A "Special" Lady

It was the early 80's and the essence of who I thought I was, back then, can only be described as a residual stain of existence rooted in amoral living conditions marred and scarred by family dysfunction.  I felt and owned every bit of my thirteen years, subsisting within a home of parental brokenness, poverty and addiction. During that confounding time and age I was being forged by the dizzying confusion of puberty coalesced with an ever looming low self-worth that was being increasingly compounded (daily) by a simmering ‘crock pot’ of emotional anger and perplexing sexual tension and trepidation.  

It was a Friday night in April and my mom was downstairs entertaining a man I’d never met. By now I was immune to her exploits and even though I could hear the music playing and their loud laughter coming from behind my bedroom door I was completely lost in my own world. I was numb with anticipation. A few days earlier, I had learned that Tracy Parker had a crush on me. Tracy was in the eighth grade; I was in seventh but we were both the same age...I was kept back in the first grade. She lived on the poorer side of town of Lewiston and was good friends with a girl named JC who lived in the same housing project as me.  As luck would have it, tonight, Tracy would be spending the night at JC’s. The plan was to go see a movie and then “hang out” afterwards. Butterflies were twirling in my stomach as I put on my grey Barefoot Trader t-shirt and green corduroys. I wanted to make a good impression but felt ill equipped. I had no cologne and cursed my impoverished condition. Tracy was absolutely beautiful, tough and street smart. I was stunned when I heard she liked me. That little bit of news lifted my lowly teenage spirit beyond the uppermost limits of cloud nine and for the first time in my life, I felt special.   I was in absolute awe of her long feathered blond hair, green eyes, and beautiful smile. In my mind, she reminded me of a middle school version of Farrah Fawcett and to top it off, I heard she often kissed the boys she liked.  I had never kissed a girl before and just the idea of it had every neuron in my body, literally, sparking electricity beneath every inch of my skin. The mere thought of us kissing left me shaking with quirky elation and nervous anticipation. 

However, my euphoric mood was quickly interrupted by my resolute flushed anger that was sparked by the loud banging and over exaggerated screaming noises of lovemaking and heavy breathing that was now reverberated through my bedroom wall. My mother’s downstairs entertainment had made its way to her room and what proceeded was the usual overly dramatic adulterated performance that was worthy of an academy award. It was shameless to my ears and sickening to my stomach.  I needed to leave. I gritted my teeth in anger as my abdomen twisted inside out and my mouth filled with a sensation of a warm nauseating combination of salt and iron. I grabbed my sneakers and aggressively punched my bedroom door before opening it. “Damn it!” I yelled. With the skin of my knuckles rubbed raw and eyes watering…I hurriedly and irately walked past her closed bedroom door and down the stairs into the living room. 

I found her purse and rummaged through it—grabbing a five, two singles and some change. Both doors to the apartment were wide open and the sounds of what was transpiring upstairs mixed with the record player speakers playing The Isley Brothers’ new release “Between the Sheets”. The song was full of understated, mellow dynamics with R&B croons, full of relaxed rhythms designed to set a sensual mood. I bumped the player, angrily, on my way out and the needle scratched loudly against the grooves; automatically resetting itself. I stormed out the back door, enraged, and walked ten yards when a strange man leaning on the hood of his car inquired. “Hey little brotha. Is your momma home?”  I looked at him with death ray eyes and shouted “NO!” and huffed past him and the fatuous song behind me. “Ooooooooh Baaby, Baaby…I feel your love surrounding me…WoWo, WoWooo—Ooooooooooooh  Baaby, baaby…Making love, between the sheets…”

It normally took less than ten minutes to walk to the other side of the project but I took a little time to calm down. The sun was going down and there was a cool chill in the air. Spring time in Maine was often cold after dark. I shivered and jammed my hands into my pant pockets in response and walked looking up at the trees with their newly budding leaves that seemed to waltz with an invisible breeze; I could hear them softly whispering to themselves.  I pushed aside my anger and refocused my attention on Tracy Parker. The butterflies came back. I got to JC's apartment and both of them were waiting for me outside. 

Tracy took my breath away, wearing faded bell bottom jeans and a white wool sweater. I swallowed hard but tried to act cool. “Hey.” I said. “Hey” she said chewing bubble gum and then both girls started to giggle. I giggled nervously too and thought 'What the hell am I doing here? I'm out of my league.'  Tracy then gave me a long hug.  Her wool sweater irritated my neck but I didn’t care...her perfume was intoxicating. We were dropped off at the movie theater and the three of us snuck into the R rated movie ‘Flashdance’—which was not the best movie for a thirteen year old boy going through puberty to watch. Tracy saw that I was acting a bit shy and she periodically touched and held my hand sweetly but she had no idea what was going on within me. I wasn't shy. I was just trying to avoid any physical contact. I had never held a girl’s hand before and between that and the beautiful Jennifer Beals dancing half naked on the silver screen I was consumed by an incredible hidden shame.  My body was betraying me (like never before) and nothing could stop the ensuing biological manifestation. I'm glad it was dark because my face burned with nervous embarrassment and before I knew it...the movie was over.  I un-tucked my t-shirt and walked out a little ahead of the girls keeping my secret in check.

