Page 49 of The River in Spring
“And I thank you for that, Dad. I might not have figured it out on my own.”
“Smart ass.”
Picking up the mic, Van announces his selection in soft reverent tones. “The boys and I are going to be singing one ofourfavorites and an ode to women everywhere, “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix A Lot. Also known as I Like Big Butts. We have spent two weeks memorizing this, so we deserve best of the night. Just sayin’.”
The boys take their places on either side of their uncle and leave their guitars behind. Out of a bag next to the karaoke machine come two cheap blonde wigs which they quickly don. They are the backup singers I take it. Dove finds the tune on the playlist and hits play. The sound of two girls talking about big asses tells me this is the extended explicit version. Sam and Teddy play the girls perfectly, mouthing the dialogue and overacting their parts. That’s what makes it funny.
Itty bitty waists and round things in your face bring smiles and laughter and more than one person sings along. Specifically Scarlett, Parish, and my father. Why am I surprised he knows the words? Of course he does. Aargon stays silent, but he’s loving it too. When Van compares himself to a turbo Vette, my mother’s mouth drops in fake insult. She’s digging it just like the rest of us.
When the song ends, the guys get a huge round of applause.
“I told you,” Van says, proud of the performance. He bows and the boys follow suit.
“This is the third song coming up. Tequila time. Gaston, will you do the honors?” Dove says.
“Yes, of course. I pour a proper shot.”
“Which is actually two at once,” my mother says. “I guess I’ll go,” she says standing.
Taking her place in front of the family she takes the microphone.
“My selection is “Dream a Little Dream of Me” made famous by Mama Cass. This is the song I sang to all my children when I tucked them in. I hope it brings back good memories. Tonight, it is dedicated to Mr. Invisible. Happy birthday, son. I love you dearly.”
Oh shit. A note hasn’t been sung yet, and there’s a lump in my throat. Lucky for me, there are tears in Aragon’s eyes and Scarlett’s so I won’t be the only crybaby. Van’s head is hung, but I expect he feels the same way. Dove is biting her lip. Only the boys are clueless what this means to us.
With a nod to Dove, the opening notes fill the room. My heart is full too. Full of the sweetness of my mother and all the ways she gave love to her children. The voice is soft and pure, just as I remember. When she sings say nitey nite and kiss me, I’m transported back to the old bedroom, where the three of us boys slept in bunk beds. I remember hearing the same goodnight song through the wall as she would sing to Kristen and Scarlett.
Whatever my dreams may be, she asks that I dream a little dream of her. Looking across the room I see Parish holding back his emotions. The loss he suffered years back surfaces every so often in tears that are impossible to stop. That’s what Scarlett told me once when we were talking about his young son’s fatal shooting. She takes his hand, and he holds on tight. I see the white knuckles from here.
Oh hell. That does it. A fat tear streams down my cheek and my brothers look like they’re feeling it too. Now Dad lets go. And when he does, Mom gets choked up too.
I’ve learned you never know what is going to trigger memories of Kristen. The whistle at the end of the song was always our young selves’ favorite part, because mom’s the best whistler in the family. But tonight, it is broken up by a tight throat.
“That’s it! Oh my God. Didn’t mean to make us upset. I’m sorry. It’s just that the memory is one of my favorites. I miss those early days.”
I get up and go to her, taking her in my arms and whispering in her ear, “I love you, Mom. Thank you for everything.”
She whispers back, “Love you too, son. More than you could ever know.”
“This calls for another shot,” Aargon says, grabbing the bottle.
“Give me some of that,” Parish adds.
No one argues the point. Rules or not. Scarlett stands.
“Okay. I hereby proclaim a change of mood. Our turn. It’s going to be a trio. Parish and Aargon are not interested in performing. But I am! So, eyes on me, and hopefully they make it through an entire song without having heart attacks.”
“Oh God. Let’s get it over with,” Aargon says, joining my sister and soon to be brother-in-law. He downs the tequila and wipes away the last of the tears.
“Hit it,” Parish says.
“Wait! The hats!”
She digs in the bag and comes out with three baseball caps. Hers says Star and theirs each say Stick In The Mud #1 and Stick In The Mud #2. As the familiar song begins, Scarlett is dancing around the room to the familiar instrumental, using arms and hips to make her point. Thing 1 and 2 have borrowed the parents’ kazoos, and they stand blowing the general tune and pouring fresh shots. But the laughter from the family, and their general haze of alcohol, amuses them so much they begin to get into the spirit.
As their big moment arrives, they shout, “Tequila!” And so does everyone else.
Scarlett’s dancing recital continues, but it’s the two drunks that have the spotlight. When Aargon attempts a move that requires more talent than simply standing, he gets off balance. Thing 2 comes to his aid with an outstretched arm. Parish shouts, “Tequila!” But it isn’t the right time. He’s ahead of the lyric and that is funnier to them and us than if he had been on target.
