Earth to Skye

4

4“She’s getting to be a bad influence on you,” Mom said, as we drove home after dropping Skye off. “I think you guys should take a break from each other.”

I knew where Mom was coming from. But we were like sisters, Skye and I, friends since pre-school. She even got her first period at my house. Mom was all excited, like it was a special occasion to celebrate. I don’t know what is so special about blood pouring out of your v****a.

“There is no way in the world that I am cutting Skye out of my life, so just get used to it, Mom.”

The palm trees on Ocean Avenue looked like giant toothpicks with bouffant hair. I wondered why they didn’t break, being as top heavy as they were.

“She has no business dressing like that,” Mom said. Mom was wearing the same grey sweats that she’d worn the last two days.

“We were just playing around,” I said. “It’s not like we were going to put it on Facebook.”

“Oh my God, what a horrible thought,” Mom said.

“Mom, she has a really good heart. She volunteered last summer working with disabled kids, while I did nothing.”

“That was last summer, this is now,” she said. “Just watch yourself. Don’t give in to ‘peer pressure.’ From Skye or anyone else.”

“Foxy Lady” came on the radio and Mom started talking about when Hendrix played at the Bowl and people danced in the pool of water that used to be in front of the stage. Mom had lots of wild stories from when she was young. She released them slowly, as she thought I was old enough to listen and smart enough not to follow suit. She ran away to Morocco when she was eighteen. She travelled the world. She hung out with rock stars and acted in movies. Then she married a musician and had me, which she claimed was the best thing that ever happened to her. The “me” part anyway.

“Wasn’t there a guy from Mexico that you liked? Before Dad?”

Mom was instantly floating above her body. “Jorge.” A long smiling sigh brought her back behind the wheel. “Love of my life, aside from your father.”

“What happened with Jorge?”

“Long story.”

“Why don’t you look him up?”

“Sometimes you have to move on. Life flickers, moments fade.”

“Life flickers? You sound like you took too many drugs.”

“I told you I smoked pot, when I was young,” she said. “You know I don’t approve.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know that I don’t smoke anything.”

“Hey, you know what?” Mom said. “I’ve been thinking maybe you should get a pet. Something small, that you could take back and forth to your dad’s, to give your life some continuity.”

I let Mom go on and on, randomly changing subjects without even waiting for me to reply. She was basically talking to herself. She’d been doing that a lot since Dad moved out. I wondered if she was ever going to get over the divorce.

I was fine with it myself. Dad only moved down the street, so it was no big deal for me. He was always on tour anyway. Sometimes I thought he loved music more than family, but maybe I just got that idea from Mom. A man’s got to make a living.

“You guys are only sixteen-years old, which frankly means you’re making kiddie porn,” Mom said, before crashing into the Mercedes in front of her.

“Oh s**t! Now look what I’ve done!”

“Where the hell is your mind?” yelled the woman in the Mercedes, as she got out of her car. She had trout lips and a low-cut fuzzy pink sweater. Young and blond, with an obvious boob job.

“I’m so, so sorry,” said Mom. “I’ve got insurance, don’t worry.”

The damage was slight, just a dented bumper on the Mercedes, not a mark on Mom’s old Volvo, but the woman insisted that we wait for the police to come.

“Just what I needed,” said Mom, as we got back in the car. “When you learn to drive, Livi, make sure you always keep your eyes on the road, no matter how mad you are at the passenger.”

I didn’t want to learn to drive. Los Angeles traffic, the freeways, the pedestrians and bicyclers. Yikes, it was scary. Besides, I think it was Bob Dylan or someone who said, “Poets don’t drive.” A person can’t get into the frame of mind to express their deepest feelings if they’re always on the road, risking their life at every turn.