My Mom and the Flyswatter

I watched them from our garage across the street. The garage doors slid back and forth, not a door that went up, so I was able to open it just a crack and watch.

There they were, 2 teenagers from the High School I would be going to in 5 years, making out against her parent’s car parked in the driveway.

I had had a crush on Tom since I could remember. He was absolutely the most gorgeous boy I had ever seen. Hair so black it was almost blue, thick and shiny, with blue eyes that made my 11 year old heart melt which then caused babbling nonsense to spew forth from my mouth as I giggled, snorted and turned bright red, often too scared to move or shut up. I probably drooled at times. 

He would come over to hang out with my older brother and I would watch them from the kitchen as they played pool or watched TV. Pressed up against the wall and shyly peeking through the door, I couldn’t move. Once in a while my brother would see me and tell me to get the hell away from them and stop spying.

I wasn’t spying; I was in love and that was as close as I could get to him. It was physically impossible for me to walk into the room. I was too scared and I knew my brother would make some derogatory remark about how fat I was and too bad some of the fat on my ass didn’t make it to my chest.

His favorite name for me was “A Pirates Dream - a sunken chest.” No way I could ever let him say that to me in front of Tom. I would  die, right then and there, so I stayed behind the wall and stared.

Oe he was making out with Nicki, the slut. I hated her more than I could stand as I watched him press himself into her, cup her ass and move his hands up and down her as they kissed.

It wasn't so much the making out that was so interesting to watch; don't get me wrong, it was, but it was the blatant disregard they were showing for appropriate and civil behavior.  I mean, this was not the way teenager's, or anyone else for that matter, were to behave. It was the late 60's and though we were all hearing about "free love" especially since Woodstock, the ongoing revolution had yet to appear in this affluent and completely white neighborhood. On the weekends when we weren't in school, most of us could be found up at the Country Club (or "The Club" as us members called it), swimming, playing tennis or golf, and lounging around in utter and complete boredom. Upsetting the status quo was not only looked down upon, it was punished.  Misbehaving would not only get a neighbor or two to tell your parents, it could result in being grounded or at least getting a stern lecture and days of disapproval and additional chores to do on the weekends. To do anything other than act as a proper lady was unacceptable.

But not for Nicky. I looked up to her since I was little and we had first moved in. She lived across the street and was 5 years older than me. I marveled at what she wore; paisley pants and matching jacket and cap, purple sunglasses with round rims and flowers in her hair, just like the songs said.  I looked at her as the free spirit I wanted to be when I grew up and no longer beholden to wear the proper attire when leaving the house or being worried about "what the neighbors thought." Every aspect of my dress and behavior was dictated by socially acceptable mores that had always been there and no one knew why or where they came from; it was just the way things were done.

I envied her free spirit and could sometimes hear her mother yelling at her late at night through my open bedroom window in the summer evenings. I'm sure her mom didn't know how much her voice carried at night, but I knew my parents heard her also as the most recent argument was always the topic of conversation at breakfast.

"Nicky must have gotten home late again last night by the sounds of the argument," my mom said as she refreshed my father's cup of coffee.

He grunted as he buttered his toast. "That girl is headed for trouble," he said and chomped on the toast as he turned a page in the newspaper.

My mom nodded in agreement and turned to look at me.  "I hope to God you know enough to never pull the stunts that that girl does."

I wasn't quite sure what stunts Nicky was pulling, but I wanted to do them too. I wanted to be her when I grew up.

"No way," I said and shoveled another spoonful of Captain Crunch into my mouth.

The more I heard the disapproval of Nicky, the more intrigued I became about her. I would sit near my bedroom window and watch her house on nights I couldn't sleep. My second story bedroom window looked down on her house. It was the perfect place to sit and watch. I didn't want to spy on her. I just wanted to see what she was wearing that night when she pulled up in front of her house. She wore mini-skirts when I had to make sure the hem of my dress wasn't above my knees. She wore stockings when I had to wear knee socks that matched my dress. She wore elegant high heels when I had to wear black and white saddle shoes. Her hair was black and straight and mine was dirty blonde and frizzy. She wore makeup and bras while I used acne cream and a headgear at night with my braces.

But now she was with Tom and I suddenly hated her. I hated myself for hating her but I couldn't help it. I felt betrayed and sad and angry yet couldn't turn away as my pain increased.

I saw someone storm down our driveway. I pulled back further into the garage so as not to be seen. 

It was my mother and she was pissed off. She was carrying a fly swatter. 

"You two are disgusting!" she yelled as she marched towards them. They ignored her and continued kissing.

My mom walked up to Tom and started hitting him with the flyswatter. "Get your hands off of her! I am ASHAMED of you, Thomas!" She hit him on his arm and head until he stopped and turned around and faced her.

"Oh my God," I thought. "He's going to hit my mom!" For a moment, I hoped he would.

"Get away from me, you old crow!" he shouted.

Nicky laughed and leaned back further onto the hood of the car. She arched her back a bit.

My mom turned on Nicky. "Get inside and stop acting like this! Have some decency! Wait until your mother hears about this..."

Nicky sat up and smiled at my mom. "Go ahead. Tell her whatever you want, you cow," and laughed.

My mother continued to yell and smack him with the flyswatter. Tom just kept laughing and pushing her away. I watched in awe and amusement.

Finally my mother gave up and walked back across the street and into the house.

I quietly slid the door closed and backed further into the dark garage. I could not believe my mom would smack the shit out of anyone with a flyswatter...and in broad daylight!

I never said a word about it, but from that moment on, I knew my mom was a badass and I felt a bit of pride and embarrassment at the same time.

I knew Tom would never come into our house again.

And he never did.