The Real Thing
Mom's been looking for the real thing since my father walked out on us before we were an "us." I was born four months later. Every other week Mom tells me if I hadn't been born, she would have found her one true love by now. This is the story about how she found the real thing, but I must warn you, it's not a happy tale.
My Mom looks like a pickled Kellie Pickler in a Hardee's biscuit maker uniform-- all wrinkled and puckered. She's really neurotic when it comes to men. She changes them almost as often as she changes her socks. And she only dates werewolves, vampires, mages, zombies, and dark lords, though she has been seen with a Vulcan or two.
Of course these people aren't really werewolves or zombies. You cannot tell her that. She has to find it out on her own which is followed by a dramatic and childish breakup. "You're a CPA! I thought you were a werewolf. I can't be with someone who lies to me!" You know, that kind of thing.
It does not matter how good the guy is to us, (That's why I hate her; she never thinks of us.) she wants the real thing. I tell her the "real thing" doesn't exist and she gets weepy, tells me "you don't know what you're talking about." She then herself in her room and watches a marathon of Tivo'd Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. She refuses to accept monsters, and wizards, and vampires aren't hiding in plain sight just waiting for the mortal love of their life. Suffice to say, Twilight has not had a positive impact on my life.
Never mind she's got borderline looks--not quite ugly, but if she let herself go, woof. She must know that on some level because, when it comes to the looks department, the men she dates stand up and bark. They're mostly nice guys, a little creepy, (Which has to be expected from any guy over twenty living in their mother's basement playing dress up.) but pretty decent.
This week she's set her sights on a wizard. All she can talk about is the "wizard" Gringnr. I tell her Gringnr isn't a wizard, he's the hero of some really bad fiction called the Eye of Argon- unfortunately I've become rather well versed in these subjects. Anyway, I'm worried this time. I mean the guy is pretending to be Gringnr. Not a good sign. Can the guy read? Is he literate? Is his IQ larger than his shoe size? None of that matters in pursuit of the real thing.
Before she can get the wizard, she has to dump "Batman", though his real name just happens to be Bruce. He's pretty normal and only a little ugly. Mostly, it's his teeth. If he saw a dentist he wouldn't have to settle for Mom even with the pretending to be Batman thing. I tell him horror stories about dentists all the time, and he believes them. I think he has a phobia or something.
Mom's been with him for six months, a long time at chez Diefendorf, long enough for us to start acting like a family. I'm usually pretty cold to mom's men, but Bruce is different. He's almost regular. I guess that partly comes with the Batman persona, but you know, we do things together. We went on a ski trip at Christmas. I want him to be my dad. I tell mom this. She says she'll think about it. We have vacation plans for two weeks in Gatlinburg. Bruce says it's the best vacation spot in all of the United States. I don't know about Dolly Wood, complained about it when they picked the place. Why Tennessee when you can go to Miami? But I want to go. I want Bruce to stay.
I'm thinking about how to make that happen when I get off the school bus sweating like a stuffed pig under the June sun. I'm almost happy. School is out for the summer. Yippee! If I can just keep Mom and Bruce together this could be the best summer of my life.
The gravel up to the house makes a nice crunching sound under my feet. My backpack is empty except for one book. I'm supposed to read it before school next fall, when I start ninth grade. Bruce likes to read. He'll probably read it to me or at least he'll make me read it. And I might even be annoyed, but it's nice to have someone take an interest in my life. Mom never does.
I top the hill. Our house is an old Victorian that has been added to over the years. It sits under an idle summer sun that stirs a good-things-to-come feeling. The tire swing my grandpa hung for my mom when she was little sways in a soft breeze. Mom's car is in the drive and my heart sinks. She's a Hardee's premier biscuit maker. When she's not baking biscuits, she's making hamburgers or taking out trash or wiping down tables. It's a little after three. She's not supposed to be home until five. The wizard's car is in the drive too. I don't know his car by sight, but it's a gaudy orange monstrosity with ' Gringnr the Great' scrawled across the side.
My life is ruined.
I know it even more, when I round the corner by the garage and find Bruce's car. From where I stand, I can hear muffled yells coming from inside. Bruce is accusing mom of cheating on him. I stomp up the steps and throw open the screen door so hard it hits the wall.
"No wench of mine will lay with another man and not pay the consequences!" A squawky voice floats down the hall. "I'll slay thee wench."
"Put that away before you hurt yourself," Bruce growls. His voice has an impressive boom to it. "She's not your wench. She's mine… honey I never meant to imply that you're a wench… Gringo or whatever your name is, you need to leave."
"I'll belong to whoever wins the fight over me," my mother says.
