baby's first sick joke

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[sometimes the mere act of writing a post is all it takes to initiate a chain of thought that whistles through the twisted windmills of my mind in just such a way as to unearth a long-dormant memory and thus trigger the next post; such turned out to be the case here.

the following story, though maybe not 100% accurate in its details (because it's been awhile), is close enough to the truth for me to comfortably present it as such.]

* * * * *

new years' eve (or thereabouts), 1963.

my parents throw a holiday party.

i'm supposed to be in bed along with my brother and sister; instead and true to my nature, i'm up and discreetly roaming the periphery of the action--soaking up the heady ambiance, avoiding capture, scanning for intelligence.

in the kitchen i spot my mother's best friend, laverne ash (always a source of interest) laughing uproariously with another neighbor over something or other, and i make it my mission to find out what. this isn't a woman who laughs much, so it's gotta be good.

mrs. ash and i are natural adversaries. barren and childless, she is uneasy around children and has always resented my tendency to eavesdrop upon adult conversations (she calls me "ears"); i, on the other hand, have always resented her ongoing efforts to thwart my innate need to know everything.

this night, i watch her light a tareyton and open another pabst blue-ribbon

proper and impeccably-groomed as she invariably was, mrs. ash was also ex-military--when she drank, she drank beer from the can with a dash of salt from the shaker she carried with her onto the lid preceding each sip 

and when she's in mid-gulp and thus distracted, i sidle into the kitchen and squeeze between the table and the wall, right behind her. perfect.

until she says, without turning around, "you think i don't know you're back there, ears, but i do--i always do."

damn.

"get your nosy little ass out from behind that table," she barks in that clipped voice she reserves only for me, "and into bed where you belong."

normally that'd be enough--i'd be off like a shot.  but not tonight.

"no." i boldly reply. "i wanna know what was so funny that it made you laugh like that."

maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe she's finally had enough of me; whatever--she sets her beer down, turns fully around, reaches across the table, grabs a handful of pajamas, pulls me close, and--eye to eye, nose to nose, teeth bared and nostrils trailing cigarette smoke--says, "you really want to know?"

i breathlessly reply yes, she hisses, "fine. what did jackie kennedy got for christmas, ears?"

i can only gaze back at her, frozen. she smiles, her eyes narrow and through clenched teeth she sneers a punch line i'm sure she figures i'll never understand

"a jack-in-the-box"*

then shoves me back against the wall, lets go, says, "happy now, you little sneak?"

well, hell yeah i am. once the nickel drops--and to her astonishment and clear discomfiture--i start laughing uncontrollably.

this naturally gets my mother's attention. she drifts over, says, "mkf, what are you doing up and what's so funny?"

i shriek, "she got a jack-in-the-box, ma!"

"laverne! dear god, you didn't tell him that awful joke, did you?"

 

but she had, and pandora's box was open.

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* as tasteless as it might have been, this was merely the first "gift for jackie" joke (the second being: what did ari give jackie as a wedding present? answer: an antique organ).