MONEY

“It’s only sixty bucks,” Jerry told his mother.

“Sixty bucks is sixty bucks.” She said. “I have to work a full eight hour day to get that much.”

Jerry knew by the way she crossed her arms over her chest that any hope of a continued conversation was gone. She was switching over to lecture mode, specifically, the ‘money’ lecture. He could almost hear the gears grind.

He wiggled his 6’2” lanky body more comfortably into the sagging cushions of the blue plaid couch. He knew she would go on for at least thirty-five minutes; he’d timed it more than once. Though he’d have liked to put his feet up on the coffee table, he didn’t. She had a lecture for that too.

They both knew that Jerry was too old for these lectures. Twenty-two, with a scholarship in basketball at UNLV, he rarely asked her for cash. But, it was true he lived at home. She bought all the food, paid the bills, kept a roof over his head. Did his laundry, cooked the meals -- he had her list memorized. The only thing she let him do was load the dishwasher – and study. Another lecture topic he didn’t need to hear. He wouldn’t have kept the scholarship if his grades weren’t a steady 3.0.

He tuned back in to see where she was in the lecture. Another five minutes, so it wasn’t his turn yet. When she took a deep breath and turned her back to him, staring out the living room window, he started.

Jerry made his arguments in a calm voice, ticking off his points on his upraised fingers. “I can get everything I need at the pic-a-part junk yard. The carburetor, spare tire including rim, and radiator will cost me less than half of new. I have all the tools I need and I can do the carb re-build and all the installations in the garage. I’ll clean up any mess I make and put down a layer of newspapers so no grease gets on the floor. I can do the whole thing on the week-end and have the truck ready to go by Sunday night. Monday morning I can make it to class on time and practice after.”

His mother had moved from the window to her desk and picked up a stack of bills in her left hand. Each time she moved an envelope from the top of the pile to the bottom with her right hand, she nodded slightly. A sure sign he’d almost convinced her. He made one last point. “With the truck running again, I can go back to taking care of some of your errands, give you a little break.”

She set down the mail and opened her purse, stuck her hand into the inside pocket for her money. He waited until she walked towards him before he stood up. And as she handed him the three 20’s, he wanted to tell her why he really wanted his truck running perfectly. He couldn’t say, “It has to make it to Reno.” She didn’t know he’d already talked to UNR and made sure his scholarship and his credits would transfer, before he filled out the application. Next semester, there was a job in the cafeteria and a dorm room waiting for him, and he’d do his own laundry.

He did tell her, “Thanks mom. I really love you.” And that was true. He’d tell her the rest in the next week or so, just not right now. He really couldn’t take another lecture.