My Mom - sorta

Tell y’bout the first time I met my mom. Was on this tour of England sorta thing that my little state college had set up. They be doing that sorta stuff alla time. Goin all over hell, like make up for being little dinky school and all. Anyway…God, is long story, so much to it. I mean, was only gone for like three months.

But…so we fly outta Chicago, land in Edinburgh Scotland. Edinburra, get it right, y’see, they be correctin ya. Anyway before that a course, standing in line t’get ticket to get on plane, I’se instantly fallen in love wid beauteous girl in line ahead a me. And never mention that t’her a course ‘cause, well I is stupid.

So I be dyin all across frickin ocean on plane, I mean factually actually dyin, while she be laughing joking drinking wid dumb fat guy and others up two seats ahead a me. Laura is her name, not even gonna change it for - what if somebody read story and tell her. Hell, don’t nobody read nothin I ever wrote. So…the Brit boys all call her Lau-rah (lau as in loud) Lau-rah. She think that all so cute and neat, and not repulsive like me. But all that comes later.

Anyway, if y’never been t’Edinburra, go. Is wunnerful place. We get there at the airport, and get in cabs and young Scots drive us so way far manyous miles through little alleyways around traffic hunert mile an hour alla time, like mad, like crazy shit, atchally scary shit t’be honest. Our Scottish guide later explain that poor young cabbies don’t gots cars a their own, so drive cabs like crazy wild teenagers would back in the states.

Is never America or US of A to furriners, is always “the states” and then y’pick that up an be talkin like that yerself, like y’s a local, y’know. Like I aint no midwestern peasant, I’se all cool now. And is so freakin freaky, Edinburra that is. I mean a course it gots like huge old castle on top a hill right in dead center a town, so no matter where you is, can look up, see magnificent old castle.

Queen summers here, by the way, so y’know is kinda okay place t’be, right. But then the park beside our little old old-fashioned hotel is like all greens, I mean greens. Everbuddy, even in airport, carry golf clubs in Edinburra. And even walkin through park, gots to watch out fer flying golf ball ‘cause “grass” in Scotland means “place to hit little white ball.”

So Edinburra is so way cooler’n any place I ever been. I mean, I like New York - see my little college go everwhere - California’s kinda diffrent. I’se from Nebraska, or sorta from there, but Scotland so way cool, and all I be thinkin of is Lau-rah. Course she actually cooler’n Scotland.

Let’s see, is little tiny brunetty girl, skinny littul thing, so awfully got weight perfectly distributed in all places where I’d put it if’n I was God. Always used t’say that ‘bout girls like that in high school “nice weight distribution.” Yeah, she gots that. And not like movie star pretty, but it all works for her so absolutely, and make me just all tummy-ache sick in love. Only’s that she hates the sight a me.

Like we’s in, where…York, I guess, at ritzy hotel for a change. She’s lost travelers checks or can’t find ‘em, whatever, so a course I say “take mine” and she like “get away, low class person.” Nah, I aint so much that, is just I don’t dress so well is all. Like all I gots to wear is like green snakeskin shirt and brown-black striped pants what I bought in Greenwich Village second hand shop; and a course is all totally cool t’me.

And like one day on bus to… where, um, Abbotsford, Wally Scott’s house, the guy what wrote Ivanhoe. Anyway she wear like seemless bluejean - tight I mean, can see all outline of pretty girl’s pretty pretty body - and huggy yellow tee shirt without brassiere what I say “Lau-rah, that’s a nice shirt” and she all red-faced sorry she didn’t wear bra that day. Not me, man, is highlight a trip t’Wally’s house, though that’s pretty neat too.

Oh God, t’have a camera whilst Laura be walking down aisle a bus; ‘stead a sittin in back sippin all day long on Robbie Burns scotch from quart bottle t’ease heartbreak a lovesick kid. Told ya this was a long freakin story. So Robbie Burns scotch is so good y’can atchally drink it straight from bottle - wrapped in brown paper bag, I’se college student, y’know. Don’t need no water and ice or anything, but don’t help.

