Dinner with a BP

[Guest guest]

Hi all,

I'm trying to write a novel with BP characters. This is about a 4-page dinner

scene I finished a bit ago. If anyone has time to read it, I want to sort of

road-test it to be sure the emotions and characters ring true to what a lot of

people have experienced. I'd really appreciate any time anyone could take.

, the BP here known as " Ma, " has been harassing her former employer after

losing her job, and narrowly escaped trouble with the police. She has been

obsessing over it to everyone she knows.

Without further ado...

Ma fixed spaghetti. had always loved his mother's spaghetti. Mingled in

the garlic-sweet aroma of meat and tomatoes wafted the memories of dancing

candlelight and childhood friends giggling and laughing across the table. Dad

had never been home for dinner. Ma had filled the Friday nights with spaghetti

dinners and ghost stories outside under the maple tree when the weather was

nice. Neighborhood kids would huddle on an old pink blanket around a candle,

watching lightning bugs flash in the darkness. They'd hold contests to see who

could catch the most of them.

Tonight Ma was in a state. " You'll never believe what at the gym said

to me! " she began, filling a sandwich plate with spaghetti and sitting down to

that and a bowl of salad. filled his own regular-sized dinner plate and

poured himself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher on the counter. His mother

had always made the best iced tea.

" Didja get tea, Ma? "

" Oops, I forgot my tea! "

He grabbed her a glass, added ice cubes from the freezer, and poured. " Here

you go. " He put it in front of her.

Other guys on his squad had to deflect questions about open murders at their

family gatherings; never had to worry about that. When he'd first called

Ma to tell her he'd made detective, she'd started up with, You'll never believe

what so-and-so did to me, and it was an hour before he could ever break his

news.

He sat down and started to cut his spaghetti into manageable length. He wasn't

one to bother with twirling it around his fork; besides, it gave him something

to concentrate on. She could make him listen, but she couldn't make him look at

her.

" I was talking about that mess at the paper, and she was standing there drying

her hair, and all of a sudden she switches off the hair dryer—so everyone can

hear, mind you—and turns around to me in front of everybody in the locker room.

And she says, 'You're not the first person who's ever lost a job!' Real mean

and snotty. "

glanced up at her. She stared indignantly at him out of her wide blue

eyes.

" Then she says, 'You're going to have to do what the rest of us do—' like I'm

an idiot or something—'Buck up, suck it up, and move on!' " Her head pecked back

and forth, strawberry curls bouncing at her cheeks. " She said it just like

that—real nasty. "

had had a point, but kept that part to himself, and only said what

he knew wouldn't cause trouble. " That's a rather extreme way to put things,

especially in front of other people, " he conceded. That was the only way to

deal with Ma: Respond only to what you could agree with.

" Yeah, isn't it though! " She stabbed at her salad. " I was standing there

gaping like a fish, because I didn't know what to say, and then she starts going

on about how she's been laid off three times, and 'she couldn't sit around

moaning about it because she had three kids to feed.' And some stupid thing

about how I 'was trying to turn back the clock.' "

agreed, but he forced that assessment back down with a mouthful of hot

spaghetti. That was the thing with Ma. You never knew when you were going to

have a pleasant home visit and when you were going to have to sit on the steam

or blow your stack.

His mother crunched broccoli and swallowed. " And the whole locker room went

dead silent and I was so embarrassed! In front of my whole class I'd just

finished teaching, and not one of those ladies stood up for me. Not one! "

Because they all agreed, thought silently, and couldn't hold back a

snicker. He covered it with a sip of tea and a fake choke.

Ma stood up, reached over, and slapped him on the back a few times. " Are you

okay? " she said.

patted his chest and nodded, and she relaunched. " And I was so upset, I

just started crying right there. And you know what did? "

didn't even have time to say, " What? "

" She rolled her eyes at me and stalked out! And I'm standing there with tears

rolling down my face. In front of my whole class! "

shoveled in spaghetti. He knew what she wanted him to say: Oh, you poor

thing! That was horrible! What a mean thing to do! She's a terrible person!

And that was what he had done…when he was six. And eight. And ten. These

days he envied people like who skated the periphery of his mother's

world. They were the ones who got off easy.

All he could mutter was, " Gee whiz, Ma! "

" Then these three nice ladies came over and started patting me on the arm and

handing me tissues. I think they were afraid to say anything to 's face.

I guess I can't really blame them. teaches this noonday abs-blaster

class with all these rich middle-aged ladies with sixty-year-old faces and

twenty-year-old figures who all have BMW's and no jobs! They're in there an

hour every other day doing nothing but different ab crunches, and then an hour

on the cardio machines after that. And then half an hour with weights after

that! If you're just a regular person and you don't work in a gym, who else has

the time for that? I don't know who that thinks she is. I guess she

thinks her shit-don't-stink-by association! " his mother said with the simper of

a middle-school girl who knows she's not supposed to curse.

She finally stopped for breath and attacked her salad, ferociously pinning down

an errant leaf of romaine.

" God, Ma, that's horrible, " said in a tone that hopefully conveyed enough

sympathy to allow him to escape maligning the other party. He had made that

mistake before in quarrels within the family, and then had to endure the burning

shame of Ma telling Grandma or somebody exactly what he'd said about them—at the

dinner table in front of them.

" We're all going to have lunch next week, " his mother prattled on. " I think

's been rude to them, too. They didn't act like they liked her. Maybe

it's because they don't have rich husbands and beach houses and drive BMW's! "

Her voice rose into little girl pitch with a snide childish edge, like a

schoolyard put-down.

checked his watch under the edge of the table. Three more hours of this

and she should be in bed. He had to start his surveillance pretty early, which

should give him an excuse to hustle out.

There was only one good thing about this: Just when he started feeling guilty

about not wanting to visit, she'd do this again and reawaken the many memories

of why he didn't like to visit.

The shitty thing about this being his mother, though, was that he still wasn't

excused from feeling guilty about it.