2010

My mother, sister and I set out for a movie a few days before New Year's on a truly crappy, blustery day. The rain came at us sideways and I took my mother's arm, trying to hustle her under cover as I listen to her tell me for the zillionth time that she had short legs, a short gait and couldn't walk that fast.
"I know, Mom, keep moving," I said.
My sister followed up with, "Good hustling Mom, you're a true athlete."
"Yeah, right," she said, and as we got into line for a matinee behind other heartier, less soggy folks, Mom lit a quick cigarette.

Once inside we nestled into our seats-- Mom in the middle-- next to two women about my age. There never seems to be enough room for my endless veils of winter gear and we chuckled as simpatico travelers, passing purses and coats inward towards the designated Group Coat Chair. This being a small, boarder-line remote, New Jersey town, I could bet you cash money that one of the women was named Sheila and the other one, Lisa. But we didn't introduce ourselves; didn't need to. Would've been too formal. For a bunch of Jersey Girls we knew everything there was to know about each other: New Wave and Gunne Sax dresses; shitty boyfriends and getting chased by the cops off of golf courses at night. Like comrades in a long-forgotten uprising, we'd all been there. "Jerz," my sister often said to describe a certain crass je ne sais quoi to describe our indigenous sisterhood and I know just what she meant every time. So Jerz.

The lights dimmed and within minutes of the first preview I was passed a styrofoam cup filled about three quarters to the rim with what I was pretty sure was red wine. Cheap red wine. I leaned forward and looked over at my sister. "It's for you from the girls," she stage-whispered. I knew she was smiling even though it was dark and I knew what kind of smile it was; mischievous, appreciative.
"Nice," I said, not all that surprised, "tell 'em thanks."
"I did," said my sister. Mom smiled, too. Christmas had been rough, our first without Dad. It was a crap-ass day, pissing rain. We were doing our best, we were cold to the bone. What the hell, I thought as I took the cup in both hands. I'm worth it, I said to myself, I've earned this kindness and took a sip.

A moment later, still in previews and digging into my Raisinettes-- a nice counterpoint to my cup 'o wine-- I was passed something else; something substantial, wrapped in a napkin and, whoa, what's this, it's warm! I leaned forward again. My sister whispered, "It's an egg roll. They want you to have it." No shit, I thought.
To think I was content; totally psyched about my Raisinettes. And a movie! Who needs blue skies and margaritas, bare feet and steel bands. St. Barts is for pussies. It's a lousy day and I'm happy. And then wine! Outta no where! Followed by a deep fried slice of heaven. This was beyond. This was true Jerz.

"Tell 'em thanks," I whispered to my sister.
"I did," she whispered back.
I took a big bite. It was sublime. It soothed my soul and gave me hope. I looked over at my mom who was still smiling. After all she'd been through. Still smiling.
"Wanna bite, Mom?" I asked.
"No thanks, dear," she said as the last preview came to a close. The wowie-zowie action faded to black and the music decrescendoed with a lingering, ominous tone. Then, stretching across the giant expanse of black screen, a single line of white text faded up in quiet resonance: "COMING SOON IN 2010".

It was the first time I'd seen the new year written out anywhere. It looked impressive as far as years go. It had gravitas; was a little intimidating. The audience was silent; perhaps stunned like me. And then a voice broke through, a voice so clear and resonant it could only belong to my culinary benefactor; my soul mate in the shadows just a few seats down.

"Holy crap," she said, "it's gonna be two thousand and ten? What the hell have I done with my life?!"

That cinched it. Everything was going to be fine. For I, was not alone.