A course bein all eager chap and got no friends at home, what be girls anyway, and free at last, or feelin like it. Not bein home, in the states, I on sidewalk in sunny flowery Edinburgh run up to pretty pretty (prettiest girl I ever seen) blond girl say “y’wanna meet me.” And she does, for some odd reason. Skinny leggy Swedish girl in jeans and sweater (is cold in summer Scotland) damn she look good. Such a pretty face and all, lookin like one a them scrawny little California blond girls. Like imagine maybe Michelle Phillips (from Mammas & Pappas) when she was maybe twelve, thirteen. But this girl, Ingrid Olson, she’s a college girl. But can you imagine a Swede girl named Ingrid Olson?

So’s we’s all hangin out t’gether for couple a days and even run inta school friends at a museum once and so I introduce “um these used to be friends a mine, but now seem like don’t count at all nobodies” ‘cause I gots better friend. An Ingrid all educated in literature an stuff, so’s we got stuff in common.

She tells me cute story - she on train wid all these German boys and in sleeper car now goin beddy. She up on top bunk, they down below talkin all night long ‘bout specifically what they’d like t’be doin wid her at that moment. So come morning everybuddy gettin off train, she say “s’long, see yall later” but say that in German just so boys know she hear/understand ever word was said ‘bout her. Is interesting story no? She all smart girl, speak four, five languages.

One time I even goes back to hotel room wid Ingrid (my mother’s name is Ingrid, by the way; oh, and this story’s ‘sposed t’be ‘bout her isn’t it, but, will get there ewentally). So back at hotel room, go through little family sitting-room type lobby, raise eyebrows a folks, buy couple glasses a beer. And then in room, I feel so shaky, so uncomfortable…I don’t even as much as kiss this pretty young girl, and even after that neat come-on story ‘bout the German boys. Weird, huh.

Ingrid asks for my address so’s we can correspond like she do wid other nice guy from states she once met, and me thinking “girl, they like several hunerds a million guys would write to you, sho don’t need me along wid ‘em.” That was pretty stupid, huh. Jaysuz Christ, probly woulda wrote to her soon as I got home - “Ingrid miss you madly muchly, come have sex wid me.” But like I say, stupid gets to be habit when you do it alla time.

Geez, never even told you ‘bout Edinburgh. Well, is lovely town. Main street is beautiful wide flowery Prince’s Street, like main street in my home town, Athens Ga, named after that - Prince Avenue. Used to live on Prince Avenue, by the way. (See - other stories I wrote an nobody done read.) Damn, I better cut out some parts or this’ll be like long long short story.

Okay, is big big mountain-like hill overlooks town a Edinburgh, is King Arthur’s spot to shoot arrows from - Arthur’s Seat. So the thing is y’climb (goddamn, forever) up the endless grassy mountain-hill, and finally get to the top and see the city and then walk back down. I mean if you’s wid girlfriend, not school folks, would be maybe okay. Like get part way up, stop, make out on grass. Well, would be more point to it, I think.

Oh, and castle is cool, all that sorta shit.But usually I don’t hang wid school folks, like I go out at night. I think they stay in. I mean, gotta be more interesting sitting in hotel chattin about being in freakin Edinburgh, than actually go out into freaking Edinburgh, right?

So I’se out wid locals, y’know kids y’meet at the bar and be friends wid. Like “hey, I like to drink too, we got stuff in common.” And we’s stumblin down the sidewalk as in them days (afore they changed fer the better) all pubs in UK close at ten, ten o freaking clock, mind you. Bartender say “it’s time” meaning in English “we’s closing.” So locals (and me too, followings their custom) gots half of a pint left, plus full one y’haven’t got to yet, so a course hurry up an order ‘nother one, and then drink all three in the five minute they give ya before y’gotta leave.

So now stumbling down sidewalk, go past big old building what say “Asylum for Alcoholics” what hits home and I laugh, and guy say “don’t laugh, is big problem in our country.” So I learn something. Then beings still early and all pubs closed, now find ourselves at dance hall in basement of building on good old Prince’s Street.

