Here's To You, Ma
May. 8th, 2011 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolTom Barrow pulled the Subaru into the Yellow Lot at the Convention Center and parked it neatly, backing up twice to even it between the striped lines on the asphalt. He put his parking ticket on the windshield, set up the reflective sun visor in the back window, and locked up the car. He was noting the closest parking lot sign (E-4) on his phone when a shadow fell across him.
"Tom?" said a voice. Tom squinted into the sun and made out a tall, lean man in a sport coat. The man looked somewhat familiar to him; the sunglasses weren't anything he had seen before, and the graying hair didn't match the profile of anybody he remembered, but the shape of the face, and the voice… Tom smiled.
"Phil Bester!" he said, putting out his hand. Phil shook it warmly. "We've got to stop meeting like this!" Phil laughed.
"Wow, Tom; you haven't changed in the last few years," he said. "You look good! Too good, really; you make the rest of us forty-two year olds look like aging bastards."
"Oh, stop," said Tom. "You don't look so old. I'm sorry I missed you at Mother's Day the last couple of years." The two began walking across the parking lot towards the Convention Center.
"Yeah, well, it's getting to be a bigger and bigger group," said Phil. "Remember in ninety-two when we had the Elks Lodge? That was when everybody still knew everybody. Things were more personal. Nowadays it's like we're all strangers!"
"The clan's growing, that's for sure." Tom stopped to read the marquee sign above the Convention Center. It said: HERE'S TO YOU, MA. He clapped Phil on the shoulder.
"Well, brother," he said, "let's join our siblings and wish Ma a happy Mother's Day."
The east doors were propped open; Tom and Phil were glad to get out of the heat. In the gloom of the Convention Center concession corridor, Phil had to remove his sunglasses. Several of the twelve year olds were detailed to hand out programs. A row of card tables were set up down the hall with plastic tablecloths and a big sign that read 'BADGES'. Tom steered Phil in that direction. Several ladies were sitting on folding chairs with binders in front of them; Tom approached a pretty woman wearing a sweater set and Swarovski crystal earrings. She smiled and looked up. Her adhesive nametag read ALICE WINTERS – 29.
"Hi, Alice," said Tom. "I'm Tom Barrow and I'm forty-two."
Alice flipped through her binder. "Barrow, Barrow," she said, frowning. "I'm not seeing you. Was that the name that appeared on your birth certificate?"
"Of course it was." Tom chuckled nervously. "I mean, come on. I'm definitely in there. I've been coming to these like clockwork every year." Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man look his direction. The man was leaning against the wall, very relaxed, very casual. But names not appearing in the binder was neither relaxing nor casual.
"Barrow with a B?" said Tom. "Forty-two?"
Alice slapped her own forehead. "I heard *thirty* two!" she exclaimed. "I am so sorry." She flipped towards the back of the binder and smiled.
"There you are," she said. Tom relaxed. The man leaning against the wall did as well. Alice handed a nametag to Tom as well as two drink coupons, and he rejoined Phil who had gotten his tag further down the tables.
"A little drama there to get your blood moving," muttered Phil.
"Shut up," said Tom.
The program told them that forty-two year olds were in Mezzanine, section R. They walked a quarter of the way around the Convention Center and rode the escalators up a level. There they got two beers and headed for their seats.
"Looks like seating is alphabetical now," said Phil. "That's good. We'll be sitting next to each other for the rest of our lives."
"Sure," said Tom. "So, how's things? You've got three kids now, right?" They shuffled past the knees of their brothers and sisters and sat in their seats.
"Actually four! Matilda came along last spring. She was a surprise, all right, but a welcome one." Phil juggled his beer while pulling out his phone and bringing up pictures.
"Oh, she's a cutie," said Tom in the obligatory fashion. "But surprise or not, she still carries the strand, right?"
"No way around it," said Phil soberly. "Surprise or not, no matter who you marry, that strand will wind its way up into that baby's DNA, rain or shine." He downed his beer. "Don't worry, Tom; when the call comes, she'll answer. Just like the rest of us."
"I never was so good with that gene science stuff," Tom admitted. The lights in the Convention Center dimmed and brightened twice, and Gary Garrison, the Eldest, got on the PA.
"Okay, folks, take your seats and let's get started. We don't wanna keep Ma waiting, do we?"
The crowd roared various things, mostly along the lines of 'No', and several people set off air horns. There was a bit of a shuffle and a stampede as people finished their gabbing and bathroom-going, grabbed one or two or five beers, and jammed into their chairs. The lights went down and Gary took the podium.
"Well, my family," he said, nodding and smiling, "it's been another year. Another good one!" The crowd shouted joyfully. Gary had an easy crowd today.
"Has everybody been doing what you're supposed to do?" he asked sternly. "Following rules? Not making waves? Living prosperous lives and blending in with society?" Another positive roar followed.
Gary chuckled. "Well, that's good," he said. "That's what Ma wants. She just wants a big, happy family around her – as big as possible, for when the time is right. Well, I think we're delivering." He turned sideways and, looking down the dais, raised his glass of water.
