Randy's Mom

I'm not gonna say his last name. Most of you will 

know, at least those of you that should, just cause it's virtually impossible to not know Randy's mom.  I don't mean know like bang, or sex, I mean know, like she's everywhere. The first time I found her she was standing out in front of Sonny's tavern, collecting smoked cigarettes and bottle caps. 

Randy told me, in faith, that if you were gentle and kind she might open a beer for you. "It's a bar trick," he said, "Men used to pay cabaret fees to watch the bottles come undone." He said it like adolescent twins tell you they still shower together. Like eight year-olds with seven brothers and sisters watch their mother's labor while eating jelly-filled donuts.
Nonetheless, the beer I drink comes mostly in cups, and when I can afford a bottle she's never around. The other boys started going on about how she used her teeth, neck, and elbow to open a brew, sometimes all at once. I decided that I would search her out.  I didn't have to go far.

I found her in front of Sonny's tavern.  She was in the same place, like always, just waiting. 

Her preferred beer is Iron City,
but with this she'll make due

Randy's mom coughed and hacked as she cleared her throat. Then she reached out for the first bottle. Oddly, she and Randy had the same hands. I wasn't sure whether her's were gruff and manly, or if his were girly and dainty. She reminded me more and more of Randy. Like she grew a beard before my eyes. I wondered if I'd ever be able to look the boy in the eyes again. Or how the guys that saw her open the bottle with her whole body did so as well. I knew then that they were lying. Cause what I saw was worth a punch in the mouth from any son. Randy's mom warmed the bottle with both her hands. She stopped all eye contact as she prepared herself. Like a gymnast set to mount a pommel horse. By then, she had morphed into her boy standing there with a long stringy head of hair, and some dirty flip flops.  I didn't look away, and I'm not gonna say exactly how or where she opened the bottle, because you'll have to see it for yourself. I'll tell you this, I never could tell Randy that I saw his mom's show. If you don't believe me, you can visit her in front of Sonny's tavern. On Saturdays she's not there until after 6pm.

La Mère du Randy by unknown artist