Now get this, is all full a kiddees. Some real real nice lookin kiddees; grabbable, huggable, squeezable, I been drinking all night, kiddees. And what they serve ya t’drink here is…lemonade, in paper cup. So. I mean just how old are these “I’d like t’touch ya muchly” girls? Anyway, I stay as long as I can stand this undecipherable perplexity and finally go home.

So, we finally go to London. Edinburra was really cool, rained almost all the time we was there, but is still cool. Yeah and damp and foggy too. But I liked it, really, about as much as anyplace I ever been, t’tell ya the truth. Scots is down home earthy folk, remind me a me.

And London’s okay too. We stay at U of, dormitory what gots bar right on first floor lobby area, where I drink muchly wid all the U boys who call Laura, Lau-rah. A course she likes them. But warm beer helps, lots an lots of it, that is. An we go to all sorta plays an stuff, so is really cool time.

I mean I never been here afore, right, so I don’t know U of London, up north a King’s Cross is like outta the way place to be. Is home t’me. So what if they’s like million underground changes t’get anywhere; running through London underground is what I do. All day, all night; even see stuff along the way, above ground even. But being poor kid, don’t see all like what you rich folks would. But go to, y’know Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, St. Jame’s Park, just stuff any poor backpacker kid’d do. Museums and stuff like that.

One night though, I met these two girls, American girls, staying at fancy hotel wid parents (these are high school kids, but I caint be much more’n twenty or so). Anyway the one girl, Priscilla, is like knock you dead wantable. Got long fuzzy blond hair, muchly pouty mouth, so pretty, so sexy. Don’t think I ever met a more “let’s get naked” type girl in my life.

So up in my dorm room, they wanna drink and I gots like whiskey’s bought for gift fer mom and all. So why not crack one open. But no glasses, nowhere. Girls don’t wanna drink from bottle, well Priscilla don’t care, but other girl won’t so figures they might as well take off. But hey, what about me never gonna meet Priscilla again in my life and forever wonder what that best night of young fellow’s life woulda been like. Oh well. Should I just skip to part where I meet mom?

But haven’t even told you about Stonehenge yet.So, I meet this Jewish girl from New Jersey staying at dorm wid other tour group an we go out on town. I mean out. There’s this place in Leicester Square, or there abouts, I dunno. Is dance hall that is like literally city block long and wide, even gots balcony to look down on folks from. And they play music there ‘til it aint nighttime no more.

Well, never went there with that girl, but did go there a lot. Anyway me and this scraggly scrawny little girl go all over I think, and drink a awful lot. Jaysuz, is good thing I know my way home, think we had t’walk ‘bout half a it. And is wunnerful warm dark night. We hangin all over each other having young kids’ kinda fun, y’know. And so get back at, well, y’ring the bell long enough and finally guy wakes up and opens door so we can get in.

So in my dorm room and this girl who from N’Juhzy, goes t’school down at Emory in Atlanta, which a course is big town in my home state. An she gots such heavy suthen accent; havin been t’school down there for whole semester already. So I just has t’tell her is fake phony thing t’do, an all. Which completely makes her feel phony and worthless and so we just lie in the bed there feelin dumb.

I really do some things that make absolutely no sense whatsoever. And try to convince her to fergit that and let’s just have sex. But instead wake up around noon feelin like I been drinkin all night and later find out everbuddy just mad as hell about waitin forever on seven a.m. bus trip to Stonehenge what I completely forgot about. So, well at least they got there, maybe a little late. ‘Spose it woulda been cool thing to see an all, but actually was really great fun night ‘til I said that little thing ‘bout phony suthen accent.

So, couple other things. Is hottest summer in history of London. Big deal. Also is Wimbelton time. My homey Bjorn Borg beats Jimmy Connors in marathon five set match. Saw it on tv. Gots no money to acthally go t’Wimbelton. Also, Fourth a July. All these Americans be celebrating with sparklers and shit like that. Uh…folks, we’s in London, y’know. England? I’se embarrassed, really, but probly no stupider than telling Jewish girl about her accent, right?

