It had been the one year anniversary of my mother’s death. She had been killed instantly by a teenage girl texting a friend.
The girl blew a stop sign going 45 miles an hour and never even braked. My beloved mom was only 53.
She had been walking home from Peterson’s Java Cup with a medium latte in one hand and the latest copy of US magazine in the other.
The driver’s text said, “I know I’m late will hurry.”
That one short sentence…which wasn’t even a proper sentence…killed my mother instantly. Gone forever…my ‘mommy’, my teacher and my ‘forever always’ best friend.
That stupid text changed my life in way too many ways.
And so last night…in an ironic tribute to my mother who never drank…I had had too many whiskey sours. Four? Maybe 6. Too many for sure…
Even Doyle’s new bouncer was giving me looks and the bouncers at Doyle’s never give me looks. I’m the good one.
I seem to recall tossing out some drunken words of philosophy before faithful friend Hannah…ever so gently…pulled me toward the back door exit. I don’t know…
I actually can’t remember. But it seems like something I would have done last night. Crap night. Junk night.
Do I even remember his name? I think I met him…