My name is Jason. I’m 18 years old and I live with my Mom, Laura, in a small, one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a building that has seen better days. She has the bedroom and I sleep on the sofa, which pulls out into a bed. It’s not my Mom’s fault we live there, it’s my Dad’s fault. She met him when she was 19. I was born right after she turned 20. He left us high and dry when I was 2 years old. It’s just as well. She said he wasn’t around much, anyway. It’s been me and Mom, ever since.
We live in Pennsylvania and the winters can be very cold. Very cold. And naturally, in our run down building, the heat has a tendency to stop working, sometimes for days. Mom and I have spent many an evening sitting in the kitchen with the oven door open, wrapped in blankets, drinking hot chicken broth and telling each other that things are gonna get better.
Mom works as a cashier in a grocery store and I work through a temporary service, but it takes time to save enough money to move into a better place. So, we do the best we can. We’ve got each other and pretty much, nothing else.
It’s not all bad, though. We have fun. Sometimes we’ll rent a movie and Mom will make popcorn and hot chocolate, and we’ll sit on the sofa together and watch the movie. She loves comedies, and there is nothing that pleases me more than hearing my Mom laugh.
She keeps telling me I should find a girlfriend and enjoy being young, but to be honest, I like spending time with her. And besides, we don’t live in the safest neighborhood. I wouldn’t feel comfortable, leaving her alone at night.
I had just walked in, when she told me the heat was out again. I immediately picked up the phone. She said she had already called.
“He said, he’ll get to it when he can.” She said.
“When he can.” I snorted, hanging the phone back up. “He don’t care. He’s probably sitting in a nice warm apartment with a bottle in his hand.”
“Now, don’t get all worked up.” She said.
“I’m not, Mom. It just pisses me off. It’s supposed to be below freezing all week. And no heat means no hot water.” I said.
“I know. We’ll be okay. We always are.” She said. “I’ve got a pot of water warming on the stove so you can wash up.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I said.
“Sorry? For what?” She said.
“That you have to live like this.” I said.
She came to me and hugged me. “I love you, son.”
“I love you.” I said.
“Now, take that pot of water to the bathroom and get washed up. I’ll have dinner ready in a few minutes.” She said.
I took the pot off the stove and started to the bathroom. I don’t know where she finds the strength to put up with all she’s been dealt in life, but she does. A single mom at 20 (basically), raising a child by herself for the last 18 years, and she never once made me feel like I was a burden.
I turned to look back at her, standing there in the kitchen. She was beautiful. I’ve always known she was an attractive woman, but I had never really noticed how beautiful she is. I went on and washed up.
When I came out, she had moved the small dining table closer to the open oven door, and the steam rising from the bowls of beef stew was just another reminder of how cold it was in the apartment. She looked up at me and smiled.
“Hungry?” She said.
“Yes.” I said, sitting down across from her. “It smells really good.”
“Thank you. Now, eat. It’ll warm you up.” She said.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. People bring their groceries and I ring ’em up. Nothing much different.” She said.
“Mom, I’ve never told you this, but you’re beautiful.” I said.
She blushed. “Well, thank you, son.”
“You’re welcome. I just wanted you to know that.” I said.
“And you’re a very handsome young man.” She said, smiling.
We ate our dinner and made small talk, occasionally laughing at each other as we warmed our hands over our bowls of stew. When we had finished and washed the dishes in cold water, we sat down on the sofa, turned on the TV and wrapped a blanket around ourselves.
“Wait a minute.” I said, getting up.
I went and closed the doors to the bathroom and her bedroom to help keep the small kitchen and living room warmer.
“If we keep those doors closed, the heat will stay in here.” I said, as I sat back down and got under the blanket with her.
“Yeah, and my bedroom will be freezing when I go to bed.” She said.
“Mom, think about it. It’s gonna get below freezing tonight. You won’t be warm in there anyway. We can both sleep in here, closer to the oven.” I said.
“And where do suggest we both sleep?” She asked.
“On the pull-out. It’s big enough for both of us.” I said.
“You’re sure you don’t mind your old mother sleeping next to you?” She asked, laughing.
“Your my Mom. Why would I mind? And you’re not old.” I said.
“Well, let me go get my flannel gown and another blanket.” She said, getting up and going to her bedroom.
I flipped through the channels, while she was gone. There was an old black and white movie on. I left it there. She likes the old black and whites almost as much as she likes comedies. She came back in, carrying a blanket over her shoulder with her flannel gown and a pair of knee length, white socks in her hand.
“I plan on staying warm, tonight.” She laughed.
She put everything on the end of the sofa and got back under the blanket with me, shivering as she snuggled up close.
“What are we watching?” She asked.
“I don’t know. Some old movie.” I said.
“Casablanca!” She said, excited.
“What?” I asked.
“Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. Casablanca.” She said, smiling.
“Okay.” I said. “Is it any good?”
“Any good? It’s a classic.” She said.
As we watched the movie, Mom leaned her head over on my shoulder. We were finally beginning to get warm under the blanket. I adjusted myself a little, trying to get more comfortable.
“Am I hurting your shoulder?” She asked, raising up.
“No. I just need to move up a little.” I raised my arm and let her settle back in, putting my arm around her.
“This movie’s not bad.” I said.
“It’s great.” She said.
“Are you warm enough?” I asked.
“I’m fine, son.” She said, meaning to rub my leg.
She inadvertently went a little high with the rub, immediately realizing what she had done and quickly pulled her hand back.
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