

“Soon, mom.
 
I meant to tell you sooner.
 
Before.
 
I just have had a lot going on.”

“Okay.”

“And…I have other things I want to talk to you about, too.” I told her.
 
That’s when it came upon me, a fiery gurgling in my stomach and the immediate necessity of the restroom.
 
The famous Fluke bowels.
 
“Look, mom, I have to go…but, I’ll call you back sometime this week, okay?”

“Okay, Adam.
 
Your dad wants me to tell you he says hello.
 
We love you, honey.”

“I love you, too, mom.
 
Bye.”

“Bye, dear
,
” She said, and hung up.

I managed to get out of the bed without disturbing Sara, and I sprinted to the bathroom.
 
I hadn’t had one of my infamous restroom
episodes in my new home, fortunately…at least not while Sara was home.
 
But, this time it wasn’t going to wait.
 
I locked the door, and set the phone, which I had carried into the bathroom with me in my panicked rush, down on the basin.
 
I scrambled to the shower and turned it on, pleased with the drowning-out sound that the blast of water created.
 
I was beginning to sweat as I hastily lifted the lid to the commode and had what can only be decently described as an
explosion
.
 
It was awful.
 
I sat, practically quivering in the aftermath, relieved.
 
One second longer and God only knows what—

“Adam?” Sara’s knocking at the door jarred me.
 
She had scared the shit out of me, only, not really.

“Yeah!” I said to her, shouting slightly since the shower was going.

“Why is the door locked?
 
Are you showering?”

“Uh, not exactly.” I was busted and embarrassed.

“Not exactly, huh?” I could hear her laughing on the other side of the door.
 
It was nice to hear her in a good mood, even if I was the source of the humor.
 
“Could you elaborate?” she asked.

“Well…” I started and didn’t finish.

“You’re going stinky, aren’t you?” she said, laughing again, louder.
 
I had dated someone else who used to say something similar to that, using a cutesy anecdote for the horror of the bowels, and it drove me nuts…with her.
 
When Sara said it, I didn’t mind so much.
 
And, actually, I thought it was cute…in a gross, pooping-as-a-topic-of-conversation kind of way.

“Yes, Sara, I am going
stinky
,” I replied, only vaguely humiliated.

“Okay, Adam.
 
You keep going stinky.
 
I’m going to call my doctor and see if he has time to see me today…to get a blood test done.
 
You know.”

“Okay.”
 
Left alone for the first time this morning, I finished my business.
 
Two flushes an
d
half a can of potpourri spice air freshener later, and I decided to go ahead and shower.
 
I cautiously unlocked the door and hopped into the already running water and quickly began to soap myself up.

“Adam?” I heard the knock at the door and Sara’s voice, cautiously calling from outside the restroom without coming in.

“You might not want to come in here yet,” I hollered to her, poking my head out of the shower.

“Okay.
 
Just got off the phone.
 
I’m going over to the doc’s, okay?
 
He said he’s free if I can come over soon.
 
I should be back in about an hour.”

“
Okey-dokey
. Good luck.”

“I LOVE YOU!” she hollered.

“I LOVE YOU, TOO!” I hollered back.
 
I thought to myself about how great her mood seemed after the demons we dredged up last night, and then my thoughts switched to my mother.
 
I wondered if maybe she could provide me with any answers about my real parents who had been, thus far, hidden from me.
 
I cut the water off and grabbed the towel off the bar.
 
The towel was huge and wonderfully soft.
 
I hadn’t known that drying off after a shower could be such a pleasure.
 
Sara-towel
s.
 
I hung it up and went to get changed.

While I was putting on my jeans I thought about how I had the entire next week off.
 
Sara and I could drive to Texas to investigate everything if she were up to it.
 
Maybe I would suggest it when she came home.

Flukey
was on the floor by my feet staring up at me. “What do you think,
Flukey
? A little trip to try and set some shit straight?”