twenty-something

« Last Post | Next Post »

True North | A Story By Patrick Raymond
Part Two

« Previous (Part One) | Next (Part Three) »

The heat in his mother's new car was on full blast and the air, to Ollie, smelled odd yet familiar. It wasn't a new car smell, or an air freshener, nor was it a skunk. He tried to place the faint odor, sniffing so loudly and obviously that his mom guiltily asked what was wrong. Rather than answer, he just rolled down his window to investigate any outdoor smell (and to avoid the inside one).

"Please close that window," his mother insisted. "You know I'm cold."

Suddenly, the odor's origin became clear. Though she claimed to have quit smoking a year earlier, Ollie knew that his mother snuck a quick smoke alone in the car occasionally. The stink of cigarette smoke -- which Ollie was allergic to -- had stuck to her new SUV's upholstery and in its heating vents.

Ollie led out a very dramatic sneeze and stared at his mother. "I thought you quit."

She refused to look back at her son. Instead, she stared at the road and gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I did," she explained. "I mean, I have. I am. You know, I'm a non-smoker now. An ex-smoker." Despite the car's heat and her winter coat, she shivered at the word.

He didn't have the heart to argue, for once, because they both knew the truth, and he had only been back in her company for ten minutes, in the car for five. He quietly let the topic die, but smugly left her stewing in guilty silence for a while longer.

She had picked him up at the Transit station, his bus arriving nearly twenty minutes late. When he realized they were behind schedule, Ollie tried hard to make up a brilliant excuse for the tardiness, but the bus ride had been so unremarkable that he couldn't find inspiration. While Ed snored so loudly that it drowned out his music and Paul blabbed to his new passenger-friend out of earshot, the best attempts of Ollie's imagination couldn't bring any of the other passengers to life. The entire trip, all he did was flip through magazines, look out the window, and doze off from time to time. He didn't have the energy to deceive anybody with his fantasies, not even himself. After his mother gave him a big hug, she asked why he was late and all he could muster was the boring, honest-to-God truth -- "traffic."

In the car, they sat in silence, caught at a red light just a mile from home. To their left -- the old McDonald's, seemingly unchanged since his childhood. Across the street -- his high school, standing like a monument to a life he had long since abandoned. To their right -- a new gas-station-quick-stop-mart that had been erected after he left for college. Directly beside them -- a brand-new, blue Jetta. Both Ollie and his mother gazed over at the same time, examining the teen-agers inside. He noticed a look in her eye as she stared into the car.

Finally, she broke their silence.

"Do you like my hair?" In truth, Ollie hadn't noticed a difference, but as soon as she pointed it out, he examined her head. It was shorter and spikier than usual, and more blonde than ever. He grimaced at how much the cut made her look like a lesbian -- not because he had anything against lesbians, but because it made him realize that his mom would never be that cool or interesting, in a real lesbian way.

"I like it," she said, answering her own question. "It's not that different, but it's more hip."

"I like it, too," Ollie added, happy that his mom, whether she knew it or not, had embraced lesbian chic.

At a stoplight, she turned to her son and smiled. She ran her fingers through Ollie's messy brown hair. "You need a haircut yourself, Oliver."

He cringed at his full name. No one called him that except his mother, a habit that he could never break her of.

He still imagined the day, back in 1979, when his parents chose his name. The scene was the same as he pictured it since he was five years old: At 23 and 21 respectively, David and June North were at the end of their second year of marriage. Ollie pictured them as they were in wedding photos and old Polaroids from the era -- young, fit, and badly dressed. June, six months with child, is enormous and glowing. David, the proud father to be, is not the stern man Ollie grew up with. He's smiling more than Ollie had ever seen, and he has more hair.

He pictures them in a small living room with ugly carpeting and wallpaper. They sit on a hideous green couch, snuggling.

"So it will be Jennifer Lee, if it's a girl," June says.

Smiling, David nods his agreement.

"And for a boy -"

"David Junior," he quickly and proudly announces.

June sighs. "We agreed. No juniors."

He folds his arms in mock-protest, but he cannot let the disappointment eclipse his happiness.

"How about Maxwell?" June suggests. It is the name Ollie, at age five, desperately wanted to change to.

David's silence gives his answer.

"Oliver Andrew," she says. "After your grandfather, and mine."

"I like it."

And so it was agreed. And young Oliver North, born blonde and healthy, grew up and began grade school right around the time that his unintentional namesake grew to infamy in the Iran-Contra Affair. With every playground taunt, with every giggle during role call, Oliver learned that the novelty of hearing his name on the Nightly News was actually a curse. The young boy tried not to let it get to him and quickly adopted his nickname.

In the car, he managed to turn his cringe into a smile.

"You know I go by Ollie, mom."

She ignored it, and instead stared at him. "You're so handsome," she said, as she fixed her deep blue eyes upon his. "Does Chris realize how lucky he is?"

"I guess," Ollie modestly muttered.

"You know how lucky you are, don't you?"

He smiled at the happy moment. "Yeah. I do."

"Punk kids," she said suddenly, gazing past him into the Jetta. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and looked ahead again. Seconds before the light officially changed, June slammed on the gas and sped off, leaving the other car far behind them.

---

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.