Twice a year my partner and I spend 48 hours in New Jersey visiting his mother, Duckie. My partner’s parents used to drive south to visit us in Florida but now that his dad has passed away Duckie, who does not like to fly, won’t come South anymore. These New Jersey trips exhaust me because in addition to Duckie, we also have to see Louis, my partner’s older brother who lives nearby. My partner and his brother, to say the least, are not close.
We arrived in New Jersey late in the afternoon, checked into our hotel and took a taxi to Duckie’s house. She lives alone in a four bedroom house but since three of the bedrooms are filled with cats, and one is filled with Duckie, we have no place to sleep. This is fine with me: staying in a hotel gives us a legitimate excuse to escape.
Now, we walked into the darkened living room where Duckie and Louis were watching the Golf Channel. “Hello,” we said and they both said “Shh!!” And thus were we greeted.
During commercials we chatted a bit; this allowed Duckie and Louis to regale us with tales of their respective health woes; they both suffer from painful, mysterious, incurable diseases that somehow never affect their appetites. This is how we heard about Louis’s “yellowish discharge,” and the pain in Duckie’s back. Not to be outdone, Louis countered with a description of his excruciating chest pains and then Duckie trumped him with a tale of explosive diarrhea.
My partner and I looked at each other. “All this conversation makes me hungry,” he said a trifle wildly as I shot him my “WTF?” look. He looked at me so pathetically that I decided to help him out. “Speaking of explosive diarrhea,” I said, “let’s go to Chili’s!”
Twenty minutes later we had all piled into Duckie’s 2003 Corolla to drive to Chili’s for dinner. Louis drove and he immediately popped a CD into the player. We soon heard what I can only describe as an other- worldly wailing. Now my partner shot me his “WTF?” look, but before either of us could speak Duckie did.
“Turn off that noise,” she said. “That’s awful.”
Louis was offended. “I thought Guy and my brother might enjoy some music on our ride,” he said with dignity.
“We’re just fine,” I said hastily, as my partner said, “That’s really annoying.”
Louis shut off the radio. “Fine,” he said. “I guess not everyone appreciates Yoko Ono.”
Soon we were at the restaurant and as we were seated I looked at my watch, wondering how long I would have to wait for the explosion. I didn’t wait long.
As she glanced casually at the menu Duckie said, conversationally, “My car is getting old. Do you think I should get a new one?” She looked at me as she said this, but, since I always take a vow of silence in New Jersey I pretended to be engrossed in the menu. “Fajitas?” I said to the table at large. “Burgers?”
When Duckie repeated the question to her sons I marveled that her skills in a matter like this have not diminished with age. I prepared myself because I knew that whatever position my partner took, Louis would take the exact opposite and sparks would fly. After more than 50 years of this game they have their roles so finely honed that if my partner says “The sun rises in the East” Louis will dispute it.
“Well, Ma,” my partner began carefully, “you don’t drive much anymore.” This was very true. At 88 she is afraid to drive in rain, in snow, in traffic or in the dark, which means that in her part of New Jersey she can only drive early on Sunday mornings in the summer. “I think your old car is just fine for what you need.”
Duckie snorted. ”I figured you’d say that,” she said. “Worried that I might spend your inheritance?” She looked at me. “I’m sure you agree with him.”
“Tacos?” I said out loud, refusing to look up from the menu. “Maybe some soft tacos?”
Louis chimed in next. “I think you should get a new car, Ma,” he said loyally, “if that will make you happy.”
“Sure,” said Duckie. “Big spender. Once I’m broke who’s gonna pay my bills when I’m old? You?”
Louis looked crushed while I was incredulous that Duckie regarded “old age” as some far distant possibility. “’When you’re old?’” I said. “Get on the clue bus. You ARE old.”
OK, that’s a lie. I did not say that but I wanted to. What really happened is Louis changed gears. “I think you should keep your car and save your money,” he said and then things got exciting. Duckie pounced. “Yes, and when that death trap crashes and paralyzes me you can put me in a nursing home and never visit me, like you never visited your father.”
Even by Duckie’s standards that was a low blow and now, as the three of them began to argue heatedly, I remembered my vow of silence, but I was impressed. I was impressed at the ease with which Duckie had constructed a question that had no correct answer but which kept her two sons at loggerheads while safely maintaining her role as Queen Bee.
As the argument got more bitter I glanced at my watch again; I estimated that Duckie would be sobbing within 60 seconds. This is how she ends every argument, to ensure both her boys are guilt-ridden and feel like shit for the rest of the day. I was right; she was weeping copiously when the waitress, who clearly wished she was dead, reluctantly showed up.
“What can I get you?” she said.
“Do you have a baby aspirin?” Louis asked the horrified waitress, hand over his heart. “I’m having chest pains.
I forgot my vow. “If you’re having chest pains I’m calling 911,” I said, phone in my hand. “Shall I dial?” And Louis shook his head and folded his arms sulkily. The waitress gulped.
“Fajitas,” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ll have fajitas.”