Afternoon with my son and friends

Three skateboard dudes.

15, 16, 17 years old.

Tall, lanky white boys.

Curly hair.

Agile Energy.

They like to play rap music loud,

With the car windows down,

Booming bass throughout the neighborhood.

Matters not that they ride the equivalent of a modern-day Pinto.

And that the driver is one’s mother, me.

Front porch for a friend pick up.

There’s a boy with a hatchet.

He’s an 8^th grader, they said.

Another little brother is also there, he’s five or so.

An urban front yard.

Two children, one swinging an ax.

Playing a game, jumping from steps to tree stump.

There’s a name for the game.

What is it?

Leaning like surfers,

Not into the ocean wave,
But into the curve of the road,

The sidewalk,

The ATM drive through lane

They skate, each with two legs and four wheels.

One boy says his dad’s a chef.

This boy knows chefs.

He knows the most famous chef in the city.

Where is your dad a chef? I ask.

I don’t know. He’s a chef somewhere, the boy says.

It's like the other chefs took him in,

after his dad ditched him.
Or maybe I'm just idealistic.

Riding to another skate site.

The in-car conversation.

When people start dying.

But aren’t we all dying?

Yeah, but when do we start?

Don’t we start dying the minute we’re born?

Yeah, but when is the brain at its peak?

Wouldn’t a brain keep getting better,

The older you get?

Skater boys philosophize.

With the mother, teacher wanna-be.

At the mall parking lot.

The inner city kind of mall

That doubles as a senior citizen center.

A tiny elderly lady can’t open the door.

Can I open the door for you?

She’s petit and wearing pajamas.

Frail.

Wait, what is it?

Albert Einstein?

Heavy white eyebrows and a head scarf.

Yes, thank you, I think she says.

Her lips don't move.

Her voice is muted.

Is she actually talking to me?

The door is locked.

Where are the wrinkles?

Is she wearing a Halloween mask?

It’s two weeks ‘til trick-or-treat.

She’s walking with a walker.

She can’t get in.

She sits on a bench.

I'm kind of creeped out.

I think of all the reasons

And elderly woman would wear

An Einstein mask and pajamas
to the mall.

It makes me sad and extremely curious.

Why?

Tacos.

Ice Cream.

Teenage metabolism.

The ice cream vendor laments

That she gave the boys covers to their sundaes.

“They will just throw them away,” she says.

They didn’t understand your question, I offer.

The owner with silver hair and hardened face is

counting her cash register pennies, I know.

I want to suggest she default to no covers.

People will ask for them if they want.
I used to work at an ice cream shop.

Maybe the franchise requires her to give covers.

I'm pretty sure she doesn't want my advise.

There’s one employee besides the owner

In the ice cream shop,

A young girl with a single braid.

She’s so slight, voice so small, face so meek.

I resist the urge to give her advise.

Besides, what would I say?

I like your friends,

I tell my son

When the afternoon is over.