I storm into the kitchen, grab a yogurt and some strawberries for a smoothie. I have to eat when I'm stressed which means I'm more than a little pudgy. Mom keeps the refrigerator well stocked with stale leftover Hardees crap. Bruce buys us vegetables and fruit. He taught me how to make smoothies. I even lost some weight.
"Kate, you need to stop this or I'm leaving you."
I start the blender. It roars to life. Mom bursts into the kitchen. "Summer, turn that off, I'm trying to talk with Bruce."
"We're not going to Gatlinburg, then?" I say, switching the blender to high.
Mom walks over and unplugs it. "We're working it out."
"What's Gringnr doing here?"
"I've come to slay thy mother who has lain with another man and defiled my honor!"
I turn around and face this idiot, a short man with a red patch of spray on hair where he's going bald and wearing a plastic barbarian costume. The only thing real about him is the sword, one of those flea market home décor things.
"I'm sorry to leave you motherless, child," Gringnr the Great says. "But I must avenge my honor."
"I thought you were a wizard?" I say.
"A wizard with my sword," he says. "Watch and learn."
I roll my eyes and plug the blender back in.
"Hey kiddo," Bruce says with a cheesy awkward smile. "You forgot the ice."
"Now that would have been a disaster!" I stomp across the kitchen, brushing Gringnr the Great out of my way.
The sword wizard turns beet-red, both embarrassed and angry. Bruce laughs-- for the last time in his life as it turns out.
"Nobody laughs at Gringnr the Great. Nobody. I'll disembowel thee." And he drives the sword into Bruce's stomach.
The ice tray falls from my hand and hits the floor. I remember that sound, plastic and ice rattling around.
"My one true love." Mom claps her hands and hops up and down.
She's lost in her own movie where killing is heroic, blood is fake and victims come back from the dead. There is nothing heroic about the way Bruce slides to the floor or the blood turning his blue shirt purple. Gringnr pales and then throws up. Mother hovers over him, mopping his mouth with a dish towel. He pushes her away and races from our house. The screen door slams behind him. Mom shoots me the if-only-you-were-never-born look and then dashes after him, the screen door snapping shut behind her. My brain fumbles. Bruce's voice comes through the fog in my head, wispy and far way.
"Summer, darling, can you do me a favor and call 911?" He's so polite and that's just so Bruce.
Hot tears hit my cheeks and I race around the house frantically looking for the phone. I find it ten minutes later under a couch cushion beside a quarter and three kernels of un-popped pop corn from our movie night. Funny how you remember stupid stuff like that. I dial 911. It rings three times.
"911, what's your emergency?" A voice says.
"Bruce has been stabbed," I blurt out. She asks me questions about his condition.
I return to the kitchen as fast as my feet can carry me. Bruce is slumped over, his eyes staring at me in that glassy vacant look. I slap him. Nothing. I slap him again. Nothing. I scream. "Wake uuup! No, no, no. Wake up!"
The operator's voice comes over the phone, controlled and calm, almost serene. "Breathe."She does it herself so long calm breaths carry from wherever she is to my ears. "Breathe in and breathe out. That's it. I need to know your name darling?"
"Summer Diefendorf." I'm choking back sobs.
"That's German isn't it?"
"Yes." I swallow. "He's dead, now. Bruce is dead. Batman is dead."
"Units have been dispatched to your location," she says. "Please stay on the line."
Suddenly, I hear mom's voice, shrill and desperate, from outside. "You're the real thing, the real thing. I'm yours for life hero!"
I look out the kitchen window and see her latched onto the bumper of Gringnr the Great's car. I gape at them, mouth dry, disbelieving. Gringnr the Great backs over mom's foot. She yelps and falls into the gravel, then scrambles to her feet. She grabs a brick from the flower bed nearby.
The operator repeatedly asks, "Summer are you still there? Summer are you still there?"
"Yes," I say at length unable to look away from what's happening in our driveway.
Gringnr gasses the car, spraying gravel and trying to escape my mother. No luck. The brick sails through the air and hits his rear windshield. Glass flies everywhere. Mom throws herself onto the trunk, climbing into the back seat while he tries to drive away. A love-sick grin is plastered across her face. I can't hear Gringor scream from in the house, but I can see his terror. The car accelerates and hits a tree. A plume of smoke erupts from the hood. Both Mom and Gringnr stumble out, falling into the soft grass beside the road, dazed. The portable phone falls from my hand, hitting the floor with a plastic thud. I can hear the operator's voice, not words but a sound like the teacher from the Peanuts cartoon: wa wa wa wa wa. I kick the phone. It slides across the floor, trailing Bruce's blood behind it. Then I sit down on the kitchen floor, pick up his hand, already turning cold and hold it until the cops come.
