A MEMORY

A MEMORY:
After a long tiring day of training at the gym, working out myself, riding my horse, cleaning the house, cooking dinner, and taking a shower, I get a phone call. Ughh, I don't want to do ANYTHING else today. But, it's Addison. "Hey, whatcha doin?" I say "nothing, it's been a long day, I'm on the couch." "Well, I REALLY need help with this stupid paper so can I come over and spend the night with you?" Of course my response is "I guess" (thinking, great, now I'll never get to bed). I sit on the front porch, wrapped in a blanket, already in my pajamas, smoking a cigarette. From a mile in the distance I hear this deep, low, thumping sound. It gets louder as it approaches, though I can't see the Black Ford Explorer yet. I smile and think, Gosh how is he not deaf yet? Addison pulls into my driveway with his keys in hand, which hang from a UT lanyard. He is clad in pajamas too, a pair of flannel pants with a GIANT whole in the upper right thigh, which he doesn't care to have fixed or just plain throw away, because as he says "they are SOOOOOO comfortable." He wears his flip flops even though its freezing outside, along with a T-shirt and hoodie. From the back seat he grabs his school clothes for the next day and his huge backpack. He doesn't need toiletries as he has his own bathroom at my house with everything that is already his kept inside. He walks towards me, smiles and says "Hey!" and I respond in the same manner. After happily greeting each of my dogs one at a time and throwing his clothes and backpack on the kitchen table, he settles in on the couch with me. He watches sports or a sports related television show on ESPN 24/7 but at my house he is content to watch my real life crime shows and even The Golden Girl reruns without complaining. It takes a while to remind him that he came over to do HOMEWORK. He starts and is silently working at the kitchen table until he realizes that suckering me into making a fresh batch of homemade mashed potatoes will be a cinch just by saying "got anything to eat?" When I answer by saying "nothing that you would like...." He knows he's got me by saying "Well I guess you better get to work on those potatoes then because I can't do all this homework without food and you know you love me sooooooooo much." And he is right, it gets me every time. I'm tired, not in the mood to edit a paper much less start cooking, but for Addison I do it anyway. When I am finished boiling, mashing, and making sure they have the correct amount of all the right ingredients I take the first spoonful straight from the pot and carry it to him at the table. I put it up to his face as he slowly takes the fresh-off-the-stove potatoes and SLOWLY closes his mouth around the spoon, and pulls his face away leaving the spoon in my hand dishwasher clean. He closes his eyes for a second and smiles, not having swallowed them yet. Then looks at me and says "mmmmmmmm, those are PERFECT, as usual." He gets a bowl from the cabinet which he fills with about 4 servings worth of potatoes, plus about 2 tablespoons of Country Crock, though they already have a LOAD of butter in them. He pops it in the microwave even though they just came off the stove, and heats them again so the butter is melted and they are piping hot. He forgets to pour a colossal glass of Mayfield Milk, which I do for him. He sits down and continues his work while enjoying the potatoes I made just for him.

This memory, which I can't seem to write in the past tense is so vivid because it happened almost exactly like that so many times. The rest of the night was spent staying up late waiting for him to finish writing so I could edit his paper. Watching him fall asleep on the couch while I finished adding the header, footer, page numbers, title page, and printing two copies of it for him - just in case. He would leave the next morning after MANY attempts to wake him. He would give me a hug and a kiss at the door and thank me over and over again for helping him. And I would tell him "your welcome, I love you too."

This came to me last night before the storm. I was sitting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, smoking a cigarette, WISHING I could hear that deep low thumping coming down the street a mile away........