Authors: Beth J. Harpaz
As for a limo, well, of course I was glad to hear they didn't need that, either. But I was a little puzzled about the transportation arrangements as Taz described them. We had gone to lunch, postgraduation, with a friend of Taz's and that boy's family, and I assumed the two kids would be going together to the prom that night, since they hung out a lot. This boy was one of Taz's longtime friends— one of the good ones.
But to my surprise, Taz revealed that he and this boy were not traveling to the prom together.
Taz then explained that he planned to meet his prom date in the neighborhood where she lived, and then they'd meet up with some other kids near there, and travel as a group to the dance, which was being held in a catering hall that the PTA had rented for the occasion.
Throughout my years as a mother, I have occasionally been seized with moments of extraordinary foreboding. It's a sixth sense that I think all mothers have at
some level. There are times when you just get this terrible feeling that something bad is going to happen. You don't know what it is, but your whole body is suddenly cramped with cold. The hair on the back of your neck literally stands up. It's positively primeval. You have morphed into one giant instinct, but you can't quite connect well enough with your primordial self to know what it's trying to tell you. Your brain starts to shuffle scenarios, looking to fill in the blank after the question mark. But you can't quite put your finger on what's wrong.
There was something about the scenario Taz was describing about traveling to the prom that made me uncomfortable. But I just couldn't pinpoint the gap. Something bad was going to happen, I just knew it. I could feel it. But there was also an inevitability about it. It didn't seem like there was anything I could do to avert whatever was going to happen.
Not that I didn't try. We went home after lunch in the restaurant. Taz was supposed to pick up his date later in the day. I didn't know her, but I'd heard her name, and the names of some of the kids they were planning to meet, from other teachers. None of them were among the good kids he'd spent most of sixth and seventh grade with. These were kids the other teachers had warned me about— kids they'd said were bringing each other down, kids who smoked and cut class and got bad grades. I should have paid more attention to the prom plans all along, but now they were set, and I didn't see
any way of changing them. All I could do was lecture. And so I did.
“Taz,” I said, trying not to sound too desperate, “I have a bad feeling about tonight. I just have this feeling something bad is going to happen. Please don't let these kids get you into trouble. If someone is doing something they shouldn't do, walk away. Don't let other people bring you down. You know that adults will judge you based on the company you keep. Don't let anyone judge you tonight because of something someone else is doing.”
He nodded as if he'd heard me, but I wasn't sure he had.
He was dressed, like most of the boys going to the party, very informally— a T- shirt and baggy pants. Aside from the hundred- dollar Jordans, which by now were de rigueur in his wardrobe, his hat was about the most stylish and significant component of his wardrobe. It was a Yankees cap, but covered with elaborate patterned stitching. It was crisp and clean, and he wore it as proudly as Fred Astaire in a top hat.
It had turned into a hot, humid early summer day. Our old car has no air- conditioning, so we drove to his date's house with the windows rolled down. I had offered to drive him and the others in their group to the party, but he said they'd rather take a car service. And I could see how our beat- up car, with no radio and no AC, wasn't exactly fit to take Cinderella to the ball.
We arrived at his date's house and he knocked on the
door. She emerged like a dream. She really, truly looked beautiful, like a princess in a storybook. She was wearing such a pretty dress. It didn't look expensive, but it was just perfect. Pale pink, satiny, with a fitted bodice and a long poufy skirt. As she and Taz posed for pictures, it was all a bit surreal. She was so dressed up, holding the flowers Taz had bought for her, and Taz was so casual about the whole thing.
The girl lived with her mother in an old house on a quiet corner of an industrial neighborhood; she and Taz posed for pictures in front of a little overgrown garden. I immediately connected with the mom, who had long gray braids and appeared to be about my age. She was a hippie type, and it was clear that she loved this girl with all her heart, and was trying hard to raise her right.
But somehow the picture just didn't quite add up. This lovely girl, all dressed up in front of this run- down house, posing for pictures with a boy in a baseball cap. Again I was hit with that wave of foreboding, like a shiver running through me from head to toe. I just couldn't shake the worry that something bad was going to happen.
