The Boy in Makeup

My mother was at the salon that day 12-8, so she was home when Mr. Lustig knocked. I napped in the car, avoiding whatever filled the 45 minutes he was inside.

Our apartment was visible from many others. Our neighbors had to wonder about the strange car that was always out back or the man that disappeared inside for brief respites. I did not see how my mother’s affair was not going to become a public spectacle. I prayed mine would not, if it was an affair I was having.

*****

I didn’t talk to Steve all weekend. I didn’t call him, and he didn’t call me.

I did have to talk to my mother about him. While I napped in the car, Mr. Lustig told my mother that her son and his son had spent Thanksgiving night exploring each other.

My mother was like a high school girl. She wanted to hear all about it. I’m generally afraid of secrets, but this felt like one I needed to cherish, not fear. I deflected my mother’s inquiries, insisting it would be weird to share details with her. “I don’t want to know yours, and I don’t want to tell you mine.”