JT Johnson

Him?

Who knows what good old one-night stand is up to.

Probably fishing in Kokomo.

Hey, let's dance.

Turn it on for me, kiddo.

I'd then grab one of her little cassette tapes and put it into her boombox she called The Good Lady.

For whatever reason, my mom didn't, like Nona, would wrinkle her nose when she smelled my clothes before making me take a bath.

She would say things like, Nona's is a dump, or while making a kink at midnight that that old bat ruined my life.

She only said those things after she'd consulted with Jim, as she called it.

But once she'd had that drink, little things would slip out of her.

Things about marriage and dropouts.

And I'm sure I was a big disappointment.

I knew, even at a young age, that there was a tangled mess of a knot between my mom and my Nona.

A history that had never fully healed under the calloused surface.

Sometimes when mom complained about Nona, how disgusting her house was or how she had bugs, I would ask, beg even, if I could just come live with her.

She would get a strange little look on her face, her mouth setting into a thin line before she'd take my chin and squeeze once.

You're better off with Nona, my little doll.

She would say, sometimes with breath smelling like frosting or candy, or other times with the sharp smell of Jim.

Besides, if you were with me all the time, I wouldn't be so fun.

I asked Nona once why I couldn't live with my mom, why I had to stay with her and her bugs.