The kids were about to get into the car so I could drop them off a mile or so away, where they were meeting the others in their group, when I suddenly put my arms around the girl and her mom and pulled them in close to me. I called Taz over to join our little séance.
“Listen,” I said, “I just want to say one thing. I want you two to have a great time tonight, and I know you will. But I just want to be sure you understand that you
have to behave yourselves and follow all the rules. I said this to Taz before we left our house, and I'm just going to say it again here now. Sometimes bad things happen at these kinds of events. And you guys have to look out for each other. You have to walk away, and help each other walk away, if someone else is doing something bad. Don't let other people drag you down!”
There was a quiver in my voice and the girl's mother looked at me. Our eyes met, and I could see she understood. A moment ago, we'd both been smiling at how lovely her daughter looked. But now the happy look was gone. That same wave of foreboding, I could tell, was passing through her, too. She added her voice to mine.
“Listen to what Taz's mom is saying,” she urged. “She's absolutely right. You two need to make sure you don't get into any trouble tonight.”
We bade our good- byes and left. It was hot in the car and we were all sweating; the breeze gusting in through the open windows didn't help. I worried that Taz's date's dress was going to be ruined in the heat, and I thought to myself it was just as well they were taking a nice air-conditioned cab to the party. Taz called his friends on his cell phone to say we were on our way, and a few minutes later I dropped them off. I saw a small cluster of kids— the girls all dressed up like Taz's date in long, pretty dresses, the boys all wearing T- shirts, baggy jeans, fancy shoes, and baseball caps.
“Yo!” I heard one of them call as Taz and the girl left the car.
I tossed Taz a $20 bill to help pay for the taxi, since the catering hall was a good half hour away. I reminded him to call me if he or anyone else needed a ride home.
As he walked away, I got the shiver again.
“Taz,” I called out. He swiveled his face around to half look at me, clearly annoyed that I had called him back into my world just as he was crossing over into his.
“Do the right thing,” I said. “OK?”
He nodded and walked off.
I drove home and changed into my grungiest tank top and cutoff shorts. My younger son was playing with a neighbor's child, Elon was working late at the office, and I was going to give the house a good, thorough cleaning. I started loading the washer in the basement with bedspreads, curtains, and towels; I put Bruce Springsteen loud on the CD player and got out the vacuum cleaner. I scrubbed the tub and dusted. It was hot in the apartment, and with all this hard work, I was getting sweaty and grimy. No matter; I'd soon be done, take a shower, and then get to enjoy my nice clean house all weekend.
I almost didn't hear the phone over the noise of the vacuum cleaner and the music. It had to ring two or three times before I picked the sound out. I flipped the vacuum off with my foot, dropped the hose, and caught the call on what was probably the fourth ring, right before the answering machine kicked in.
“Hello,” I panted.
“Is this Taz's mother?”
My heart sank. Something had happened. I knew it!
“Yes,” I said in a small voice.
Inside my head, a taunt was building: “Terrible Mother, Terrible Mother, TERRIBLE MOTHER!”
“This is the guidance counselor. You need to come right away and pick Taz up. We had to kick him and a few other kids out of the prom because they tried to bring in alcohol.”
I sighed and very nearly let out a sob. I asked for the address and said I would be there as soon as I could. I went over to the neighbor's house where Sport was playing and told him he had to come right away. “Your brother's in a lot of trouble and we have to go get him,” I said.
I parked around the corner from the catering hall. I slammed the car door, grabbed Sport's hand, and half dragged him as I marched down the block. Sorrow had given way to fury. Right then I felt like killing Taz with my bare hands in front of the world. I was also conscious of the fact that my face was streaked with dirt, my hair was a mess, my unshaven legs were on display beneath my dirty cutoff jeans and sweaty tank top. I looked like a crazy person, and I felt like one, too.
