The Kid

He, a nineteen-year-old boy, opened his rusty truck door for her, his forty-three-year-old date. He scooted half of his belongings off the passenger seat: an empty cologne bottle where he hid his larger bills, a pale mug shaped as a tit with a nipple to drink from, last year’s old mail (or was it this year’s?), and the unopened card his mom had sent him a few days ago for his eighteenth birthday. Then, with a gentlemanly gesture, he took her hand and helped her to her seat; she was smiling.

The boy opened the back door next and sat her five-year-old kid in the middle seat and strapped him in. The kid, squirmy, gnawed and sucked the head of those rubber chickens which squeaked if squeezed, especially the head. Some drool dripped onto the boy’s fingers as he buckled the booster last belt of the booster seat. He nearly hurled, his tongue falling out. Luckily, she didn’t notice.

The boy shut the door, hard enough to be cathartic, soft enough for her not to notice. Then he got into the driver’s seat hidden with a black seat cover, something cheap to keep her from noticing the cracked, scratched leather. If he wasn’t good enough, she would leave. That’s how women are.

He turned the ignition. He had to turn it again. From the rear-view mirror dangled a pair of her panties, the black ones from the time they escaped to downtown for the weekend. For some reason the kid’s father agreed to keep him for the weekend. She had paid for the hotel, he had paid for some things: a Los Angeles lanyard and a single meal at Red Robbins. It was their best time yet and he wanted her to remember it every time she got in the car.

The boy adjusted the mirror (not the side ones because he didn’t want her to realize how non-automatic the car was) and backed out of her driveway and was off.

“So,” she asked, “where’re we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he smiled. When he looked at her — whenever he looked at her — he always noticed those huge motherly tits, especially in moments like this when she wore a low v-neck to unveil her deep cleavage. The shirt hugged her waist too and she didn’t have a muffin top or any roll or any fat in the wrong places. She may be forty-three, but damn she looked fucking good.

“Mommy, I have to pee-pee,” the kid said.

The boy glanced at him through the rear-view mirror. The kid had his legs bent inward and his hand on his crotch like he was about to explode. But, he still had the chicken hanging between his teeth.

“Baby, you just went,” she said turning back to face him.

He screamed, “I gotta go again!”

She mouthed to the boy, “I’m sorry,” then said, “Just suck the chicken. It will make it go away, okay?” The boy admired her care for the kid, how she had at least stuck with him even though she was all alone to take care of him. Yet, that kid talked to much and thought he was the center of the world. He should just be happy he’s got a mom.

“Okay,” the kid said. He actually shut up.

There was some time and then she pulled down the sun visor and review herself in the mirror. Some extra lipstick, eye makeup, some powder on the face. Then she said, “Do you think I look alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” the boy said. “You’re smokin’ tonight, babe.” He went to place his hand on her thigh, but she moved her leg as if to avoid it, probably nervous because of her son’s presence. Normally, the boy and the lady just went to the park when she couldn’t find a sitter. The boy’s hand still landed.

But the compliment must’ve made her happy because she still smiled and smiled big. So big, her lips pulled back so her he could see the extra yellow in her teeth where they met her gums. She smoked cigarettes, drank alcohol. They both did.

“Why is there underwear there?” The kid was pointing towards the mirror.

The boy said what came to mind, “They’re my backup.”

It must have lightened the mood. She laughed and put her hand in her face.

“Why do you need backup?”

“Just sometimes I do,” the boy said.

The kid asked, “Do you poop your pants?”

She kept laughing. The boy never did.

Only a couple more minutes. “Nope,” the boy said.

She leaned forward to grab something from the floor. As her back bent, the line between her shirt and pants revealed some good, tan skin. The boy could almost follow the trail of her skin to her ass. Such a good ass.

She picked up the tit mug and said, “I’ve never seen this before.”

“Ha, yeah, that was my dad’s.” The boy glanced at it then back at the road. “He gave it to me before he passed. It’s kind of like a family heirloom.”

“My oldest son would love this,” she said to herself. The boy believed her oldest son was about his age. He hoped not more than that. He never wanted to ask.

