Freedom [123]
She sounded like a nattering older lady, not the vital force he still imagined when he allowed himself to think of her. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to avert renewed weeping. Everything he’d done with regard to her in the last three years had been calculated to foreclose the intensely personal sort of talks they’d had when he was younger: to get her to shut up, to train her to contain herself, to make her stop pestering him with her overfull heart and her uncensored self. And now that the training was complete and she was obediently trivial with him, he felt bereft of her and wanted to undo it.
“Am I allowed to ask if all is well with you?” she said.
“Everything is well with me.”
“Life’s good in the former slave states?”
“Very good. The weather’s been beautiful.”
“Right, that’s the advantage of growing up in Minnesota. Everywhere you go now, the weather will be nicer.”
“Yep.”
“Are you making lots of new friends? Meeting lots of people?”
“Yep.”
“Well, good good good. Good good good. It’s nice of you to call, Joey. I mean, I know you don’t have to, so it’s nice that you did. You have some real fans here back at home.”
A herd of male first-years burst out of the dorm and onto the lawn, their voices amplified by beer. “Jo-eeee, Jo-eeee,” they lowed affectionately. He nodded to them in cool acknowledgment.
“Sounds like you’ve got some fans there, too,” his mother said.
“Yep.”
“My popular boy.”
“Yep.”
Another silence fell as the herd headed off to fresh watering holes. Joey felt a pang of disadvantage, watching them go. He was already nearly a month ahead of his budgeted fall-semester spending. He didn’t want to be the poor kid who drank only one beer while everybody else was having six, but he didn’t want to look like a freeloader, either. He wanted to be dominant and generous; and this required funds.
“How’s Dad liking his new job?” he made an effort to ask his mother.
“I think he’s liking it OK. It’s sort of driving him insane. You know: suddenly having lots of somebody else’s money to spend on fixing all the things he thinks are wrong with the world. He used to be able to complain that nobody was fixing them. Now he actually has to try to fix them himself, which is impossible, of course, since we’re all going to hell in a hand-basket. He sends me e-mails at three in the morning. I don’t think he’s sleeping much.”
“And what about you? How are you?”
“Oh, well, it’s nice of you to ask, but you don’t really want to know.”
“Sure I do.”
“No, trust me, you don’t. And don’t worry, I’m not saying that in a mean way. It’s not a reproach. You’ve got your life and I’ve got mine. It’s all good good good.”
“No, but, like, what do you do all day?”
“Actually, FYI,” his mother said, “that can be a somewhat awkward question to ask a person. It’s sort of like asking a childless couple why they don’t have any children, or an unmarried person why they aren’t married. You have to be careful with certain kinds of questions that may seem perfectly innocuous to you.”
“Hm.”
“I’m sort of in limbo right now,” she said. “It’s hard to make any big changes in my life when I know I’m going to be moving. I did start a little creative-writing project, for my private amusement. I also have to keep the house looking like a bed-and-breakfast in case a realtor stops by with a potential mark. I spend a lot of time making sure the magazines are nicely fanned.”
Joey’s feeling of bereavement was giving way to irritation, because, no matter how much she denied that she was doing it, she couldn’t seem to help reproaching him. These moms and their reproaches, there was no end to it. He called her for a little support, and the next thing he knew, he was falling short of providing support to her.
“So how are you on money?” she said, as if sensing his irritation. “Do you have enough money?”
“It’s a little tight,” he admitted.
“I bet!”
“Once I’m a