We were soon picked up by JC’s mom and then, as planned, hung out in front of the apartment for a little while but it was getting late. It was almost midnight and time for me to say goodbye. Tracy took my hand and walked me behind the building to say farewell. It was dark and only a single street lamp, in the parking lot, offered its glow...her white skin and my brown morphed into two hidden youthful shadows. “I had fun tonight. Thanks for the popcorn.” She said as her eyes scanned my eyes and lips.  I cleared my throat. “You’re wel…welcome.”  My eyes were unable to leave her stare. The kiss was imminent and before I could even think…she leaned in melting her lips into mine. I touched her cheek softly with my right hand and kissed her back in a way I never knew I could. It lasted only seconds and we both pulled away in perfect unison. I opened my eyes and blinked twice with the sweet residual taste of her bubble gum in my mouth.  She took a breath and said approvingly “Wow. You’re a really good kisser. Where did you learn to kiss like that?” I shrugged my shoulders and looked down like a child hiding a secret and suddenly felt my soul go dark because in a single flash…I remembered and knew (all too well) how I learned to kiss like that. I was instantly queasy and embarrassed but held it together long enough to smile half-heartedly and say good bye.  I walked away with the taste of bubble gum on my lips and Tracy's perfume on my t-shirt as an awful memory swirled around in my head. I walked back home in a darkness that was overshadowing the very dusk of midnight.

I walked, in befuddled madden, towards apartment 15-5 with the memory of that man who kissed me, romantically, after buying me and my sister a McDonald’s Happy Meal. I was nine and he had coached me on how to do it. Before that moment I thought I was the luckiest little boy in the whole world because I’d never had a Happy Meal before. Instead he took something that didn't belong to him and now at thirteen I was full of shame, confusion and anger. Thank God for Tracy because the mesmerizing reoccurring thought of her kept pulling me away from that dark place and soon she was all I could think about. Getting close to home I could hear the music coming from our record player. Both doors were still open and I could see clear through into our apartment. I saw my mother sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette; lost in the music and perhaps old memories. The sweet harmonizing vocals of Ray, Goodman & Brown were singing their 1980 number one R&B hit ballad “Special Lady” and I loved that song; hearing it play was beautifully timed. It simply embodied everything I was feeling about Tracy Parker. I sung the words as I approached the apartment with a smile on my face. “Before I met you, my sun didn't want to shine, Then all of a sudden you slipped up from behind; Pop (Pop) went the reason in my mind, A sweet special lady, And a very exciting girl (ooh, so exciting), You gotta be a special lady (what a lady) 'Cause you got me….Sittin' on top of the world…Sittin' on top of the world.”  

She was sitting in silence with her head swaying back and forth like an old sea captain rocking to unpredictable invisible waves. There was a half cup of Riunite Lumbrisco wine sitting by the album cover of Ray, Goodman & Brown. My mother drank all the time...sometimes to remember but mostly to forget. She was often comfortably numb. The album cover and song held some sentimental value to her. There was writing on it in black marker that said. 'To Sue, My "Special Lady" Love, John'. Her face was relaxed and her eyes opened and closed rhythmically as she held a cigarette with a long unbroken ash. The song was coming to an end and the soft scratchy rhythmic pop and hum of the needle transitioned into the more upbeat "Slipped Away". I took a deep breath and greeted her. "Hi Ma." I said softly. Her head snapped up in startled recognition. "Heybaby." She smiled and took a sip of wine. "Giveyourmom-a-smootch." her words overlapped and she puckered her lips. I turned my cheek and gave her a quick half hug and stepped back...she took issue. "What? Youcan't- giveyour-mothuh-a kiss?" I rolled my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. "I'm going to bed Ma. Goodnight." I walked up the stairs and tried to ignore her words. "Oh, youthink- yuh bettuh-than..me? Huh? You aint! You're just like your Fathuh! You 'lil shit. You're just like 'em all."

I shut and locked my door with the impenetrable thoughts of Tracy Parker on my mind. The upbeat song "Slipped Away" was abruptly interrupted with a scratch. There was a silence and then the soft sound of the record needle finding its groove and the smooth harmonizing words of "Special Lady", once again, played. She played that song repeatedly into the early morning while I lay in bed with my hands behind my head and thinking about Tracy's kiss—and I played it over and over again in my mind. Her lips, her breath, her perfume and smile. It dawned on me that we (my mother and I) were doing the very the same thing. Me upstairs, thinking and obsessing about my special lady and her downstairs...reminiscing and obsessing about a time when someone thought she was one. And it was in that very moment that I realized that even lonely, promiscuous, alcoholic moms needed to feel special...too.

"...You gotta be a special lady (what a lady) 'Cause you got me….Sittin' on top of the world…Sittin' on top of the world.”  

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The Conversation

I am the author of the wildly unsuccessful non best selling book : ) A Walk with Prudence -Practical Thoughts of Wisdom for Everyday Living

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