Tommy hit the pause button on the remote and looked at his friend. “You wanna know why I can’t keep a girlfriend? Ask my mom.” He picked up his beer and took a drink. “Lemme tell you something. When I was fourteen or fifteen, I had this girlfriend – Cindy – and one day we’re hanging out at her house, just sitting on the porch, holding hands. Mom pulls into the driveway with her piece of shit station wagon to pick me up. Cindy walks me to the car, gives me a little kiss on the cheek and I get in. So Cindy’s standing there in the driveway, waving, and Mom pulls out and heads back up the street. And the whole time, she’s just staring into the rearview, with this… this look on her face. Finally we get three, four houses down and she says – and she’s still glaring into the mirror – she says ‘Not too good looking, is she?’ And she’s dead serious. Can you fuckin’ imagine that? Who does that to a fourteen-year-old?” He took another drink. “I mean, she was right, but c’mon, you don’t do that, for Chrissake.”
© 2016, Dave Allen. All rights reserved.
The author has granted WritersCarnival.ca, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.