He liked Coke. I was 16. And whiskey. I was nervous. Why did he like me. I wondered. I can’t even remember how he got a hold of me or how we even met. I think he knew my sister, Wendy. 

He had a cool car. A Gran Torino. He was older. About 20. I went with him. He was cute. We drove up and down Euclid. It was the entertainment of the era. Gas-wasting, hot summer nights. The best. 

Being young and carefree. The thing to do. Two things pulling at me. Having fun and being responsible. I wonder what I told my mom about where I was going. Carefree. She certainly would not have let me go if she had known. Responsible. 

We stopped at a place on Euclid. He bought a bottle of Coke from the machine, one of the small ones, I think they were eight ounce. Glass. He guzzled part of the Coke and filled the bottle back up with whiskey. It made me nervous. I wonder if he was too. 

I thought I was cool. He thought he was cool. I was a goodie two shoes. He was not. I was still nervous. I sat there as we drove around. He talked. I listened. 

Part of me wanted to stay out. Carefree. I had him take me home. Responsible.

The son. The only one left. Going through her things. Going through her house. Going through the things in her house. The life in her house. Life is done. Her life is done. He is older. Born in 48, first of two. She was born in 30. She was 89.

I wonder what her thoughts were. Having a baby. 18 years old. The life beginning. The family beginning. The map laid out. The life laid out.

Now he is going through her things. The son. The born first son. Now 71. Old enough to not need her, but young enough to still miss her.