store was opening at the Greendale Mall and it was having a sale; its name went in one ear and out the other. She was something of a shopaholic, spending quite a bit of her free time at the mall. “Do you need any dress shirts for work? They’re having a forty-percent off grand opening sale.”
“Not really. I just wear them for court, so I don’t wear them every day. And I already pretty much have enough.”
“Forty percent off is a good deal.”
I took a bite of food and while chewing told her, “Don’t bother. You don’t have to get any for me.”
“It’s no trouble. You need good shirts. You want to look nice for court.”
“I have some from my last job. I’m really all taken care of.”
“But that was two years ago.”
I chuckled at her persistence. “I don’t want you to go to the expense. Plus, trust me, the Worcester Housing Court is no beacon of fashion.”
“Well, you never know where you might be in the next few years. You might have another job.”
“All right, Mom.”
In a short while I noticed my father gazing over my shoulder through the window at the backyard. Except for a small area illuminated by an exterior light, everything out there was covered in darkness.
“I’m going to put new mulch in the backyard this spring or summer,” he said dreamily, and then he looked over at me as if expecting a response.
“Okay,” I said.
“I may even put in some new shrubbery.” He paused for a moment, as if lost in thought. “I broke the shovel last year, so I’ll have to get a new one.” Again he looked at me for a reaction but I had nothing for him.
Soon we finished eating and cleared the table. When we were done, my parents invited me to watch TV with them, but I decided to go upstairs to my room instead. I carried my overnight bag up there and put it down on the floor, then stood there and took a look around. I hadn’t been in my old room in a while, and it seemed strange and unfamiliar, as if it belonged to someone else. It hadn’t really changed much from when I was in high school which all of a sudden I found a little unsettling. On top of my bookcase was an old boom box that for some reason no one had ever thrown away—the type that people carried around on their shoulders in the 1980s and required eight D batteries. Seeing it made me remember that my old cassette tapes from that time period—an expansive catalogue of Van Halen, Def Leppard and Led Zeppelin—were stored in a couple of shoe boxes in my closet. I should really throw all of that stuff away, I told myself. When the hell am I going to listen to a Def Leppard cassette?
I took a few steps forward and bent down in front of my old desk to look at a framed 5 x 8 inch picture of myself when I was ten or twelve with my pet chocolate lab, Maggie. She was sitting on her hind quarters with her tongue out, and I was on one knee with my arm around her. She died when I was fourteen, which really broke me up at the time. Next to it was a picture of me and my family together at my high school graduation. I marveled at how young I looked, my facial features soft and smooth. It was strange to me, upon reflection, that I had only a few clear and distinct memories from high school. They were separate and disassociated from one another, like different colored patches on a quilt.
My next clear memory after high school graduation was of my parents taking me to college for my freshman year. My mother stayed up late the night before we left, long after I had gone to bed, packing my stuff and even baking chocolate chip cookies for me. When my parents finished helping me set up my things in my dorm room, I walked them to their car to see them off. Hugging them goodbye and watching their car drive away, I felt a sense of desolation at being on my own for the first time in my life. But I was also excited at the prospect of it. I ended up eating only half of the cookies and felt guilty a few days later when I threw the rest
“Not really. I just wear them for court, so I don’t wear them every day. And I already pretty much have enough.”
“Forty percent off is a good deal.”
I took a bite of food and while chewing told her, “Don’t bother. You don’t have to get any for me.”
“It’s no trouble. You need good shirts. You want to look nice for court.”
“I have some from my last job. I’m really all taken care of.”
“But that was two years ago.”
I chuckled at her persistence. “I don’t want you to go to the expense. Plus, trust me, the Worcester Housing Court is no beacon of fashion.”
“Well, you never know where you might be in the next few years. You might have another job.”
“All right, Mom.”
In a short while I noticed my father gazing over my shoulder through the window at the backyard. Except for a small area illuminated by an exterior light, everything out there was covered in darkness.
“I’m going to put new mulch in the backyard this spring or summer,” he said dreamily, and then he looked over at me as if expecting a response.
“Okay,” I said.
“I may even put in some new shrubbery.” He paused for a moment, as if lost in thought. “I broke the shovel last year, so I’ll have to get a new one.” Again he looked at me for a reaction but I had nothing for him.
Soon we finished eating and cleared the table. When we were done, my parents invited me to watch TV with them, but I decided to go upstairs to my room instead. I carried my overnight bag up there and put it down on the floor, then stood there and took a look around. I hadn’t been in my old room in a while, and it seemed strange and unfamiliar, as if it belonged to someone else. It hadn’t really changed much from when I was in high school which all of a sudden I found a little unsettling. On top of my bookcase was an old boom box that for some reason no one had ever thrown away—the type that people carried around on their shoulders in the 1980s and required eight D batteries. Seeing it made me remember that my old cassette tapes from that time period—an expansive catalogue of Van Halen, Def Leppard and Led Zeppelin—were stored in a couple of shoe boxes in my closet. I should really throw all of that stuff away, I told myself. When the hell am I going to listen to a Def Leppard cassette?
I took a few steps forward and bent down in front of my old desk to look at a framed 5 x 8 inch picture of myself when I was ten or twelve with my pet chocolate lab, Maggie. She was sitting on her hind quarters with her tongue out, and I was on one knee with my arm around her. She died when I was fourteen, which really broke me up at the time. Next to it was a picture of me and my family together at my high school graduation. I marveled at how young I looked, my facial features soft and smooth. It was strange to me, upon reflection, that I had only a few clear and distinct memories from high school. They were separate and disassociated from one another, like different colored patches on a quilt.
My next clear memory after high school graduation was of my parents taking me to college for my freshman year. My mother stayed up late the night before we left, long after I had gone to bed, packing my stuff and even baking chocolate chip cookies for me. When my parents finished helping me set up my things in my dorm room, I walked them to their car to see them off. Hugging them goodbye and watching their car drive away, I felt a sense of desolation at being on my own for the first time in my life. But I was also excited at the prospect of it. I ended up eating only half of the cookies and felt guilty a few days later when I threw the rest
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