Side Swiped

Chapter 31: Wet Blanket

This chapter is a building block for the next chapter. :-) Enjoy!

JASON DAVENPORT: If I can still make it today I'm going to be late. Talk to you soon.

Jason was being beyond awkward. So all my suspicions when I was going crazy in the car could only mean one thing: They were not crazy, but true. We rushed the L-word and now shit was hitting the fan like Ike Turner. No offense to Tina.

Why couldn't things go consistently well for us for more than a month or two at a time?

"Mackenzie? Darling, are you listening to me?" My mom snapped her fingers playfully in front of my face. For the life of me I couldn't remember what she was saying. Come on Mackenzie, think. Think!

"Yes mom. I heard every word that came out of your mouth," I said as I continued to try to remember what she was going on about.

She looked at me with pursed lips. "Look you had months to be all googly eyes and in love with Jason so give your old lady some of your attention," she poked me in the side.

"Hey," I squirmed out of her reach while miraculously managing to stay in the middle of the road. "No poking the driver, and did you just willing refer to yourself as an old lady?" I changed the subject from Jason to safer and more certain ground.

She gasped, "I am still a tenderoni." She snapped her fingers and did this soulful and played out 80s dance.

I coughed to disguise my laugh. "Two things just went very wrong," I said with a serious face.

"What?" she started looking around the car for signs of a problem. I should've pulled out a mirror

"First," I counted off one finger, "You said tenderoni," and she laughed as she realized that nothing was actually wrong. "And secondly, you did that played out dance to top it off proving that you are, in fact, old. About as tender as burnt steak."

She gasped exasperatedly with pretend horror on her face. "That dance was not played out. I'll prove it." She started doing the dance again looking like an autistic fish out of water. Ok...make that an autistic fish out of the water with down syndrome too.

"Aww yea," she threw a hand in the air. Add a lazy eye to the fish look.

Her eyes darted to the radio and she turned the dial all the way up to the point where it was so loud that I, for some unknown reason, started squinting my eyes. "Turn it up, this is my jam. Whoop, whoop. Come on Mackenzie. Dance with me."

"I'm gonna pop some bags. Only got twenty dollars in my crock and I- I- I'm frontin, looking for a drummer, this is freaking awesome."

Only my mother would say what she just said.

"Lacey," I always called her by her real name when she did something embarrassing. "You're going to lose friends if you keep dancing like this," I shouted trying to hold back a laugh. I reached and turned off the music, but she continued dancing. "And where in the world did you get those lyrics from?!"

By this point, I couldn't not laugh, but the question did make her stop dancing.

"What do you mean?" She asked still dancing and looking puzzled. "I got those lyrics from the song."

"No, you didn't," I said in between laughs. "You had some parts right, but others...not so much."

"What are you talking about Mackenzie? I heard the song. That's what they're saying," she crossed her arms pretending to be offended. "You're just trying to make me feel old. Aren't you?"

"No mom. You really had it wrong." I then proceeded to sing the actual lyrics to Thrift Shop. "Why would someone have $20 is their crock?" I asked.