Chapter 25

Cora

“Chuck?”

“Mom?”

“Time to go?” I suggested.

He pulled himself away from the Far East ... China and Asia... “Aw ... I guess.”

“Nice meeting you, Zen,” I said. “You, too, ladies. Bye girls. Come on, Charles. Load up.”

“Mom?”

“Chuck?”

“Aren’t you too stoned to drive?”

“Probably,” I said. “But we’re not going very far. Check the Triple A map for a restaurant and a motel.”

“The Pines ... four miles back the way we came.”

“On 17B?”

“Yes.”

“What’s in front of us?”

I suffer from Grant’s Phobia. I can’t retrace my steps. By asking what was in front of us, I wouldn’t have to retreat.

“Gimmie a minute?”

“Sure.” Now that I’m in the car ... I fidget. In a yank to get on with it, I took out my spray bottle of alcohol spray and a soft cloth and started rubbing down the steering wheel, the shifter, the head of the ignition key, the glove box door, the radio dials, the crack between the wood dash and the metal behind it, assorted chrome ... fussbudget.

Chuck stopped looking in the book and...

“What?” I said.

“You’re a nut, mom.”

“Back before you were a gleam in your father’s eye ... I’d get stoned and clean ... compulsive ... couldn’t help myself. Dave would come home from work and I’d be on my knees cleaning the cracks in the bathroom tile with a toothbrush ... usually naked.” I got that gone look in my eye and said, “That was some of the best sex...”

“MOM! I didn’t need to know that!” Chuck said, “It’s going to take me a week to get that out of my mind.”

I giggled.

“Hurry up. I’m suddenly starved.” I thought about it... “Do they still have TOM’S Machines?“

“What’s that?”

“The laundromat across the highway from the apartment had this dispenser. It was full of small packs of Tom’s potato chips ... all kinds. A dime each. Dave and I would go the laundromat with a couple of bucks of dimes and start dropping dimes and pulling levers. We’d take our booty home, put it all in one bowl and crush it. You never knew what flavor you were going to get next ... Heck! Now I have the munchies. Quick ... find a grocery store!”

“There’s Pizza west...”

“We’re going west,” I said.

I started the car, pulled out of the parking lot and drove to 17B, turned right ... my right ... and just down the road was a Neon ... PIZZA ... P ... I ... Z ... Z ... A ... PIZZA, PIZZA. PIZZA ... P ... I ... Z ... Z ... A ... PIZZA, PIZZA Mmmm, pizza, cheese, pepperoni, sausage, black olives, mushrooms ... I floored it.

They had a buffet ... we didn’t have to wait ... YEA!!

I wasn’t very ladylike. And I went back four times.

“Chuck? Did I ever tell you about the time your dad and I went to the all you can eat Prime Rib at the Wagonbox in Story? He ate eleven double cut, two baked potatoes and two trips to the salad bar.”

Chuck didn’t say anything ... he was working on his sixth trip to the buffet.

The waitress stopped at the table, “The manager wants to know where you’re putting the pizza.”

I looked at her, suddenly offended.

“Chuck. Stop. We’re leaving ... now.”

Taking a twenty out of my purse, I wrote the serial number in the little book I keep ... just in case. I left the twenty on the table and walked out.

In Callicoon, we stayed at the Best Western, ate their Complimentary Breakfast and took 97 out of town. In Hancock we joined up with 17 and took it to Windsor and Interstate 86. 86 hit the spaghetti at Kirkwood and we took Interstate 81 out of that mess. In Binghamton, Interstate 86, the Southern Tier Expressway took us all the way to Erie and Interstate 90. YEA! Been here before. BOO!

All in all, the trip out of New York was pretty good.

Except...

When we ran over the baby ducks ... and there wasn’t any thing we could do about it. Four lanes of heavy high sped traffic.

Baby ducks “Pop” when you run over them.

I think I’ll have a cry.