The kid was still talking when they arrived at Boomers, but the boy and the kid’s mom were ignoring him at this point. Well, she was ignoring him in the way she normally did by saying, “Keep sucking your chicken.”

The boy said “ta-dah” when they pulled into the parking lot because it was where they had first met exactly one month ago. It was perfect for their one month.

She laughed weakly, looked at the boy, hid her head behind the head rest so her son could not see, and fashioned her purple painted like a kiss. It was cute. Maybe a prediction. Maybe another one of her so called “mating calls.”

They parked and walked into Boomers. The boy held her hand at first, but the kid grabbed her other hand so the boy let go.

The boy paid for them all. There was not discount for the kid; he was extra twelve dollars. The boy received his four dollars of change, left no tip. Beside his savings in the cologne bottle, it was all he had slaved for that week and now one of his marijuana plants hidden in the back of his truck had died from being kept under the Tarp for too long.

They walked first towards the go-karts outside the back of the building, the engines buzzing over the kids talking and talking. The boy’s hands felt sweaty so he wiped his along his jeans as his hands swayed with his walk. When the kid rushed ahead, past the benches and up to the fence where the go-kart employee stood, the boy reached for his date’s hand. She took it, clamped it. It lasted five seconds ’cause the kid turned around. After that, her arms were fucking crossed.

But it was okay once the kid got onto the go-karts and raced a few laps. When he’d get to the far end of the track, the boy would sneak a kiss in with her. It was even better because the kid asked if he could go again and she said yes so they got to kiss some more. The boy even smacked her ass and she didn’t seem to mind it.

The boy wanted to ask her if she wanted to go to the bathroom, lock the door, do the thing they do at the park, but the kid was done racing and begged to go play arcade games. Whatever. So they went inside watched the kid k.o. Marshall Law and Devil Jin, shoot down the velociraptors and tyrannosauruses, and mutilate zombies after zombies. He actually sucked, but his mom told him he was good and he believed it.

The kid remembered after all those hours he had to go to the bathroom so boy and the woman escorted him there. Then the boy said, “You and me, let’s go,” and he bumped the side of his hip against hers and nodded towards the woman’s restroom.

“We don’t have time for that,” she said. “He’ll be out soon.”

“Then he’ll be alone for like thirty seconds, it’s fine. Come on just a little.” He kissed her neck, followed her arm with his finger.

“No, it’s not.” She backed away, turned around, crossed her arms again.

The boy said, “Oh, my god. No need to be a bitch about it,” and he stomped straight out of Boomers, ignoring the “Come back anytime,” from the worker with the blue collared shirt, and got into his truck, red faced.

For thirty minutes he sat there, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, fingers stiff from squeezing so long. He should just leave. She was likely in there laughing with her kid, playing all the games with him, giving him all the attention he wanted. That stupid, fucking kid. She did everything for him. Why for him too? He was annoying, not even a good kid. She would wipe his ass when he went “ number two.” Oh my god, that kid needed to grow up. But, at least she didn’t leave him like the boy’s mom had done. Damn, that kid was so lucky he had no idea. He got all the attention he wanted.

Then she appeared from Boomer’s front door, the kid’s hand in hers. She made him look both ways for cars. She approached the car and the boy locked the car.

She knocked on the window. “Christ, really?” It sounded muffled through the glass barrier.

“Yeah, really.” He flipped her off. He meant it for the kid too so he held his hand high enough on the glass so he might see it too.

She yelled, “Hey!” She turned her kid around like a good mom would. “You’re acting like a kid. Are you really doing this?”

The boy said nothing. He just looked straight ahead.

“You know what, fine. It’s over. Screw you. You’re a f — ” she was about to say “fucking,” but the kid — “You’re a hothead.”

He said back, “You don’t get to say it’s over. I say it’s over. And it’s over!” He yelled. It fogged a part of the glass. Then, he turned the ignition, jerked it into reverse, and backed out. Before he knew it, he was on the freeway, leaving her. She wasn’t leaving him. He wouldn’t let her like his mom did years ago. He’d never let anyone leave him again. Instead, he would be the one who leaves.