your mom and she’ll reach around and scratch one of your ears too, kissing your cheek. Then she’ll suddenly lean forward, reaching toward the bowl on the coffee table, carefully soas not to disturb the cat. I always think he’s going to realize faster than he does, your mom will say between munches, hand to hand to mouth. Men can be so dense and frustrating. She will wink at you.
Eye the tube suspiciously. All the bad guys will let Cary Grant take Inger Berman away in the black car. There will be a lot of old-fashioned music. Stand and pull your bathrobe up on the sides. Hang your tongue out and pretend to dance like a retarded person at a ball. Roll your eyes. Waltz across the living room with exaggerated side-to-side motions, banging into furniture. Your mother will pretend not to pay attention to you. She will finally say in a flat voice: How wonderful, gee, you really send me.
When the music is over, she will ask you what you want to watch now. She’ll hand you the
TV Guide
. Look at it. Say: The Late, Late Chiller. She’ll screw up one of her eyebrows at you, but say
please, please
in a soft voice and put your hands together like a prayer. She will smile back and sigh, okay.
Switch the channel and return to the sofa. Climb under the blue afghan with your mother. Tell her you like this beginning cartoon part best where the mummy comes out of the coffin and roars,
CHILLER!!
Get up on one of the arms of the sofa and do an imitation, your hands like claws, your elbows stiff, your head slumped to one side. Your mother will tell you to sit back down. Snuggle back under the blanket with her.
When she says, Which do you like better, the mummy or the werewolf, tell her the werewolf is scary because he goes out at night and does things that no one suspects because in the day he works in a bank and has no hair.
What about the mummy? she’ll ask, petting Mittens.
Shrug your shoulders. Fold in your lips. Say: The mummy’s just the mummy.
With the point of your tongue, loosen one of the chewed, pulpy kernels in your molars. Try to swallow it, but get it caught in your throat and begin to gasp and make horrible retching noises. It will scare the cat away.
Good god, be careful, your mother will say, thwacking you on the back. Here, drink this water.
Try groaning root beer, root beer, like a dying cowboy you saw on a commercial once, but drink the water anyway. When you are no longer choking, your face is less red, and you can breathe again, ask for a Coke. Your mom will say: I don’t think so; Dr. Atwood said your teeth were atrocious.
Tell her Dr. Atwood is for the birds.
What do you mean by that? she will exclaim.
Look straight ahead. Say: I dunno.
The mummy will be knocking down telephone poles, lifting them up, and hurling them around like Lincoln Logs.
Wow, all wrapped up and no place to go, your mother will say.
Cuddle close to her and let out a long, low, admiring
Neato
.
The police will be in the cemetery looking for a monster. They won’t know whether it’s the mummy or the werewolf, but someone will have been hanging out there leaving little smoking piles of bones and flesh that even the police dogs get upset and whine at.
Say something like gross-out, and close your eyes.
Are you sure you want to watch this?
Insist that you are not scared.
There’s a rock concert on Channel 7, you know.
Think about it. Decide to try Channel 7, just for your mom’s sake. Somebody with greasy hair who looks like Uncle Jack will be saying something boring.
Your mother will agree that he does look like Uncle Jack. A little.
A band with black eyeshadow on will begin playing their guitars. Stand and bounce up and down like you saw Julie Steinman do once.
God, why do they always play them down at their crotches? your mom will ask.
Don’t answer, simply imitate them, throwing your hair backand fiddling bizarrely with the crotch of your pajama bottoms. Your mother will slap you and tell you you’re being
Eye the tube suspiciously. All the bad guys will let Cary Grant take Inger Berman away in the black car. There will be a lot of old-fashioned music. Stand and pull your bathrobe up on the sides. Hang your tongue out and pretend to dance like a retarded person at a ball. Roll your eyes. Waltz across the living room with exaggerated side-to-side motions, banging into furniture. Your mother will pretend not to pay attention to you. She will finally say in a flat voice: How wonderful, gee, you really send me.
When the music is over, she will ask you what you want to watch now. She’ll hand you the
TV Guide
. Look at it. Say: The Late, Late Chiller. She’ll screw up one of her eyebrows at you, but say
please, please
in a soft voice and put your hands together like a prayer. She will smile back and sigh, okay.
Switch the channel and return to the sofa. Climb under the blue afghan with your mother. Tell her you like this beginning cartoon part best where the mummy comes out of the coffin and roars,
CHILLER!!
Get up on one of the arms of the sofa and do an imitation, your hands like claws, your elbows stiff, your head slumped to one side. Your mother will tell you to sit back down. Snuggle back under the blanket with her.
When she says, Which do you like better, the mummy or the werewolf, tell her the werewolf is scary because he goes out at night and does things that no one suspects because in the day he works in a bank and has no hair.
What about the mummy? she’ll ask, petting Mittens.
Shrug your shoulders. Fold in your lips. Say: The mummy’s just the mummy.
With the point of your tongue, loosen one of the chewed, pulpy kernels in your molars. Try to swallow it, but get it caught in your throat and begin to gasp and make horrible retching noises. It will scare the cat away.
Good god, be careful, your mother will say, thwacking you on the back. Here, drink this water.
Try groaning root beer, root beer, like a dying cowboy you saw on a commercial once, but drink the water anyway. When you are no longer choking, your face is less red, and you can breathe again, ask for a Coke. Your mom will say: I don’t think so; Dr. Atwood said your teeth were atrocious.
Tell her Dr. Atwood is for the birds.
What do you mean by that? she will exclaim.
Look straight ahead. Say: I dunno.
The mummy will be knocking down telephone poles, lifting them up, and hurling them around like Lincoln Logs.
Wow, all wrapped up and no place to go, your mother will say.
Cuddle close to her and let out a long, low, admiring
Neato
.
The police will be in the cemetery looking for a monster. They won’t know whether it’s the mummy or the werewolf, but someone will have been hanging out there leaving little smoking piles of bones and flesh that even the police dogs get upset and whine at.
Say something like gross-out, and close your eyes.
Are you sure you want to watch this?
Insist that you are not scared.
There’s a rock concert on Channel 7, you know.
Think about it. Decide to try Channel 7, just for your mom’s sake. Somebody with greasy hair who looks like Uncle Jack will be saying something boring.
Your mother will agree that he does look like Uncle Jack. A little.
A band with black eyeshadow on will begin playing their guitars. Stand and bounce up and down like you saw Julie Steinman do once.
God, why do they always play them down at their crotches? your mom will ask.
Don’t answer, simply imitate them, throwing your hair backand fiddling bizarrely with the crotch of your pajama bottoms. Your mother will slap you and tell you you’re being
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