Chapter 5: Have a Drink ... or Three

Mom returned home just after five that afternoon, depositing a couple of bags of groceries on the counter. Among the other items, there were a couple of Redbox rental movies – chick flicks, as promised – and a six pack of Miller Lite.

"What happened, Mom? Did the store run out of beer, so you had to stop by the horse farm to get this piss?"

She glared at me and said, "Most of the parties you go to are going to feature cheap beer. When you're in college, scrounging for money because your mom cuts you off for being such a smart-ass, this is the only stuff you'll be able to afford."

I stuck out my tongue at her while we continued to unload the groceries.

"Put that thing away, will ya? I have no idea where that's been."

"I think your Mother-of-the-Year award is in serious jeopardy, by the way you treat your only beloved son."

"Screw that award. I'm a shoe-in for Sainthood. If you'll finish putting everything away, I'm going to grab a bath and relax for a little while. You should probably (sniff) take a shower yourself. I'll see you back down here at six-thirty. We'll order a pizza."

I had everything setup in the living room before Mom came downstairs just before six-thirty. Her hair was tied back into a pony tail, with her bangs draped over her forehead, ending just shy of her eyes, giving her a youthful appearance. She didn't have any makeup on, but she really didn't need it or wear much of it when she did, outside a little eye shadow and lipstick from time-to-time. The light purple silk pajama top complimented the matching silk shorts that ended just below her hips, showing plenty of those nicely tanned and toned legs that she fought so hard to keep. The only item even remotely out of place was the fluffy bunny slippers on her feet. Those were a Christmas present from me, several years back. She had kept and taken great care and they always produced a quick chuckle from me every time I saw her in them. She really had that sexy girl-next-door quality going with a hint of mischief about her.

I pulled a beer out of the fridge and held it front of her. "Want to join me for a beer, my dear?"

She pushed my hand with the beer aside. "Get that horse piss away from me. I have more class than that. I hip checked her into the counter and she retaliated with a swat on the back of my head.

"Brute!"

"I have the driving game setup in the living room. How do you want to do this?"

She was loading the blender with the Margarita mix and started to add in the tequila. I purposely bumped her arm and a rather large splash of tequila plopped into the blender.

She grabbed me, turned me around and shoved me towards the living room. "Go away, you beast. Let your poor suffering mother finish making her ... overly strong margarita.

"You didn't answer my question. How do you want to do this?"

"Why don't you pick out your favorite track with a short race, say, three laps or so. Go ahead and run through it now and record your time. Keep track of that and you can start drinking your horse piss."

I finished the race in just under four minutes and dominated. The second place car was ten seconds behind me. I had a shit-eating grin on my face as I smiled at my mom, who joined me on the couch.

"Show off. Okay, now to the horse piss. You are not to nurse it like a bottle, little man. When I start the timer, you have two minutes to finish the beer."

"Seriously?" She nodded. "Okay, let me get started."

I turned up the bottle and took a couple of long swallows. As much as you see advertisements on TV showing people having a great time drinking beer, I was starting to think they were a little nuts. I thought it tasted awful. My mom could see it in my face and offered little consolation.

"It's better if it's really cold" she offered. "And it really is an acquired taste. As you get older, you're going to grow to like it."

I had that 'bitter beer face' look going, but continued to turn up the bottle until my first beer was history.

"How do you feel?"

I shrugged my shoulders as I said, "Fine. Am I supposed to feel something different?"

"Maybe not yet. Why don't you go get another."

I got up and made my way to the fridge for another.

"Should I bring the rest of the six-pack?"

"No. Getting up to get another beer is part of the experiment. You'll see."

My chest and belly were warm. I wasn't feeling loopy or anything, but my head felt just a little bit lighter than it did a few minutes before.

"Okay, same drill. Hit the track again and let's see what you've got."

There wasn't a lot of difference, but my margin of victory was only a couple of seconds after I slightly misjudged a turn and scrubbed off a lot of speed. Mom set me on the timer, and I downed the next beer quickly. I was starting to acquire a bit of a taste for it, but gave her the 'bitter beer face, ' anyhow.

"Get another?" I asked.

Give it just a couple of minutes to settle in. How do you feel?

I shrugged my shoulders. "Happy, I guess. More relaxed. Maybe a little light headed, I suppose."

After a couple of minutes, she had me retrieve my third beer and we repeated the process. She had me down this one before the race, and had me wait a couple of minutes. During that time, she must have changed the settings for the game. I couldn't get out of my own way, and hit the wall three times. My car looked like a ball of wadded up paper, and I finished a distant third.

I was a little shocked. I didn't necessarily feel drunk, as much as I knew what drunk could be, just a little light headed and happy. I think I sobered up rather quickly.

"Okay, I get it," I said. She smiled at me. "Even if I don't feel like I'm drunk, something is just a little off."

"Yup. And when you are driving a car, being just a little bit off is enough. If you have other people in the car with you, you are taking their lives in your hands, also. How do you think your friends would feel if they had been riding in that car?" she pointed to my mangled car in the video game.

"That would suck. I can't believe that's all it took."

"Well, you're a lightweight, right now. As you get older and build a tolerance, you won't get tipsy so quickly. The point is that you may not know how much your judgment is impaired when you drink. All I ask is that you remember this, now, when you are faced with a choice."

She took the game controller out of my hands, placed it on the coffee table and wrapped her arms around me. "Think about this, also." Her voice started to break a bit. "Think what it would do to me to see you get hurt or ... worse." I pulled her into my chest and held her close. "I don't think I could survive losing both you and your dad. I know I'm being selfish, Phil, but it would almost certainly kill me."

I lifted her chin, wiped her eyes, and said, "I'm not going anywhere, Mom. I don't think I could have gotten a stronger message than that. I promise I won't make that particular mistake." She responded with a broken grin and a nod. "Your Mother-of-the-Year award is now secure."

"So, what are we going to do with the rest of that horse piss?"

She broke the hug and got up from the couch, grabbing my hand and pulling in the process. "You're finishing them, of course. Your next lesson is: 'How to Handle a Hangover.'"

I groaned and followed her into the kitchen, still holding her hand and feeling just a little wobbly. I was also feeling some other unexpected things. Melancholy ... a little horny, maybe (hey, I'm a teenager, that's a near-permanent condition for us), excited that we were doing something new and happy to be having fun with Mom.

When we got to the kitchen, I tugged on her hand and spun her into a hug. I was squeezing her a little extra and she was squeezing me a little extra right back. She felt so good in my arms like that. So right.

She whispered into my ear "I love you so much, Phil."

I released a little, still holding her so I could look into her eyes.

"I love you, too."

And then I did the dumbest, most idiotic, brain dead thing I have EVER done in my life, bar none. I leaned in and kissed her.

We had kissed before – several times, in fact. Just within the last year, we would end the night with a quick hug and little peck on the lips. It was a kiss that had progressed over the years from a hug and kiss on the cheek to, recently, a hug and kiss on the lips. Nothing inappropriate, just a small expression of love before going to bed each night.

This was not that.

It also wasn't the same kind of kiss that Christy and I had shared the previous night. There was no swapping of saliva; no tonsil searching; no desperate tongue wrestling.

This was an intimate touching of the lips with emotion between the two of us that evolved as it progressed. I had intended the kiss to be a short affirmation of my love for her. As it evolved, it turned into a much longer, still tender kiss. After a few seconds, I wondered why I hadn't stopped. I figured out why two seconds later, when she actually shocked the crap out of me and began to respond. She seemed to come to her senses soon after and broke off the kiss, but did not try to escape our hug. Instead, she looked into my eyes, searching for some sort of answer in the there.