Ursa Minor (On hiatus)

A sunburn and a frostbite pt.II

She strode into the room, and even though she was both short and slim, she seemed to take up so much space. Presence enough for three people. She was wearing a dark blue suit and a light gray blouse. Her hair blonde, expertly colored, but still colored, her eyes shining sky blue, a fine net of wrinkles around them when she smiled. The dimple.  

"Allen! How are you?" She reached up and ruffled his hair, and he smilingly swatted away her hand and huffed a 'Geez, mom!' and I just stood there, forgotten, as she asked him about his day, fussed over whether he'd had enough to eat. Surprised at the display of perfect family happiness. I had imagined Allen's mom like an Ice Lady. Especially with him acting so strangely before. All of a sudden she looked at me somewhat intrigued, smiling, and it was like the room lit up, a thousand suns burning bright. My smile had nothing, nothing on Allen's mom's. 

"I didn't know you had company," she said surprised, friendly, turning to Allen who despite the smile still looked a bit closed-faced and uneasy. I couldn't help but feeling endeared again. He really needn't be. It was always tricky. Moms were always embarrassing. 

"Mom, this is a friend from school, Matthew O'Neill, Matthew, this is my mom, Dorothea Thomas" 

"I stretched out my hand, smiled widely. "Matthew, very nice to meet you Mrs Thomas, I was just leaving anyways..." I said, feeling fucking stupid, but somehow I didn't want to let Allen down. Her smile still warm, her handshake dry and firm. I could see why she was the perfect spokesperson for well, anything. Everybody would buy what she was selling. Sand in Sahara, snow in Alaska. 

"Very nice to meet you Matthew. Are you a friend from the prayer group?" she asked looking at me expectantly, and I felt the fidgeting coming over me. People and their expectations. "Uhm, not really, I went there yesterday though..." 

"We were assigned to each other for a project, and Matthew's been helping me with Math," Allen interjected. Assigned? What did he mean assigned? He asked me. And I was all for looking like a good guy these days, sure, but not even to me did staring at him qualify as helping. I gave him a confused look, but the way he looked back at me kept me silent. 

"How nice," Mrs Thomas said, giving me a discreet once-over. My jeans ripped at the knee, the studded belt, a Bright Eyes t-shirt, a hoodie that was more dark gray than black from being washed a couple of times too many. Even though she was still smiling, I got the feeling she didn't find it very nice at all.  

"And Matthew's girlfriend sing in the choir," Allen added, like that tidbit of information could redeem me.  

"How lovely. They all seem like such sweet girls," she smiled, and I was maybe redeemed but even more confused. When had she met the choir girls? Where? "O'Neill," she continued thoughtfully, my name a mint in her mouth, but she didn't have Allen's pronounced accent. "Might I have met your parents at the community meeting last week maybe? Or in church?" Stupid. That was where she'd met some of the choir girls of course. 

"Uhm, I don't think so...my mom goes to the community meeting sometimes though, for her work," I said defensively, feeling the need to justify our place in society or whatever. Like the fact that we didn't attend church suddenly had become something to be ashamed of. 

"What is it that she does your mother?" 

"She's a social worker at the youth center in Glenville. She teaches art classes there too sometimes," I said, my voice now loud and clear, suddenly so proud of my mom, who actually did something for the community and not only went to conferences and conventions staying at hotels with roof top swimming pools. 

"How nice," Mrs Thomas said, but her smile was now more forced than bright. Like being a social worker was just a step up from being on welfare yourself. I knew what box to pin her in. The stinking rich that would rather raise money for poor people than have the poor people living within a mile's distance. And my family was nowhere near poor. "And your father?" She tried. Ah, so tempting many options. Should I maybe say 'junkie' 'ex-con' 'gambler'. By now that was probably what she expected. But glancing at Allen I decided to go with the truth.