Chapter 4

Tom wasn't going anywhere. "Not gonna move an inch," he thought and pulled himself into a fetal position to weather the approaching storm. Of course that's precisely when the call of his mother broke through the bedroom wall.

It started every morning about 6:00 as an exaggeratedly weak whimper and matured to a ebullient, snappish sarcasm as the day went on. "Tom....Tom....," drifted faintly under the threshold. Tom opened one eye and pulled back the cover to just enough to see the clock on his bed stand. 6:04. She was late this this morning. Tom closed his eyes back. "She doesn't know I heard," he thought and focused on staying still and breathing shallow in case she decided to limp over there. Tom! More insistent this time. How long could he ignore? Weakly again...."Son....son I'm calling you! Don't you hear?"


Tom hopped out of bed frowning. The term son could move him if nothing else. He quickly thrust on his coke bottle glasses and made the short sojourn to her room up the hall. It was a small room and as soon as he entered she slammed it shut with her cane. "Good to know we haven't gone deaf isn't it?" Tom blinked dumbly; startled by the sudden change in attitude.


Corinth grinned savagely and slowly eased herself upright in bed. "In my day children respected their elders but you! You wouldn't know anything about that would you?!", she said accusingly. "All morning I've been near coughing my lungs out and did you even think to bring me tea?!" "....It's only 6 A.M.....," Tom put in sheepishly. "The answer is NO! NO, boy! You did NOT think to bring your mother who nurtured and nourished you tea. YOU SORRY, SINFUL, SNIVELING, SNOT! WHAT GOOD ARE YOU TO ANY ONE?!" "I'll get it now," said Tom. He was quite eager to escape her room where he was compelled yet far too confined to dodge the verbal barrage she sent bouncing dangerously off the walls like a deadly game of dodge ball . "You damn well better", she replied.

Tom opened the door a sliver, quickly snaked out through the small opening and sprinted down the hall to the kitchen. The water boiled fairly quickly but when he opened the cupboards in search of her favorite Earl Grey tea he found the dingy self utterly barren. "Oh God..." This half formed thought was cut down, aborted by the guillotine of his mother's sharp, querulous voice. It came charging down the hall with all the speed and force of a pack of pachyderms. "WHERE'S MY BLASTED TEA?! GOD HELP YOU IF I HAVE TO COME IN THERE AND MAKE IT MYSELF TOM?!"

The shrill quality of her voice made it unmistakably clear to Tom that she'd probably downed half a bottle of "tonic" while waiting on tea. Victor Vigemon's wonder tonic (according to the bottle) was first made in 1856 and contained "the pure waters found by the great Dr. Livingstone in the land of the African savage." As Tom knew it also contained 75% vodka. Fortunately for Victor Vigemon the majority of his patrons were too old and dim eyed to scrutinize the fine list of ingredients so they attributed the invigorating burn in their belly to the same wondrous waters which strengthened African savages to endure two centuries worth of slave work and villified anyone who tried to tell them otherwise. Old Ms. Wimble fully still maintained that it would restore her "aged person to the vim and vigor of a youthful dandy" despite the hard truth that thirty years of it's usage had done nothing but devastate her delicate liver.

Tom declared the tea finished in a desperate effort to avert a verbal whipping. He then forced his arms into a tattered jacket and ran off to the neighborhood store to buy more. His honest intention was to return before he was missed but you know (mainly because I the all-knowing narrator am telling you) that this would not be possible. The tea kettle he'd left boiling on the highest setting knew this as well and heaved one long mournful whistle at his deplorable mistake....