Sunday, November 28, 2010

Mom, I love liquor

Today was my "fresh start". I put the nightmares of the previous days to rest, got a night's sleep and a meal of sorts into my belly, and woke up to sunshine and roses outside my window.

So I climbed out of our big warm bed, and shimmied into a bikini, grabbed a few towels and threw them in a basket, and walked out the door with my family following me, pulling on shoes and rashguards, tossing buckets and shovels and boogie boards into the back of the car as they crawled in still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

We drove down to the south shore, about 35 minutes from my house and well worth the drive. We stopped in to see one of my beloved rollergirls at the restaurant she owns, because I needed to see a familiar face and have an "everything is totally normal" kind of morning. And I needed to be reminded that it is possible to own my own place and *not* get the shit beat out of me. The last 24 hours had been so surreal, I had forgotten that what happened was a fluke, a one-off, and with any luck something I will never experience again.

So I sat down on the front porch of her cafe and put up my feet and sipped a thai iced coffee and relaxed - really and truly relaxed - for the first time in what felt like forever. I got my favorite fried rice with bacon and pineapple because somehow, in yet another sign that all is right with the world, this girl had my favorite fried rice on her menu before she ever even MET me.

The mind, it boggles.

After breakfast and a thorough de-briefing and offers of xanax and moral support, we went down the road a ways, and dragged the gear out of the back of the car, and toddled down to the beach. I passed out face first on the beach towel, with the warm sand settling in around me and the waves crashing just a few feet from my toes. Close enough to feel the spray, far enough to keep my towel dry. It was kind of overcast, so I was warm, but not hot. And I slept the sleep my entire being had been waiting for.

When I woke up it was later then I had anticipated, so we swung by the grocery and went home. I put together a pot of tomato sauce and left it bubbling on the counter, took a quick shower, grabbed my skates and headed to town.

We stopped at my favorite store, a little boutique next door to the cafe. I didn't have the energy to go inside the cafe today. It was such a good day, and i was really letting it all go and finally forgetting, bit by bit, all the details...I needed a little break from it all. So we sat in the warm sunshine that cast across the floor, listening to a children's story and a friend playing guitar. Lucy got her face painted, I bought a skirt and tried on jewelry and caught up with friends. The other bartender from That Awful Night was there, and we decided to meet up in a while with our kids and see "Tangled", the new princess movie based on the fairytale Rapunzel.

I drove to the basketball court where we practice, and got in a few minutes of skating. But my ass was cold (a sad complication of wearing hotpants in the "winter" months) and I was nervous that the movie would sell out, so we headed over to the theater sooner then I had anticipated. As it turned out, we bought the last 4 tickets, and the theater was full. Just another wonderful lucky thing that happened during this glorious day of wonderfulness, thankyouverymuch.

But the wonderfulness ended during the previews.

The collection of movies they were advertising before the film were, in a word, horrifying. There was not one single movie that I wanted to see. Not the Justin Beiber biopic. Not the Yogi Bear monstrosity. Not the Smurf movie, or the Gnomeo and Juliet feature. I sat there for 15 minutes with my jaw slack, watching this parade of awfulness. Finally the movie's opening credits began and i reached for some popcorn. A small arm blocked my hand. I looked down to see me daughter looking up at me reproachfully. "Mom" she said "could you please stop eating all the popcorn. There won't be any left for the movie." I glared at her, thinking of all the times I had to throw out half a bucket of uneaten popcorn after a movie with Little Miss Thing over here. And then I reached for the gallon of root beer that theaters insist on selling to you. As my friend passed me the cup, her little boy piped up.
"What is that, Mama? Can I have some? I want some? Can I have it?"
And she must have given him our go-to answer for no (because you can't just say "no" you have to have a reason for kids these days. The little fuckers just don't give up that easily.) I didn't hear exactly what she said, but it must have been something along the lines of "NO, you can't have any, it's got liquor in it."

Because the next thing I heard was that same little two year old voice, clear as a bell in the hushed theater:
"But mom, I like liquor, mom. I like it. I want liquor, I like liquor, Please mom, please can I have some liquor?"

The snort escaped before I could clap my hand over my mouth. The woman next to me grabbed her rosary. The family behind us snickered.
"He is going to be our BEST CUSTOMER" I hissed to my friend. She was not looking at me though - she was attempting to get her kid to stop saying the word "liquor" and failing miserably.
"Please mom, I love liquor, I really want some, please can I have some liquor?"

And I settled back in my seat to enjoy the movie, safe in the knowledge that I was not going to be serving anyone liquor today. No matter how many times they asked for it.

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