Well, this has been fun. We'll see what happens next!
Last One
William Clark snored in his bed. His alarm sounded. He pressed SNOOZE and then pulled the tattered Star Wars comforter over his head. Sleep did not return quickly enough, and William lay there, trying not to count his breaths, willing himself to relax, smelling his breath hot against against his face, trapped by the bedclothes.
Outside his window, the birds chirped. The sun glowed through the comforter, and he could see Han Solo's silk-screened face leering at him in reverse. William held his breath as long as he could, and then he exhaled again. Oh, it smelled awful.
Why did he listen to Drew? Cheetos and Jack Daniels were a terrible idea.
Laura Clark climbed the stairs to the second floor of her suburban home. The sun had been up for three hours, and so had she. If she didn't leave for work in fifteen minutes, she would be inexcusably late.
She had called an All Hands Meeting for 10am, and when you own the company, you find you can't excuse yourself for anything.
Laura stepped into the “guest” bathroom to check her makeup. Shortly after she and Donnie had finalized the divorce, she moved everything from the master bath to this one, off the hallway. She still slept in the ridiculous California king that Donnie had insisted they buy with the wedding cash. Using the bathroom with the double sinks was awful. But sleeping in their old bed, fine.
Standing now in the guest bathroom, she looked in the mirror.
Everything in place on her face.
A family joke, that. From twelve years ago.
Which was when she stood with Will, watching his first ever school bus pull up, all big and yellow, and she saw his upper lip began to tremble. She hugged him, but obeyed his instructions to her: “Don't kiss me at all, Mom, because I'm a big kid now.”
He climbed the steps up into the bus and she thought he would be all right. But then he turned back, and his lips were pressed together tight, the corners drawn down, and his eyes crinkling in fear. So she said: “Everything in place on your face?”
Will looked puzzled for a second, long enough for the school bus doors to close. Through their narrow vertical panes, she could see his seven-year-old face smile, and he started to laugh.
Looking in the mirror now, she saw no flaws, aside from those introduced by forty-four years on the planet. Her makeup was fine.
Stepped back into the hall. One door half-closed. William's. He had to get himself on a flight to Columbus, Georgia today. Induction at Fort Benning, tomorrow.
And that would be that. Mark at Harvard. Cynthia in the Peace Corps. And Donnie in the arms of...well, better not to think about it too much.
Not that she did, much, anymore.
Perhaps after William left, she would sell the house.
William heard his mother climb the stairs. If the alarm went off again, there was no hiding the fact. Unless, perhaps, she went back down the stairs, right now.
“Up and at'em, Champ!”
She was standing at the door. Oh.
If only she would let him sleep five more minutes!
She was right, of course. He had to get to the airport, the airport was on her way, who needs to pay for a cab? Not that she would begrudge him the money. But, ugh, no, no cab.
He groaned, flung the comforter aside (goodbye, Han! Goodbye, Luke!), sat up, stood up, loped awkwardly over the duffel by the bed, palmed the wall by the door for good luck, and shouldered past his perfect, powder-and-DKNY-smelling mother, a few more steps, and into the stark and comforting embrace of the hot shower.
His mother yelled, “Ten minutes, Champ!”
Fucking awkward, that. On the cusp of manhood, and Mamma Clark mother-hen-ing him into the Army. He hawked and spit, watching the gunk slide down the drain.
He considered jerking off. For about five seconds, he considered it. Then he seized the shampoo, and started making himself presentable.
Laura looked at the duffel by the bed. Clothes laid out on his chair. All squared away. Little Will had grown up.
Laura made her son's bed.
She grabbed her heels from the bedroom closet and padded downstairs. From her home office she grabbed her briefcase, already packed. From the fridge, a yogurt cup and the vegetables she had cut for herself.
Also from the fridge, she grabbed William's sandwich, veggies, and yogurt, and slipped them into a brown paper bag with a plastic spoon and a paper napkin and three single-serving packets of salt. He did love his salt.
A nineteen-year-old boy rattled down the stairs behind her. A nineteen-year-old man, she corrected herself. Her youngest.
William, with damp hair, hoodie, pressed jeans, and duffel.
She handed him his paper bag. He laughed.
“My first day at school!”
She smiled, and then held up the wrist with the watch on it.
“That's a pretty bracelet, Mom. But why are you showing it to me?”
A private joke, between the two of them, ever since she had explained watches to him, and he had frowned for a moment, and then asked: “Why don't you just check your phone, if you want to know what time it is?”
Now, William looked at her for a second, enjoying the joke.
Then he looked around the kitchen.
Then he headed out to the car.
The drive to the airport took them about ten minutes.
It took her about five minutes to say goodbye.
William stood there by the car with her, anxious but patient, thinking what Mark and Cynthia had told him about Mom: She hates saying goodbye. She talks about everything else. She doesn't want to embarrass you by crying, she says, but it's because she doesn't want to embarrass herself.
Finally, he asks when her meeting is.
“Oh, crap. William, I'm sorry, I've got to go. Do you have enough money to buy something in the airport if you get hungry?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Alright. I've got to go. I love you, Champ.”
“I love you, Mom.”
And suddenly, he was away from the car, and into the airport, and through security, and waiting with two hours to go until his flight.
He called Andy and blamed him for the hangover. Andy told him that maybe he'd stop drinking like a girl while he was in the Army. And then Andy said: “So I'm the last one.” And William said: “Yeah, you are.” And Andy said: “You better come back here when you have leave. 'Cause who the fuck else am I gonna drink with?”
Laura watched her son disappear into the glass front of the terminal, got back in the BMW, and drove to the office.
On the way, she cried a bit.
She fixed her makeup while sitting in the car, parked in the space marked “L. CLARK – CEO.”
She got through the All Hands meeting just fine.
But during the Q&A, when Cliff Haskell from H.R. was about half way through a needlessly elaborate question about equal opportunity hiring, she decided that, yes, she would sell the house.
(c) 2011 Michael Bernstein
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