The next morning, Sunday, my mother drug my father and I out of bed, dressed us in our finest, and led us to Mass. My heart sunk as she grabbed my arm and gave my face a once over with a spittle-laden finger. Readied for our grand entrance, Mom straightened her slouched shoulders and led us into the church.
In the vestibule, she grabbed my arm with and swung me in front of them. "As close to the front as we can get," she commanded.
Head hung low, I led my parents to an empty pew; the echo of my mother's heels introduced us to the congregation. Mass couldn't end fast enough. When the Priest concluded "Mass is ended, go in peace," I mumbled "Thank God," earning a dirty glance from the old lady sitting next to me.
If High Mass wasn't bad enough, I endured my mother's smooze session with the priest. Her redeeming qualities shined as we became official members of what my father called the parish of the perpetually miserable.
Dad was an introverted man who would rather use a slide rule than attend a cocktail party. Considering his job he had the opportunity for both. He was a nuclear engineer for Bechtel Corporation. Bechtel was contracted to build the Limerick Nuclear Generating Station, the purpose for us relocating from California to suburban Philadelphia.
My mother was an extrovert who would rather go to a cocktail party then read a book. She probably didn't know what a slide rule was. Except for the fact that my father was invited to many cocktail parties I never understood why they got married.
"Isn't this sweet," my mother crooned when we got home. A freshly baked pie sat on the front porch. "Bless their hearts. If all neighbors were like this, the world would be a better place. Joe," she said, her voice full of syrup. "I told you I had a good feeling about this neighborhood."
I had no time for such business, I had a chance to talk to my mysterious neighbor. I ran up the stairs, taking two at a time .My heart raced as I changed my clothes. I looked out into the sun-drenched afternoon before bolting down the steps and out the front door.
My mother screamed - the earth shattering variety that could wake the dead - a dangerous act in this neighborhood. I snuck back into the kitchen. "Jesus Christ, I've been poisoned. Call the ambulance! Joe, do something!" My mother leaned over the sink and spit up black goo.