The party hall was one of those faux elegant places with the front steps covered in red carpeting beneath a white canopy. A few moms from the PTA were standing outside smoking or making calls on their cells. They were all dressed up, their hair coiffed to perfection, jewelry, nails, shoes matching their pocketbooks, and all of that.
I came pounding up the red carpet, my flip- flops slapping each step, my younger son almost in tears himself from the stress of it all, but too scared by my mood to utter a word. On top of everything else, I now had to imagine the chatter about myself: “And you should have seen the mother— what a mess! No wonder the kid's out of control.”
Just before I flung open the gold- embossed glass door to pull Taz out, I spotted his date. She was standing outside, I guess waiting to be picked up by her mother. Funny thing was, she didn't look at all upset. She still looked beautiful, dewy, like Cinderella must have been around ten o'clock the night of the ball, with hours to go before her coach would arrive. She even gave me a sweet little smile.
I was having none of it. At that moment, I hated her just as much as I hated Taz. I wanted to smack her, but restrained myself.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I screamed, getting right up in her face before flip- flopping away. She recoiled in horror, as if the evil stepmother herself had broken the spell, and the other mothers looked up from their cigarettes and cell phones for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on.
But I didn't stay in their view long enough. I stepped over the threshold and saw Taz sitting in the lobby with another mother. A wonderful, sweet, and smart mother whom I admired tremendously. Her son was one of the nicest, smartest boys in the school. The boy's father had
died when he was young, and his mother was not only doing a great job raising her kids, but she also had a job and volunteered a tremendous amount of time to the school. And here she was, giving comfort to My Evil Son, like a Saint Among the Lepers.
Taz saw me the instant my head poked through the door, abruptly rose, and walked toward me. At the same time, I spotted the guidance counselor who'd called me to come get him. I nodded at her, making sure that she saw I was picking him up. I didn't want to have to speak to her or anyone else there. I stormed back down the red carpet, past Taz's date, past the moms on their cell phones, still holding Sport by the hand, with Taz following. We got around the corner and a third of the way down the block to near where I'd parked the car when I stopped and let him have it, at the top of my lungs, right there on the street.
“I knew something bad was going to happen! I knew it! I begged you to do the right thing, I told you to behave yourself, and you had to go break the rules! What is wrong with you? How could you do this? Do you know how embarrassing this is, not just for me but for your whole family? From the time you were born I've given you nothing but love, and this is the thanks I get— you get kicked out of your prom! There is no excuse for you, Taz! Other kids have a tough life and they turn out just fine, but you, you've had everything you ever wanted and all you can do is screw up! I am so ashamed of you, and I hope you have the decency to be ashamed of yourself!”
Taz looked like he was about to cry. He hung his head beneath his baseball cap and shuffled along in his perfect white Jordans. I realized a half- dozen people up and down the block had stopped in their tracks to stare at us, trying to figure out what was going on. Suddenly, I had visions of someone calling 911 to report child abuse. Two guys in their late twenties standing directly across the street from us had paused their conversation to stare and watch the show.
“What's the matter with you?” I screamed at them. “Weren't you ever a teenager? Didn't you ever make your mother so mad that she started yelling at you in the street? Mind your own business!”
They looked at each other, somewhat terrified, and resumed walking without saying a word back. I realized at that moment that I had crossed over from being a Terrible Mother to being a Lunatic Mother. It was not a pleasant thought. I unlocked the car door in a hurry and got in.
I can't remember exactly what I said on the ride home, or that night, or that weekend. All I know is that I basically repeated, sometimes screaming, sometimes crying, sometimes whispering, the rant I'd started as we left the hall. I dreaded the call I was going to have to make to Elon, who, upon hearing what had happened, reacted the way he often did— by saying nothing. He had an even dimmer view of Taz's shenanigans than I did, so that whereas I was always shocked, horrified, and disappointed to learn about Taz's latest escapades, Elon
usually reacted with something closer to grim resignation, as if he'd known it was going to end this way all along. It was as if the crisis du jour was nothing more than an affirmation of his previously held opinions that we were heading to a very, very bad place.