"Here's to you, Ma," he said lovingly.
The thing in the tank gurgled.
"Tom?" said a voice. Tom squinted into the sun and made out a tall, lean man in a sport coat. The man looked somewhat familiar to him; the sunglasses weren't anything he had seen before, and the graying hair didn't match the profile of anybody he remembered, but the shape of the face, and the voice… Tom smiled.
"Phil Bester!" he said, putting out his hand. Phil shook it warmly. "We've got to stop meeting like this!" Phil laughed.
"Wow, Tom; you haven't changed in the last few years," he said. "You look good! Too good, really; you make the rest of us forty-two year olds look like aging bastards."
"Oh, stop," said Tom. "You don't look so old. I'm sorry I missed you at Mother's Day the last couple of years." The two began walking across the parking lot towards the Convention Center.
"Yeah, well, it's getting to be a bigger and bigger group," said Phil. "Remember in ninety-two when we had the Elks Lodge? That was when everybody still knew everybody. Things were more personal. Nowadays it's like we're all strangers!"
"The clan's growing, that's for sure." Tom stopped to read the marquee sign above the Convention Center. It said: HERE'S TO YOU, MA. He clapped Phil on the shoulder.
"Well, brother," he said, "let's join our siblings and wish Ma a happy Mother's Day."
The east doors were propped open; Tom and Phil were glad to get out of the heat. In the gloom of the Convention Center concession corridor, Phil had to remove his sunglasses. Several of the twelve year olds were detailed to hand out programs. A row of card tables were set up down the hall with plastic tablecloths and a big sign that read 'BADGES'. Tom steered Phil in that direction. Several ladies were sitting on folding chairs with binders in front of them; Tom approached a pretty woman wearing a sweater set and Swarovski crystal earrings. She smiled and looked up. Her adhesive nametag read ALICE WINTERS – 29.
"Hi, Alice," said Tom. "I'm Tom Barrow and I'm forty-two."
Alice flipped through her binder. "Barrow, Barrow," she said, frowning. "I'm not seeing you. Was that the name that appeared on your birth certificate?"
"Of course it was." Tom chuckled nervously. "I mean, come on. I'm definitely in there. I've been coming to these like clockwork every year." Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man look his direction. The man was leaning against the wall, very relaxed, very casual. But names not appearing in the binder was neither relaxing nor casual.
"Barrow with a B?" said Tom. "Forty-two?"
Alice slapped her own forehead. "I heard *thirty* two!" she exclaimed. "I am so sorry." She flipped towards the back of the binder and smiled.
"There you are," she said. Tom relaxed. The man leaning against the wall did as well. Alice handed a nametag to Tom as well as two drink coupons, and he rejoined Phil who had gotten his tag further down the tables.
"A little drama there to get your blood moving," muttered Phil.
"Shut up," said Tom.
The program told them that forty-two year olds were in Mezzanine, section R. They walked a quarter of the way around the Convention Center and rode the escalators up a level. There they got two beers and headed for their seats.
"Looks like seating is alphabetical now," said Phil. "That's good. We'll be sitting next to each other for the rest of our lives."
"Sure," said Tom. "So, how's things? You've got three kids now, right?" They shuffled past the knees of their brothers and sisters and sat in their seats.
"Actually four! Matilda came along last spring. She was a surprise, all right, but a welcome one." Phil juggled his beer while pulling out his phone and bringing up pictures.
"Oh, she's a cutie," said Tom in the obligatory fashion. "But surprise or not, she still carries the strand, right?"
"No way around it," said Phil soberly. "Surprise or not, no matter who you marry, that strand will wind its way up into that baby's DNA, rain or shine." He downed his beer. "Don't worry, Tom; when the call comes, she'll answer. Just like the rest of us."
"I never was so good with that gene science stuff," Tom admitted. The lights in the Convention Center dimmed and brightened twice, and Gary Garrison, the Eldest, got on the PA.
"Okay, folks, take your seats and let's get started. We don't wanna keep Ma waiting, do we?"
The crowd roared various things, mostly along the lines of 'No', and several people set off air horns. There was a bit of a shuffle and a stampede as people finished their gabbing and bathroom-going, grabbed one or two or five beers, and jammed into their chairs. The lights went down and Gary took the podium.
"Well, my family," he said, nodding and smiling, "it's been another year. Another good one!" The crowd shouted joyfully. Gary had an easy crowd today.
"Has everybody been doing what you're supposed to do?" he asked sternly. "Following rules? Not making waves? Living prosperous lives and blending in with society?" Another positive roar followed.
Gary chuckled. "Well, that's good," he said. "That's what Ma wants. She just wants a big, happy family around her – as big as possible, for when the time is right. Well, I think we're delivering." He turned sideways and, looking down the dais, raised his glass of water.
"Here's to you, Ma," he said lovingly.
The thing in the tank gurgled.
