Inviting Mabel to Dinner

It wasn’t unusual to see Mabel splayed out on the bench in the memorial square on the corner of Fulton. Often she was there, her arms extended along the back of that same bench, her head lolled over in sleeping crucifixion. Someone must have thought this time was different and called an ambulance, because there were two paramedics looking down at her…

Gamble Mom

I am a good gambler, but I might have gone too far this time.

As a child, I was so bored I gambled with my siblings whether dad would wear the blue or red suit, or on the score of the Springfield Prairie Dogs. I always won. As a housewife, I continued to gamble – the jellybean jar at the PTA fundraiser, church bingo, the daily lotto. For John’s office fantasy football, my lineup always came in. On the family trip to Vegas, I brought home $8000 after taxes.

I don’t care about the money. It’s winning I need. It’s the rush. That power. Anybody can do the laundry, or drive to the supermarket, or give birth. It’s the ante, the stakes, winner take all. It feeds me.

I ran into God at the QuickMart. We made a big wager. God bet me that all of my three children would be successful in life. I countered my youngest, Malcolm, would be a failure. If I win - I become god. If I lose - I never gamble again. It’s stacked in my favor. Being his mom, I let Malcolm struggle over homework, convinced him he’d never get a role in the school play, and explained why the other kids don’t like him. It’s easy to crush his young aspirations.

But now God has raised the stakes. Waiting at the hospital while they pump out the pills Malcolm took, I wonder - should I fold or go for God?

A Seat at the Movies

The movie theater was filling up, but no one was taking the seats next to him. Half that row was empty because it required squeezing past the fat man in the aisle seat. No one wanted to do that. His enormous body made it look impossible to get by. For him to move would be a mountain shifting over. His giant presence scared people off. Like a lone woman at a restaurant table crying her eyes out, or a dog on the street with clumps of fur missing, this man was a pariah.

Screw it, I thought, that was a good seat in the middle of the row. Is he not just a man? “Excuse me please.” He raised his body, his round belly, round knees, concrete block feet, all making way for me. Many seats over, I sat next to a young woman so thin her legs looked made of bamboo. Others filled the row on the other side of her. What made it okay to sit next to a skeleton loudly telling off her kid for taking a sip of her Coke? The several seats between the man and me – empty. It was the space no one dare enter. The tangible void, a neon sign of isolation.

The previews showed superheroes with chiseled jaws, plastic molded abs, unattainable bodies disguised with names like Greg or Amber. Under the glow of the screen, I looked over at the man. He was so big. They call it morbid obesity. His long full beard and matching brown hoodie only accentuated his bear-like presence. Unlike everyone else, he didn’t fidget in his seat or take a last scroll through his phone. Instead he sat motionless and remote in acceptance of the prison he was in.

All I needed was a little break from real life, but the movie didn’t do it. I would have enjoyed it more if I wasn’t so exhausted. The dark rings under my eyes went all the way in. My soul was so tired. It was hard to find anything redeemable in people. It didn’t help that the other moviegoers incessantly jack hammered popcorn, crackled candy wrappers or talked at their phones. They all did this, except him. He sat there - serene.

That was when I heard it. His laugh. It wasn’t the stereotypical, deep fat man’s bear laugh. It was light, filled with soda bubbles, joy and the sheer comedy of it. The heaviness of his life was absent from that laugh. It rung out above all other laughter, their pale chuckles, canned and monotonous. His was a resonating chime. It was the singular sound cutting through static. It was that moment in the romance movie when everything is blurred except the true love’s face. I don’t think I had heard a laugh as lovely as that man at the end of the aisle. It’s sound cut away at the dusty burlap sack covering my psyche.

The funny scene ended and then it was guns firing and punches landing. We were quiet again, watching. But I wasn’t just watching a movie now. I was stealing looks his way. Who was this man? Initially he seemed so alone sitting on the aisle seat by himself. But maybe he had a wife who had to work. She said, “Go to the movie without me honey. It’s okay, I know how much you want to see it.” Maybe he lied to his friends that he was catching a cold and couldn’t meet them for beers, just so he could go alone. Maybe he wasn’t a man trapped in a prison but someone who really enjoyed movies.

Later in the film, he laughed again, and again, I was transported. He was a wizard casting his ancient spell. The sound of his sparkling laughter emitted pure joy. In that, he defied reason. He is supposed to be the miserable prisoner. I felt like an old miner in the dark tunnels splitting open a brilliant emerald. I found treasure. His laugh was a beam of light. I was smitten. Cupid got me. It was love.

The movie ended. The lights came on. The credits rolled. I wanted to ask him what he thought of the movie and saw us laughing as we recollected scenes. But instead, he got up and made his way down the aisle stairs. I watched his beautiful silhouette go by the screen until he disappeared out the door.