I wanted my parents to stay in the kitchen long enough so that my brother and I could finish watching "Westworld" on the TV in the living room. Rarely did we get to watch what we wanted to see. With only one TV in our home, our parents, particularly my mother, had final say on what we watched. Each second of the movie that went by felt like a delicious, rare, decadent, treat on that winter Saturday night long ago. Sure beat "All In The Family". Sorry, Archie.
Shortly after the scene where Yul Brynner's character, or robot, starts misbehaving, our home phone rang. It was Mrs. Goldstein, my best friend's mother. I thought it odd that she'd call on a Saturday night but I paid little attention to it. Besides, with my mother tied up on the phone, she'd stay in the kitchen giving my brother and I more time with the movie.
Their conversation was much shorter than I had anticipated. I heard my mother mumble "so, so sorry" as she hung up the phone. The dull, out of tune clang of the phone's bell ringing throughout the house as she clumsily slammed down the heavy plastic handset. I heard the kitchen door open. Great. Here she comes. There goes the movie.
She entered the living room and sat down on the couch next to my brother. She said nothing. Through the corner of my eye I could see my brother becoming agitated, anxious. I concentrated on the movie.
After a few minutes she finally broke the silence. Her powerful voice full of drama. "Charlie, I need you to turn this off. Chris...I need you to go upstairs". My brother bolted from the living room, slamming the door as he ran upstairs to the room we shared. Whatever was the matter, he was safe. Lucky him.
"Charlie...", she continued, "that, was Mrs. Goldstein on the phone...David's mother. And...", she bit her lower lip. My heart started to race. My ears adjusting to the erie silence in the living room after I turned off the TV. She burst into near hysterics as she yelled at me, "I'M SO SORRY!"
I didn't need to hear anything more. I knew what she meant. David, my best friend, was dead.
David was born with a weak heart and had nearly died several years earlier when he had come down with pneumonia. Not a week earlier he had been perfectly fine. Then he came down with a cold. It got worse. He had trouble breathing. His parents took him to the hospital to be observed and they admitted him. His parents thought it best that I not visit him, germs and all. The cold had turned to pneumonia. His heart gave out.
I was frantic with instantaneous, complete and total grief. My mother said and did nothing. She just sat on the couch. I ran out into cold and down the hill into the park behind our house, hoping somehow it was all a dream. I was yelling, screaming, crying uncontrollably. I felt so bad for my friend. I had just spoken to him that afternoon? What happenend? Did he suffer? I didn't think he was that sick! Was he in pain? Where is he now? Is he here with me now? This doesn't happen to kids! My mind a flutter with a million and one thoughts.
Eventually, I walked back up the hill. My 11 year old world was upside down. I had never experienced anything like this before. Death was something that happened to old people. It felt so odd. So, dream like. I was hoping, praying I'd find it was all one of my mother's cruel, heartless jokes.
I walked back inside the house and saw my mother still sitting on the couch in the living room. The TV was on. She was watching "Westworld". I walked in and sat down in the chair near the TV that I was sitting in before. I cried softly to myself. Tears ran down my face. I was very alone. I said nothing to my mother.
She was smoking. The cigarette's orange glow the light in the room besides the TV. She took a long, filterless drag, When she exhaled, she blew the smoke at me and she murmured just above her breath, "you know...Charlie...I hope you're this upset when I die..."
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