And that's how reality came into my mother's life. It wasn't the thing she was looking for, but it turned out to be the real thing. Realer than real.
My Mom looks like a pickled Kellie Pickler in a Hardee's biscuit maker uniform-- all wrinkled and puckered. She's really neurotic when it comes to men. She changes them almost as often as she changes her socks. And she only dates werewolves, vampires, mages, zombies, and dark lords, though she has been seen with a Vulcan or two.
Of course these people aren't really werewolves or zombies. You cannot tell her that. She has to find it out on her own which is followed by a dramatic and childish breakup. "You're a CPA! I thought you were a werewolf. I can't be with someone who lies to me!" You know, that kind of thing.
It does not matter how good the guy is to us, (That's why I hate her; she never thinks of us.) she wants the real thing. I tell her the "real thing" doesn't exist and she gets weepy, tells me "you don't know what you're talking about." She then herself in her room and watches a marathon of Tivo'd Buffy the Vampire Slayer reruns. She refuses to accept monsters, and wizards, and vampires aren't hiding in plain sight just waiting for the mortal love of their life. Suffice to say, Twilight has not had a positive impact on my life.
Never mind she's got borderline looks--not quite ugly, but if she let herself go, woof. She must know that on some level because, when it comes to the looks department, the men she dates stand up and bark. They're mostly nice guys, a little creepy, (Which has to be expected from any guy over twenty living in their mother's basement playing dress up.) but pretty decent.
This week she's set her sights on a wizard. All she can talk about is the "wizard" Gringnr. I tell her Gringnr isn't a wizard, he's the hero of some really bad fiction called the Eye of Argon- unfortunately I've become rather well versed in these subjects. Anyway, I'm worried this time. I mean the guy is pretending to be Gringnr. Not a good sign. Can the guy read? Is he literate? Is his IQ larger than his shoe size? None of that matters in pursuit of the real thing.
Before she can get the wizard, she has to dump "Batman", though his real name just happens to be Bruce. He's pretty normal and only a little ugly. Mostly, it's his teeth. If he saw a dentist he wouldn't have to settle for Mom even with the pretending to be Batman thing. I tell him horror stories about dentists all the time, and he believes them. I think he has a phobia or something.
Mom's been with him for six months, a long time at chez Diefendorf, long enough for us to start acting like a family. I'm usually pretty cold to mom's men, but Bruce is different. He's almost regular. I guess that partly comes with the Batman persona, but you know, we do things together. We went on a ski trip at Christmas. I want him to be my dad. I tell mom this. She says she'll think about it. We have vacation plans for two weeks in Gatlinburg. Bruce says it's the best vacation spot in all of the United States. I don't know about Dolly Wood, complained about it when they picked the place. Why Tennessee when you can go to Miami? But I want to go. I want Bruce to stay.
I'm thinking about how to make that happen when I get off the school bus sweating like a stuffed pig under the June sun. I'm almost happy. School is out for the summer. Yippee! If I can just keep Mom and Bruce together this could be the best summer of my life.
The gravel up to the house makes a nice crunching sound under my feet. My backpack is empty except for one book. I'm supposed to read it before school next fall, when I start ninth grade. Bruce likes to read. He'll probably read it to me or at least he'll make me read it. And I might even be annoyed, but it's nice to have someone take an interest in my life. Mom never does.
I top the hill. Our house is an old Victorian that has been added to over the years. It sits under an idle summer sun that stirs a good-things-to-come feeling. The tire swing my grandpa hung for my mom when she was little sways in a soft breeze. Mom's car is in the drive and my heart sinks. She's a Hardee's premier biscuit maker. When she's not baking biscuits, she's making hamburgers or taking out trash or wiping down tables. It's a little after three. She's not supposed to be home until five. The wizard's car is in the drive too. I don't know his car by sight, but it's a gaudy orange monstrosity with ' Gringnr the Great' scrawled across the side.
My life is ruined.
I know it even more, when I round the corner by the garage and find Bruce's car. From where I stand, I can hear muffled yells coming from inside. Bruce is accusing mom of cheating on him. I stomp up the steps and throw open the screen door so hard it hits the wall.
"No wench of mine will lay with another man and not pay the consequences!" A squawky voice floats down the hall. "I'll slay thee wench."
"Put that away before you hurt yourself," Bruce growls. His voice has an impressive boom to it. "She's not your wench. She's mine… honey I never meant to imply that you're a wench… Gringo or whatever your name is, you need to leave."
"I'll belong to whoever wins the fight over me," my mother says.
I storm into the kitchen, grab a yogurt and some strawberries for a smoothie. I have to eat when I'm stressed which means I'm more than a little pudgy. Mom keeps the refrigerator well stocked with stale leftover Hardees crap. Bruce buys us vegetables and fruit. He taught me how to make smoothies. I even lost some weight.
