Say Goodbye
I saw them at the airport. The loading zone. The kid was standing there. Wearing his uniform.
OCP fatigues. Boots. Patrol cap. His backpack was about the size of a Buick. His face was youthful and round. His cheeks were rosy. He looked like Wally Cleaver.
Beside him was his mom, waiting by the idling car. An SUV. One of those small Japanese SUVs, about the size of a roller skate, only with less legroom.
At least I think it was his mom. The mom was probably in her fifties. Although it’s hard to tell when a mother has gray hair. Which she did.
Airports are sterile, ugly places. There is nothing romantic about goodbyes. Not in an airport, when you know TSA employees are about to touch you inappropriately without first buying you dinner.
The mom straightened the kid’s collar. She told him she loved him, then gave him a shoulder touch.
It was the classic motherly goodbye.
She told him to remember to call his daddy sometimes.
The kid was vaping. The air smelled like strawberry. “I will,” said the kid.
“Your dad worries about you.”
The kid mumbled something.
“And don’t forget to text me,” said Mom. “Just let me know how you’re doing. I know you can’t tell me everything, but, tell me what you can.”
“Okay.”
A long silence. The kid let go a cloud. Travelers came and went. Young passengers hauled expensive luggage inside. Uber drivers dropped people off and hustled for their tips.
The Mom smiled at her boy. It was the kind of smile only mothers can give. It’s an I’ve-known-you-since-you-were-in-diapers smile.
“You, alright?” Mom said.
“I’m good.”
Mom nodded.
“I know you’re going to do great,” she said.
More mumbling. The kid didn’t want his mom pep-talking him. He’s in the Army now.
“I better go,” he said.
“Yeah.”
The kid gave her a hug. The hug evidently meant more to her than it did him. You could tell by the looks on their faces. He was impassive. She looked like she was undergoing a kidney operation.
“Is your phone charged?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Make sure you eat enough. It’s a long flight.”
“I will.”
He walked inside. He tugged open a door and simply walked away. Just like that. No turning back. The American soldier, leaving home.
She stayed in the same place, watching. She covered herself like she was cold. And even I knew which phrase the kid had forgotten to say.
Mom was turning back to go to her car. Long faced.
That’s when the kid came back. He threw open the door and surprised her. His bag on his shoulders. His cheeks, so very smooth.
“Mom,” he said.
She turned. “Did you forget something?”
“I love you, Mom,” said the kid. His voice seemed about 20 years younger. “I just love you.”
“I love you more,” she said.
He smiled back. Then he was gone.
And I think Mom was dead wrong.
Pone, I was in the check-out line at Costco the other day buying a jumbo sized bag of dogfood when a woman behind me asked if I had a dog. What did she think I had an elephant? So, because I'm retired and have little to do, on impulse I told her that no, I didn't have a dog, I was starting the Purina Diet again. I added that I probably shouldn't, because I ended up in the hospital the last time I tried it, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care ward with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms. I told her that it was essentially a Perfect Diet and that the way that it works is, to load your jacket pockets with Purina Nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete, so it works well, and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in line was now enthralled with my story.) Horrified, she asked if I ended up in intensive care, because the dog food poisoned me. I told her no, I stopped to Pee on a Fire Hydrant and a car hit me,
I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard.
Costco won't let me shop there anymore. Better watch what you ask retired people. They have all the time in the World to think of crazy things to say.
And this is da story of how I met RicCy J! BTW, I'm not retired, just tired!
Yo Peb
Oh G-d. I felt this one. My daughter did 3 deployments as a Naval aviator. Afghanistan and thereabouts. The USSReagan. I didn’t think she should be given the keys to a Honda CRV and there she was in a jet. She would send me a message every time she was headed out. “Walking”. And then I would wait. “Hooked”. She flew for 10 years.
G-d bless these kids. And hold their moms and dads tight. d