Morphine
Her- Parental Discretion
My mother used to be a runway model in the City. She’s seen the decline of beautiful people and watched the world change. She’s been to the strangest places, seen the strangest things, been in the strangest positions and in the strangest clothes.
Yet through the years, she’s kept ‘in good standing with God’ and her composure.
My father is a corporate head for a major cosmetics company, which my mother happens to be the face for. They’re rarely home… too busy making billions of dollars and people feel ugly.
So when Samuel moved in prematurely, the only person to sneak past was Mrs. Jaime, which isn’t a daunting task. She’s addicted to those inspirational tapes. Yes, tapes.
What can I say? The boy is perfect.
Well, almost.
One of the few times I had a conversation with my mother, she was taking Xanax and drinking merlot. I was fourteen.
“Mom, why did you end up with Daddy?”
“Oh, love. He was quite the catch. Still is really. Rich, handsome and well loved… Good in— er, good with God.”
“So you married him for his reputation and money?”
“Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “I married him for his ice tea.”
I didn’t understand what she meant until five months later.
I’d been pressured by the very lovely Edmond Somethingerather to attend a church barbecue. He’s a charming fellow and Mrs. Jaime thought the JesusFreaks could do me a little good.
Edmond was his usual charming self, despite the pain he found himself in from borrowing my jeans (oh, the sacrifice of the trendsetter), and we were having a nice time masticating dead cows and pigs, even though pork is against their Bible. But something always happens. Someone always needs a drink. So, naturally, I go to get some.
And there, at the beverage stand, he sat with Mina, smiling a bit sadly.
“Hey.”
“Hey…”
“Did you want something?” I was very controlled and didn’t say ‘you,’ but ‘two teas, if you would.’
He poured, handing them to me and I went back to where Edmond was sitting. He drank his in a single gulp, but I sipped, tasting it.
There is one person in this realm of existence and non-existence the makes it better: The Devil.
The only time I got my father to speak on something other than math grades, he talked about meeting my mom.
“She was beautiful, influential and made an extremely good first impression.”
“So you married her for her reputation?”
“No,” he said, smiling with his bleached teeth. “For her coffee.”
I understand that now too.
Samuel Atwood is nearly perfect…
But the only drink he can mix correctly is Kool-aid.
Yet through the years, she’s kept ‘in good standing with God’ and her composure.
My father is a corporate head for a major cosmetics company, which my mother happens to be the face for. They’re rarely home… too busy making billions of dollars and people feel ugly.
So when Samuel moved in prematurely, the only person to sneak past was Mrs. Jaime, which isn’t a daunting task. She’s addicted to those inspirational tapes. Yes, tapes.
What can I say? The boy is perfect.
Well, almost.
One of the few times I had a conversation with my mother, she was taking Xanax and drinking merlot. I was fourteen.
“Mom, why did you end up with Daddy?”
“Oh, love. He was quite the catch. Still is really. Rich, handsome and well loved… Good in— er, good with God.”
“So you married him for his reputation and money?”
“Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “I married him for his ice tea.”
I didn’t understand what she meant until five months later.
I’d been pressured by the very lovely Edmond Somethingerather to attend a church barbecue. He’s a charming fellow and Mrs. Jaime thought the JesusFreaks could do me a little good.
Edmond was his usual charming self, despite the pain he found himself in from borrowing my jeans (oh, the sacrifice of the trendsetter), and we were having a nice time masticating dead cows and pigs, even though pork is against their Bible. But something always happens. Someone always needs a drink. So, naturally, I go to get some.
And there, at the beverage stand, he sat with Mina, smiling a bit sadly.
“Hey.”
“Hey…”
“Did you want something?” I was very controlled and didn’t say ‘you,’ but ‘two teas, if you would.’
He poured, handing them to me and I went back to where Edmond was sitting. He drank his in a single gulp, but I sipped, tasting it.
There is one person in this realm of existence and non-existence the makes it better: The Devil.
The only time I got my father to speak on something other than math grades, he talked about meeting my mom.
“She was beautiful, influential and made an extremely good first impression.”
“So you married her for her reputation?”
“No,” he said, smiling with his bleached teeth. “For her coffee.”
I understand that now too.
Samuel Atwood is nearly perfect…
But the only drink he can mix correctly is Kool-aid.