"Kate, you need to stop this or I'm leaving you."
I start the blender. It roars to life. Mom bursts into the kitchen. "Summer, turn that off, I'm trying to talk with Bruce."
"We're not going to Gatlinburg, then?" I say, switching the blender to high.
Mom walks over and unplugs it. "We're working it out."
"What's Gringnr doing here?"
"I've come to slay thy mother who has lain with another man and defiled my honor!"
I turn around and face this idiot, a short man with a red patch of spray on hair where he's going bald and wearing a plastic barbarian costume. The only thing real about him is the sword, one of those flea market home décor things.
"I'm sorry to leave you motherless, child," Gringnr the Great says. "But I must avenge my honor."
"I thought you were a wizard?" I say.
"A wizard with my sword," he says. "Watch and learn."
I roll my eyes and plug the blender back in.
"Hey kiddo," Bruce says with a cheesy awkward smile. "You forgot the ice."
"Now that would have been a disaster!" I stomp across the kitchen, brushing Gringnr the Great out of my way.
The sword wizard turns beet-red, both embarrassed and angry. Bruce laughs-- for the last time in his life as it turns out.
"Nobody laughs at Gringnr the Great. Nobody. I'll disembowel thee." And he drives the sword into Bruce's stomach.
The ice tray falls from my hand and hits the floor. I remember that sound, plastic and ice rattling around.
"My one true love." Mom claps her hands and hops up and down.
She's lost in her own movie where killing is heroic, blood is fake and victims come back from the dead. There is nothing heroic about the way Bruce slides to the floor or the blood turning his blue shirt purple. Gringnr pales and then throws up. Mother hovers over him, mopping his mouth with a dish towel. He pushes her away and races from our house. The screen door slams behind him. Mom shoots me the if-only-you-were-never-born look and then dashes after him, the screen door snapping shut behind her. My brain fumbles. Bruce's voice comes through the fog in my head, wispy and far way.
"Summer, darling, can you do me a favor and call 911?" He's so polite and that's just so Bruce.
Hot tears hit my cheeks and I race around the house frantically looking for the phone. I find it ten minutes later under a couch cushion beside a quarter and three kernels of un-popped pop corn from our movie night. Funny how you remember stupid stuff like that. I dial 911. It rings three times.
"911, what's your emergency?" A voice says.
"Bruce has been stabbed," I blurt out. She asks me questions about his condition.
I return to the kitchen as fast as my feet can carry me. Bruce is slumped over, his eyes staring at me in that glassy vacant look. I slap him. Nothing. I slap him again. Nothing. I scream. "Wake uuup! No, no, no. Wake up!"
The operator's voice comes over the phone, controlled and calm, almost serene. "Breathe."She does it herself so long calm breaths carry from wherever she is to my ears. "Breathe in and breathe out. That's it. I need to know your name darling?"
"Summer Diefendorf." I'm choking back sobs.
"That's German isn't it?"
"Yes." I swallow. "He's dead, now. Bruce is dead. Batman is dead."
"Units have been dispatched to your location," she says. "Please stay on the line."
Suddenly, I hear mom's voice, shrill and desperate, from outside. "You're the real thing, the real thing. I'm yours for life hero!"
I look out the kitchen window and see her latched onto the bumper of Gringnr the Great's car. I gape at them, mouth dry, disbelieving. Gringnr the Great backs over mom's foot. She yelps and falls into the gravel, then scrambles to her feet. She grabs a brick from the flower bed nearby.
The operator repeatedly asks, "Summer are you still there? Summer are you still there?"
"Yes," I say at length unable to look away from what's happening in our driveway.
Gringnr gasses the car, spraying gravel and trying to escape my mother. No luck. The brick sails through the air and hits his rear windshield. Glass flies everywhere. Mom throws herself onto the trunk, climbing into the back seat while he tries to drive away. A love-sick grin is plastered across her face. I can't hear Gringor scream from in the house, but I can see his terror. The car accelerates and hits a tree. A plume of smoke erupts from the hood. Both Mom and Gringnr stumble out, falling into the soft grass beside the road, dazed. The portable phone falls from my hand, hitting the floor with a plastic thud. I can hear the operator's voice, not words but a sound like the teacher from the Peanuts cartoon: wa wa wa wa wa. I kick the phone. It slides across the floor, trailing Bruce's blood behind it. Then I sit down on the kitchen floor, pick up his hand, already turning cold and hold it until the cops come.
And that's how reality came into my mother's life. It wasn't the thing she was looking for, but it turned out to be the real thing. Realer than real.