Page 89 of Born to be Wilder

“They have mothers,” Marge confirmed. “Their mothers are home right now with absolutely no idea.”

“How can a mother have no idea? I always knew. I always knew everything my children were up to.”

Marge, Sylvie, and I exchanged a look over Doris’s head.

“Doris,” I said gently, “you did not always know.”

“I absolutely did. I was very tuned in. Very present. My children did not run around half-naked, showing their”—she gestured broadly at the street—“their everything to strangers.”

“How can you be certain?” Marge asked.

“Because I raised them right!”

“So did all these people’s mothers, presumably,” Sylvie said, gesturing expansively at the nearest balcony where several girls were showing off their breasts. “And look.”

Doris looked. Then looked away. Then looked back, unable to help herself. Her face went through four distinct shades of pink.

“I… My… They… they wouldn’t do this. No. Not my babies,” she said firmly, but I knew she was mentally cataloging how much time those children of hers were out in the world without her during the most rambunctious ages of eighteen and twenty-five.

“Doris.” Sylvie put an arm around her. “When I was in college, I did things that would have made my mother pass out cold on the kitchen floor. And she never knew.”

Doris stared at her. “You? No. Sylvie, you wouldn’t! You’re so responsible! What things could you have possibly done?”

“Things almost as wild as this.” Sylvie winked, then steered a stunned Doris forward into the crowd.

A young man in his early twenties danced toward us, beads around his neck, holding a plastic cup. When he saw us, a big smile stretched across his face.

“Nice! I hope I’m still rockin’ Mardi Gras at your age!” He slammed his plastic cup against Doris’s, and some of her drink sloshed out.

“Hey! You spilled my drink!” Doris frowned.

“My bad, lady! Hey! You want some beads?” He held them up.

“Oh, those are a pretty purple.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at them. “Sure! I’ll take the beads.”

“Hell yeah! This is awesome. Go on. Let’s see ’em!” He made a gesture of lifting his shirt.

He stared at her, waiting.

“What?” Her brow furrowed.

“You know. You gotta show the goods to earn the beads.”

Doris stared at him.

Her mouth opened.

Doris’s shocked face contorted into anger as she stepped forward, poking a finger into his chest. “Young man.” Her voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it, and I instantly had flashbacks to my mother scolding me for drifting off at church. “You should be ashamed of yourself! God is watching you right now. Right here. On this street. What do you think He’d say if He came down and spoke to you?”

The man faltered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Doris pressed on. “He would be horrified. Ashamed. Just like I bet your mother would be. Could you imagine how she would feel knowing she raised a man who would behave like this? Who would ask a poor old woman to show her bosom in the streets? You should give me your phone so I can call her up and tell her she needs to bring you back home and try again. Raise you right this time.”

She opened her hand like she actually expected him to hand it over.

“I… uh… Please don’t.” He stepped back.

“Well, then you’d better think long and hard about what you’re doing and pretend God and your mother are standing right next to you the rest of your night… and life!”