That's Life

Chapter One:

When I was a kid, nothing was out of place. My Mom kept the house in order, my Pop brought home the dough, and I was kind of there in a striped turtleneck.

My Mom's name was Cynthia, she had hair as blonde as starlight. The kind of girl to wear cigarette pants and rollers to bed. She had this scarf, it was light blue chiffon... She wore it when she went biking in the park or driving with Pop. Her nails were always painted red, with a beige half-moon at the base, Mom said that's the way the starlets wore them. She wanted to be famous actress, or anyone besides who she was. Only playing the part of mother, wearing a rose apron as she made my lunch or vacuumed the floor.

Things could have stayed that way for a long time, but of course, as any good story goes a tragedy must occur. As often as she changed personalities; Mom was there in her rose apron and poof she was gone. Stashed away under junk in the garage, the apron now sits under dust. She didn't die... No, she decided one day her role as mother wasn't good enough. So, she got up and left and never came back. I wish I could be angry with her, but I don't blame her choice, if I was her, I would have left too... Pop doesn't talk about her, and I find myself forgetting I even had a mother.  As though was born from leaves in the wind, I'm detached from her and from him. The Wolski's refuse to deal with their problems, we hold the pain in our chests then die.

For instance, when I was a little kid, real young, five or six, I was visiting Pop at the auto yard he owned. Imagine thousands of old and scrapped cars piled for the picking. Well, when I walked in I was so excited to see Pop and his vintage 1966 baby blue mustang convertible. I loved this car, it was sex on wheels and Pop loved it too, he treated this thing like his baby... Which hurt sometimes because he spent more time with this car then with his actual living breathing son... We were down on hard times and when I walked in skipping I was full of jitters.

"Pop! Pop!" I yelled with childish enthusiasm. I ran into his office and he wasn't there, which was rare because he almost never went out in the yard. So, I looked around for him and he was standing with this guy in a suit.

They looked around the same age and this guy was holding a wad of hundreds under my Pop's nose. "Come on, Ken. Take the cash, everyone in this town knows you're not doing too hot financially."

Pop looked down at his mustang and ran his hand over the silky hood. "My Father gave me this car, Joe... We've got plenty of other vintage beauties, I can fix 'em up for ya in a jiffy."

The suit pulled out another hundred and offered it to him with a smooth incline. "Ten thousand is my last offer, Ken. I know you need it..." He waited in silence and then said, "Think about your kid, Ken."

Pop wiped his face with his greasy shirt and pulled the keys out of his back pocket. "Alright, Joe..." They traded goods and shook hands like men.

"You made the right choice, Ken." The suit said as he got into the car.

After he pulled out of the auto yard I ran up to my Pop, he didn't see me immediately and started to cry. I hugged him, and he jumped out of surprise. Pushing me away he said, "Go home, Michael your mom is waiting." He turned his back on me and disappeared into his office. To be philosophical when my Pop turned his back on me, he's ever turned around.  In the mornings when I leave for school his back is always turned pouring coffee. In the afternoon when I work in the car part shop at the front of the yard he's always asleep at home. At night I only see the back of his head as he sits in his lazy boy watching jeopardy.

That summer after he sold his mustang was when Mom left... And we don't talk about it, the most I get is "You look like a woman." as I leave for school and he gets is a brisk, "Thanks." I know he means I look like mom, same white blonde hair, same eyes... But I suppose that's life.