Last thing, is all kinda German kids here too, on tour a course. But these be little kids, like grade schoolers. An one girl, she maybe twelve, thirteen, but so pretty and mature looking kid. But alla Brit boys in dorm just mean as hell to the poor little German kids, like mad about that war and all. Hell, these kids got nothing t’do with that. I feel so sorry for ‘em. Was gonna tell the pretty little girl that on the elevator, but don’t know what t’say. Just feel bad for ‘em is all.

Oh, and went to Paris for three day break. Saw Louvre Museum, that kinda stuff. These two fat girls kidnap me, say “you speak French, you gonna go to Paris with us, be tour guide.” Jaysuz, I took one semester a French in school, ou est fucking vouz. But anyway Charles de Galle airport is spacey as hell, man, gots glass tubes running ever which a way. Escalators inside, y’see, don’t know where the fuck y’goin, but is dark by the time we leave.

Get on bus wid freaky French money, guy says “five francs.” I hand him like five five-franc gold coins (got’s jet-lag, I guess, or escalator lag). He’s nice enough t’give four of ‘em back. So…stick fat girls in pensione, and don’t see ‘em again ‘til we leave. Whadda y’want from me, I aint nice person. Not gonna go trompin around Paris wid no fat girls, geez buy a freakin guide book. I don’t think they like me after that. I don’t think I care, though wasn’t really nice thing t’do.

But back in London, gots extra day t’kill afore they let us back in dorm, so being stupid as I am, wid nothing t’do and Brit rail pass, take train to Aberdeen and then back. That has t’be dumbest thing anyone ever did. But a course I meet two simply gorgeous young Scot girls on train who are goin t’holiday at Wimbelton. And the one girl, like sweetest kid I ever met (high school girls, I think). She so perty and friendly fun t’talk to.

I hold her soft warm little kid hand and rub her soft little thigh. She don’t care, is just nice young happy girl kid. Tell me about big thing back home on farm is “ratting.” Put terrier in barn, folks watch t’see how many rats he’ll catch and kill. Would be fun I guess, if she there too. Oh well, ‘bout time t’get t’go see mom.

Finish up last week or so in London, tour group is all packing, ready t’go home. I’se stayin, gots rail pass an all, gonna go see mommy for first time in my life (well, since I was two). So of course gotta get artsy Picasso post cards t’give to Lau-rah, she bein art major an all. And up there alone with her in her room she was almost human to me, might even a said “thank you” I dunno. Woulda been better if she’d a hugged and kissed me, but, like I said, girl didn’t like me very much.

So, they gone, I on North Sea ferry boat (goddamn this is a long story). The hell with it; eventually get to Karlskoga Sweden. Did you know that when you cross from Denmark to Sweden, you go from Elsinor (Hamlet’s Elsinor) to Helsingborg? Like same names, just slightly difernt language. Who cares? Let’s just get there.

Anyway, so, call up mom at train station, say…”um, how will I recognize you?” I mean, I aint never seen this person, right. But she say will wear yellow scarf. So is cool, only three or four peoples there anyway. So is okay, spent a week there and…well, the food was good. Is funny, huh, my mom’s a good cook. Far out. Didn’t know that about her. Or anything else for that matter. I don’t think she hugged me. Don’t remember, but don’t think so. Well, I guess we not real emotional folks; or nothing to be emotional about.

I…uh, liked her husband better than her, he was a nice guy at least. Is odd thing t’say about yer mom. Well, is odd circumstance. So, they appreciated the whiskey gift, even the one bottle that’d been opened already. Whiskey is taxed to death in Sweden, so, is sumpin y’might give t’someone as a present or something. But hell, they’s rich anyway, mom’s husband is dentist, make lot a money even if taxed t’death fer half a it or whatever.

What else…well mom gives me a bunch of kroner so I can go have good time in Stockholm when I leave. It rained, I went to museum, then took train to Hamburg Germany; rained there too, took train to Venezia, will tell ya about it, is better story. Oh, and mom said that if anyone should ask, I should say I was friend of her oldest son, just visiting. Yeah well, don’t mean nothing t’me.