I got to thinking about my mom the other day and all of the wonderful times from over the years. There is no way I could ever tell all of the stories I think about so frequently, but I will relive them as they come to mind.
There are many stories that I will retell so many times that if you spend enough time with me, you could probably tell them yourself or may notice when I miss a detail or tell it differently. However, the story that came to mind recently is one that I don't think of as often and probably tell even less.
I must have been 14, maybe 15 years old; certainly not old enough to drive or this situation never would have come up in the first place. There were some musicians who lived on the other end of town that I thought were pretty cool, and wanted to become better friends with. They had all been in bands for much longer than I had and they were all achieving some level of local success. Anyhow, one of their friends who had transferred to my school became a good friend of mine over time, so he told me to meet them out at the Tim Horton's/Wendy's plaza on their end of town. I was totally broke, save for the $2 I had for coffee and $1.50 or so in my bank account that I hadn't spent on CDs or cigarettes the day I got paid from my paper route. My mother agreed to drive me out and pick me up later on in the evening.
We were having a great time buying one coffee and sipping it slowly while having cigarette after cigarette (when you could smoke indoors). The time came when everyone was heading home and it was about 10-15 minutes before I was to meet my mother. I said bye to everyone and headed over to the gas station on the corner and waited (probably smoking another several cigarettes, which seems absolutely foreign to me these days). Twenty minutes went by and she hadn't shown up. I didn't think anything of it because, really, what is 5-10 minutes late? No big deal. Then another 20 minutes went by and I started to get a bit antsy. I had no money left in my pocket and my stomach was grumbling. Some time later, I walked into the gas station and sheepishly asked 'do you accept debit under five dollars?'
So I purchased myself a chocolate bar on debit and ate it in no time. Eventually, I had to figure something out. It was fairly clear that she wasn't coming and it was a long walk home if I was to go that way. I went to the pay phone and called her collect. Because I was aware that collect calls cost more money than the 25 cents that calling out regularly does, when the phone asked me to say my name I said as quickly as possible 'please come pick me up I'm at the Petro Canada'. She accepted the call anyways and apologized. I could hear some of her friends in the background and realized that they had probably just gotten into a few drinks and some good conversation (a non-stop thing between these particular friends, if I recall).
She came to pick me up post-haste and quite apologetically. Also, if I remember correctly, I got a some fries out of the deal or something like that.
I remember this not as a negative memory at all, but as one that reminds me of my mother having a good time. I didn't suffer any for the experience and knowing that my mother had friends in town, probably should have made a better plan for getting home another way.