Mean Guy

Chapter 2

I load my Nissan Frontier with eight boxes and drive them to Radbury Place. The summer sun already begins to set, coloring the sky a pink-orange-blue that is remarkably pretty and soothing. When I make a left on Henner Street, my cellphone buzzes. It’s my mother, Ruby Sassywoma-Farr.

“Ricky, are you done moving today?” She sounds like Lucille Ball: loud, obnoxious, and feverish.

“I’m doing the last load right now.”

“Did you get the paintings like you promised? Your great aunt doesn’t want them to stay in the mansion without her. They’re worth tons of money.”

“I have them on me now. They’re wrapped up with care and are safe.”

“Good boy. Will you finish the job tomorrow?”

“Yes. Jamie’s going to help me. We’re starting at nine.”

She sighs. “You know I don’t like him. You can have a better friend. The world is filled with them.”

I hear this every week. Everyone despises Jamie Oakley.

She goes into her spiel again about despising Jamie, and I roll my eyes. “He’s selfish and conceited. He’s such a mean guy. And he thinks everyone should bow and kiss his feet like he’s royalty or something. Ricky, he doesn’t do anything for you. I honestly don’t even know why you keep him around and…”

I stop her. “Mom. Enough for today. I’m tired and want to get home. I have to take a shower, and I need to crash on the couch. The Walking Dead is a marathon tonight. I don’t want to miss it.”

“Forget about those zombies. You should go out with David tonight.”

She’s been trying to set me up with David Wilkes for the last six months. The watercolor artist. The liberal thinker. Someone she calls, “The yin to your yang, Ricky. You can be two peas in a pod together. I think you’d make an adorable couple.”

Yes, David is cute and looks like a young Channing Tatum. Adorable all the way. Smart. Sometimes funny. But he’s just not my type. I don’t find his art, or him, anything special. He doesn’t entertain me. Nor does he make my heart jump within my chest. Honestly, David’s a nice guy. I just don’t ever see myself being with him. Truthfully, I’d rather be alone and single instead of being with David. Case tightly closed. Next case, please.

Mom adds, “His mother said he’s free tonight. I’ve already checked. The two of you would make such a cute couple. Call him, Ricky. The last thing I want you to do is spend the night alone.”

“Mom, I’m not twenty anymore. I’m thirty-eight. If and when the right guy comes along, I’ll pounce on him. Until then, stop trying to get me to like David.”

Silence. Nothingness.

I’ve obviously disgruntled her. “Mom?”

She whispers, “I’m here.”

I see her frowning, being dramatic. Of course, I’ve pissed her off. I also see her dabbing tissues against the corners of her eyes, faking a good dose of tears mixed with a layer of crying.

Her acting days are long over. A true statement on my part. At one time in her life, when I was in junior high and started to learn that I liked boys instead of girls, my mother acted. Ruby Sassywoma-Farr did commercials for local companies. Star Cars. The Hummingbird Hotel. Rudi’s Café. Donut Holes. The Miranda Theatre. And others. Mom became a local star, a well-paid one. People of Templeton knew and loved her, and she enjoyed the attention.

Unfortunately, all stars fall, and their careers end. This happened during my first year of high school. Crow’s feet started to form around her eyes, and her neck began to sag. Soon enough Ruby’s acting days ended. Occasionally, she took on a role at the local theatre or played an extra here or there. Sadly, the acting heydays of her career were over. Now Ruby Sassywoma-Farr enjoys dinner with her husband, a rerun of Murder, She Wrote, and Robert Riley novels.

I know what to do to keep her happy. “I’m sorry for using that tone with you.”

More silence. More nothingness.

I turn on Miffle Street, just a few blocks away from Great Aunt Sassy’s new place. “Mom, are you there?”

“I accept your apology,” she says.

I roll my eyes and tell her I have to go. When I hang up, an incredible sigh escapes my lungs. Because of her, Great Aunt Sassy, and Jamie Oakley, I’m going to lose my mind. Sooner than later, of course. Bet me.