The Land of Mango Sunsets (Continued)
We made our way over to Third Avenue, huddling against each other for warmth. The raw air was so bitter that talking stung our teeth. Conversation was all but curtailed until we reached our destination.
Inside the restaurant we shook the snow from our coats and handed them to the coat check girl. My hat had gathered powder in its rim and I took a moment to remove it worrying that melted snow might discolor it.
"It's getting veeerry baaaad out there," she said, watching me as I placed my hat right back on my head. "Nice, uh, hat."
"Thank you." Apparently, she was unaware that hats worn during lunch were perfectly acceptable. And a highly desirable accessory in between salon visits, if you know what I mean.
"What does the weather channel say?" Kevin asked, slipping the coat checks in his pocket.
"Six to nine in the city and twelve north and west. And I gotta take the L. I. double R. to pick up my kid from daycare before six! It ain't easy, right? It ain't easy."
"Gracious!" I said. "Maybe you'd better leave a little early."
There came an onslaught of visions of an un-swaddled toddler, stumbling through drifts, whimpering, shivering, wandering around blindly, searching for his desperate and harried mother who trudged through snow banks, rushing to her child's side, carrying a cooked chicken and fresh carrots in doubled plastic bags from D'Agostino's. Then I looked at her again - chewing gum, tight top, bizarre gold highlights strewn through her dyed black hair and a chain on her neck that spelled out her astrological sign - what was I thinking? Cheap bling and Juicy Fruit. This was the kind of mother who would pull a hotdog from the freezer and throw it in her sticky microwave without the benefit of so much as a paper towel. I knew her type. This Scorpio would tuck juice boxes and dry Cheerios in the corner of her baby's crib so that in the morning she could sleep off the debauchery of her prior evening . . . not that I'm judgmental . . .
"Miriam? Come along, girl. Let's go to our table. You know, I don't think you heard a word I said, did you?"
I realized my breathing was irregular. "I'm sorry . . . I was just thinking . . ."
"About what?"
I took a deep breath to calm myself. "About how terribly fortunate I am to never have been in that poor girl's position. You know, forced to rely on daycare while I slaved away in some underpaid menial job just to feed my sons?"
Kevin did not need to know every thought I ever had about little trollops and the bulging population of others like her.
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