A Foolish Notion

                                                               A FOOLISH NOTION          

                                                                    By David LeBlanc

         



“You want to do what?” The last bite of my meatloaf lodges itself halfway down my throat.

         “I want to hire a hit man.” My mother repeats a little louder

         “Shhhh! I heard you the first time.”  I exclaim between choking coughs. I reach across the table and press my finger across her lips and take a quick look around the diner. “And so did everyone else in the diner for that matter.”

         Mom just goes back to sipping her potato soup as if her comment was no different than asking about the weather or maybe how the grandkids are. As I watch her I know the time is rapidly approaching. At eighty five years of age, mom and reality are going their separate ways.  It just breaks my heart to think that I am going to have to put her in a…now what do they call it these days? An “assisted living facility.” To me it’s just a fancy term for nursing home.

         “Why in god’s name would you want to do that?” I ask regaining my composure.

         “Do what?”

         “That.”

         “You mean hire a hit man?”

         I wave my hands frantically back and forth. “Not so loud, Mom.” Quickly looking around I am relieved, as it seems no one is paying attention to our conversion. One thing about a small town like Fannett, Texas. Everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everyone else’s business else and, worst of all, rumors fly quicker than a minnow can swim in a dipper. I lean in closer. “Yeah, Mom. That.”

         “It’s for your father.” She says not looking up.

         “Dad wants you to hire a…” I catch myself in mid-sentence. “..I mean to do “that?”

         In a huff she sets down her spoon, then gives me the “Mom look”. You know the one where her eyebrows knit together like a furry caterpillar and her head tilts slightly to one side. “Jesus Christ, David. What in the god’s green world would your father ever do with a hit man?”

         I wave my hands frantically as I see a few heads swing in our direction. “Mom. Quiet with the hit man talk, okay.” I jump up from my seat across from her and take the chair to next to her. Picking up a napkin, I begin nervously rolling it between my thumb and index finger to combat the sudden onset of stress. “So just how is dad involved in this?”

         “I want him to kill your father.”

          My jaw hits the ground like a cartoon character. “Mom!” A cry out loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. Quieting to a whisper I go on. “What are you talking about?”

         “I want to hire a hit man to kill your father.” She reiterates.

         “But..but…” I am at a loss for words.

         “David, quit stammering.”

         “Mom, have you been taking your medication?”

         “Oh, right. It’s always about the medication.  That explains everything, doesn’t it? You know how I hate that stuff. It makes me feel like a zombie.”

         “But Dr. Macy says..”

         “Dr. Macy is a quack.”

         “But he’s been your doctor all your life.”

         “So he’s been a quack all my life.” 

         I slide my plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes to one side of the table due to a sudden lack of appetite.  Realizing, from past experience, that given her state of mind, that it might be better to let things play out, so I ask. “Why do you want to kill dad?”

         “To put me out of my misery.” She says matter-of-factly.

         “Don’t you mean his misery?”

         She looks up from her soup and rolls her eyes. “You haven’t lived with that man for fifty plus years. Trust me, it’s MY misery and it’s been much worse since he retired.”

         “Mom, dad retired twenty years ago.”

         “All the more reason then, isn’t it?” She stares out the diner window. “Twenty years of watching him slouched on the couch swigging his Lone Star, his hand resting comfortably down the front of his shorts watching reruns of “The Andy Griffin Show.” All the…..”

         “But that was yawls’ favorite show.” I interrupt.

         “Not anymore!” Her eyes widen as she looks back at me. “Personally I’m hoping some crazed maniac comes and wipes Mayberry RFD off the face of the earth.” Reaching over she takes my hand. “David, sweetheart, this is not at all what I expected for my golden years. I want to travel…”

         “But you do travel.”

         “Trips to every flea market located within three hundred miles in a musty and molded travel trailer is not my idea of seeing the world.” She looks back out the diner window. “I think I can get away with it. We can call it “justifiable homicide”? What do you think?”

          We!  My god she’s going to make me an accomplice. “Mom, stop it! This is foolish. Anyway where are you going to find a “you know what”? I can’t believe I’m asking this question. Hell, now I’m acting like an accomplice.

         “You mean the hit man?”

         “Mom! Shhhh.”

         “Oh, son.” She says shaking her head. “This is Texas, everyone owns a gun. Shouldn’t be a problem finding someone who needs to make a little extra cash on the side.”

         “So what are you going to do? Put an ad in the paper?” I ask sarcastically.

         She shakes her head. “David, David David…you are so naive.  I would never do something like that.”

         “Thank god.”

         “I’ll find one on the internet.”

         “Mom!”

         “What?”

          It’s time to put a stop to this foolishness.  I look her straight in the eyes. “You are not going to hire a hit man, you are not going to look for one on the internet. Is that clear?”

         “Oh I suppose you are right. So much trouble” She folds her hands on the table in front of her. “Do you think they sell rat poison at the hardware store?”

         “Mom!” I lean in closer and clenching my teeth command. “And you are definitely NOT going to kill dad!”

         Mom looks at me somewhat disappointed like a child that had their bicycle taken away from them. I decide then and there to make an appointment with Dr. Macy and look into changing her medication. And the assisted living facility?  Just got moved to the top of my list of “to do’s”

         She reaches over hand past my hand. “Oh, okay David. I’ll just suffer through it, if that is what makes you happy.”

         “Thank you.” I drop a twenty on the table for lunch and stand up. “I have to be going, Mom. Tax season and all.”

         “You’re a good son, David.”

         “I try.” I lean down and give her a peck on the cheek.  “I’ll stop by this evening to check on you and dad.”

         “There’s no need for that.”

         “I insist.” I say as I turn to walk away.

         “David?”

         “Yes, Mom” I answer without turning around.

         “What’s today?”

         “Huh?” I say still not looking back.

         “What’s todays date?”

         I look back at my watch. “April first.”

         “Gotch you!” Mom says and with that the whole diner erupts in laughter.

         Looking back over my shoulder, Mom goes back to sipping her soup.  I smile creeps across my face. Not because of the joke or the fact that I had been gotten, but because I knew now the appointment with Dr. Macy could wait and most definitely so could the nursing home. I could not have been happier.