7.
My eyes came to rest absently on the iced teas, and I returned from my reverie. Walking the cool beverages back to the bedroom, I found that Mom was sitting on the edge of her bed, with the opened box at her left hip. I sat close to her on her right, and handed her the bottle of tea. With a gracious smile, Mom raised her bottle and we toasted. “To air conditioning!”
“And to Yoga pants!” I clinked her bottle, she pushed me playfully, and we drank deeply. She then put our bottles on her dresser and turned off her radio.
Sitting next to me once more, Mom said, “Check it out – my old High School Yearbook – from my senior year!” Her voice was filled with genuine excitement.
“Cool – let’s see it.” We scooted closer together, hips and thighs now touching. Mom put the large hard-cover book between us – on both our laps.
“St. Teresa of Avila, Preparatory Academy for Girls,” I read from the elaborate seal on the front cover. “Wow that’s a mouthful!”
“Yeah – that’s the long-winded way of saying, “Catholic School,” she chuckled. “We were partners with a boys school in the next building… ‘Saint John of the Cross Preparatory Academy for Boys’. We were always having events together. Going to Mass, and dances and games. It was basically the same school – except boys and girls had separate classes.” Mom opened the book and leafed wistfully through the pages, chatting about this friend and that.
Her yearbook was from 1988, and the school was in the Bronx – so there was a lot of big hair. But it was, overall, a pretty small school – so, in addition to the standard yearbook head shots, there were plenty of filler photos – most of them in color – of the students doing extracurricular stuff, sports and just horsing around. “So where are you Mom?” I asked, growing just a trifle bored.
“Look, I’m right here,” she tapped a group shot, “The Debate Club!”
My eyes scanned the photo and locked onto the face of my then-18-year-old Mother-to-be. There she was – seated amongst a handful of similarly attired young ladies. It was a cool photo – because they were all laughing. Then it struck me… Oh my God. She was so pretty! Not just pretty… stunningly beautiful. They were all seated on, or leaning against a table – my mom at the far right wearing a brown turtleneck sweater, her tartan skirt, and long dark socks and loafers. Her cascading brown hair was pulled back from her temple by a narrow hair-band. Her bright, laughing eyes looked directly into the camera. Her full lips, her generous mouth… I was seeing my Mother in a way I never had before. As a peer. She was 18 in that photo. I’m 18 now. This is a girl I would be absolutely smitten by if I went to school with her.
“We used to call ourselves the ‘Master deBators’… that was always good for a laugh.” She flipped some more pages and landed on her official head shot. Again – so beautiful – like a young Marisa Tomei. Mom’s lips bowed in a Mona Lisa smile; her dark eyes sparkled with wit and mischief.
Mom continued to flip through the book – and I could feel myself falling in love with this delightful young woman. I felt myself longing to be her boyfriend. To laugh with her. To share private moments of joy and sorrow. To protect her. To kiss her deeply. To love her. And to be loved by her.
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