Running With Scissors_ A Memoir - Augusten Burroughs [84]
“I’m with them,” I said, nodding toward the far end of the counter.
“Oh,” she said. Then she leaned in. “What’s the matter, sourpuss, you don’t like your momma’s new friend?”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s her shrink.”
Winnie opened her mouth. “Her shrink? Your momma’s gone and shacked up with her shrink? Boy, she must be one crazy lady.”
“They’re not shacked up. My mother’s crazy and he’s taking care of her.”
“Your momma’s crazy?” Winnie said, sliding her eyes sideways.
My mother was talking to her spoon.
“Yeah,” I said. “She’s out of it. Her doctor took her to that motel across the street to try and get her better.”
Winnie frowned. “That don’t make no sense. Why would a shrink take his crazy patient to a motel?”
“Well,” I said, “he’s sort of an unusual shrink.”
“Unusual my ass,” Winnie said. “Somethin’s fishy. I better go have me a look.” And she walked back down to the other end of the counter.
I watched as Winnie approached my mother and Finch, smiling. Then she reached across the counter, put her hand on the doctor’s shoulder and said something that caused him to laugh and blush. She pointed to the rest rooms at the far end of the room. Finch got up from the counter and walked back to the bathroom. Then Winnie came around from behind the counter and took the stool next to my mother. She turned sideways so they were face to face, and they had a chat. A moment later when the doctor reappeared, Winnie got up, went back behind the counter and came walking back to me.
“Sugar, somethin’ funny’s goin’ on,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “My mother’s stark raving road.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, sugar. I got an instinct about this one.” She leaned forward and whispered. “I seen a lot of crazy people come in here. Folks madder than hatters. But your momma’s different. She says that doctor of hers, he’s trying to get him a little action, if you know what I mean.” She gave me a knowing wink.
“Don’t listen to her,” I said. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. This morning she said her dead grandfather was standing next to her holding out a basket of pecans.”
“I love pecans,” Winnie said. Then, “Hey, we got us some pretty good pecan pie. Would you like a slice?” She added, “On the house.”
“No, thanks.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s good pie. Not too sweet.”
“I don’t like pie,” I told her. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”
Her face fell. “You don’t have much of a sweet tooth? Everybody has a sweet tooth, sugar.”
“Not me.”
“Well, you must got other things on your mind.”
I glanced over at my mother and Finch and saw that he was gripping her arm, firmly. Great. Now she was gonna have a fit in public, right here in the restaurant.
“I told your momma I’ll come and visit her later at the motel.”
“You did?”
“I did. Your momma could use a friend,” Winnie said. “That shrink of hers.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. He may be a shrink, but he’s still a man.”
I could not imagine what my mother said to get this perfect stranger to visit her in her motel room. I could not imagine the kind of person that would, upon seeing a crazy talcum-powder-covered Southern lady think to herself, Hmmmm, she might make a great new friend. The line between normal and crazy seemed impossibly thin. A person would have to be an expert tightrope walker in order not to fall.
That evening, Winnie came to the motel. She came wearing white denim jeans with rhinestone roses on the back pockets. She wore a red-and-white checkered shirt that she had knotted just below her large breasts.
Finch was lying on top of my mother on the bed, struggling to pin her arms against the mattress. I was standing by the TV wishing my mother would stop thrashing. When I heard the knock, I was sure it was the motel manager, coming to throw us out. Instead, it was Winnie.
“What the hell is going on in this room,” she demanded.
Finch turned and my mother slipped out from under him.
Winnie ran to my mother’s side. “You ain’t like no doctor I ever seen before. You’re the one that looks crazy.”
My mother was panting. “He is, Winnie. He’s the crazy