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7
JAK. She closed one eye as she blew a cloud of smoke from her lungs. In what had become a more health conscious world with far less people smoking, my mother continued to chain smoke cigarettes in her home as if she had no knowledge of them being detrimental to her health. As the last of the smoke cleared her lips, she looked down at her hand as if confused, “What’s her name again?”
“Karter, mom. Her name is Karter, spelled with a ‘K’,” I said as I raised my coffee cup to my lips.
“I thought you said Martha. It’s a good thing I asked, Jak,” she said as she pressed her cigarette into the overstuffed ashtray.
I chuckled and shook my head lightly, “Shhh. She’s going to hear you.”
She widened her eyes and stared across the table, “It sounded like you said Martha. I can’t help it you mumble. I hear just fine.”
“Mom, you need a hearing aid. I’ll pay for it. And you’re going to burn the house down if you keep smoking in here. No one smokes anymore. We should get you an e-cigarette, they’re healthy,” I smiled.
She scrunched her brow and tapped the cigarette case lying on the table beside her coffee cup, “I like real cigarettes. I don’t want to smoke battery powered smoke sticks, Jak.”
She picked up her coffee cup and raised it half the distance to her mouth, “She’s beautiful, Jak. How tall is she? And she has more tattoos than you do,” she sighed.
She lowered her coffee cup and leaned into the edge of the table. Her eyes shifted side-to-side and she attempted her best to whisper, “She has them on her hands, Jak.”
“Mom, stop. I know she does. On one hand, and I like them. She’s an artist, a painter. She’s good for me, she really is.”
“I know she is Jak. I can see it, I’m your mother, remember. I raised you. I know what’s good for you. I like her. She’s pretty and I like her hair,” she said as she leaned into the back of her chair.
My mother was a saint. She was the type of person to potentially question a person’s preferences to herself, but not outwardly. She was never critical of even the worst people. In her eyes, God created everyone equal, and they remained so regardless of the choices they made in life. Even the worst criminals weren’t necessarily bad people in my mother’s eyes, they only made poor decisions.
I didn’t offer Karter’s age, and my mother didn’t ask. It wouldn’t matter to her one way or another, but I felt no real need to mention it; at least not at this point in time. I wasn’t certain if Karter realized she revealed her age when we were in the Mediterranean restaurant, but I certainly noticed whether she knew it or not. To me, it didn’t matter. Karter provided me with an inner comfort unlike anything I had ever imagined was even possible. We are incapable of forcing ourselves to fall in love with someone we are not attracted to, and certainly less able of preventing a love which is predestined to be.
“Mom? Do you believe in destiny?” I asked.
She shook her head and pulled a cigarette from her case. As she lit it, she closed one eye and shook her head from side to side, “God has a plan for each and every one of us, Jak. Look at your father.”
She paused and blew the smoke at her feet. As she looked up, she shook her head again and snuffed the fresh cigarette into the ashtray, “It was destiny. God’s will. Destiny is God’s will. Are you asking me about the girl?”
I nodded my head once and turned to face the hallway as I heard the bathroom door open. As Karter walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, I felt somewhat foolish for asking a question I already knew the answer to. My mother truly believed everything happened in God’s world for a reason.
Everything.
She stood from her seat and picked up her coffee cup, “If she makes you feel the way you say she does, it can’t be anything but destiny, Jak. God broke her motorcycle for a reason.”
“Are you okay, honey?” my mother asked as Karter stepped into the kitchen.
“Yes ma’am. My stomach is a little queasy, that’s all,” Karter smiled.
“Stand up and pull her chair out, Jak. You weren’t born in a barn,” my mother sighed over her shoulder.
I turned toward Karter and rolled my eyes as I stood. As I pulled her chair from the table she sat and smiled. Simply seeing her smile provided me with a level of satisfaction I hoped I would experience one day, but had no expectation of it ever coming to be. In being honest with myself and realizing this peace of mind hinged on Karter’s presence, I came to truly understand I was incapable of living a fulfilling life without her. We had known each other all of three weeks. Be that it as it may, it did not change how having Karter share her life with me caused me to feel. As Karter reached for her cup of coffee, I admired her freshly painted fingernails.
“Honey, hand Jak your cold coffee. Jak, bring me that cup and I’ll get her a new one. Cold coffee will upset her stomach,” my mother said without looking up, her face obstructed by the refrigerator door.
Karter turned to me and smiled as she slid the coffee cup in front of me. I knew better than to argue with my mother. I stood and carried the coffee cup to the sink. After dumping the out the luke-warm coffee, I poured a fresh cup and turned toward the table.
“Slow down, Jak. Take her this, it’ll make her stomach feel better,” my mother whispered as she handed me a small plate of sliced cheese.
My mother found all of life’s questions answered by a slice of cheese. When she was upset, she ate cheese. When she wanted a snack, she ate cheese. When she was happy, she ate cheese. She covered her left overs with cheese, and then believed she was eating different food altogether. As a child, many of my stomach aches were resolved - according to my mother - by the cheese she force fed me. My mother was not a selfish woman – in fact she was quite the opposite. But to my mother, her cheese was sacred. Seeing her offer it to Karter as a form of remedy to her upset stomach allowed me to understand my mother had truly accepted Karter as being a permanent part of my life; and hers.
“Honey, nibble on that cheese, it’ll make you feel better,” my mother said as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee.
“Karter, did you grow up around here?” my mother asked.
