Part 4: Serious Social Problems
Posted 7.18.02



"Stress and nervous tension are now serious social problems in all parts of the galaxy..."
--The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy


"So," said Mrs. Cohen.

"Yeah," said Mark.

Roger blinked.

The conversation thus far had not been going well.

"No new girls, Mark?"

"No, mom."

"Mrs. Prefect, across the street, knows this girl..."

"I don't want to meet her, mom."

"So."

"Yeah."

Roger blinked again and started to try and decipher the pattern of the tiles on the coffee table.

"No job prospects?"

"No, mom."

"Mr. Dent at the bank is looking to hire again. You could be close to home..."

"I don't need you to get me a job, mom."

"So."

"Yeah."

Roger nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" both Cohens shouted at once. Mark's mother left her seat first and made her way back to the entryway. Before Roger even had time to contemplate this, his shoulders were pushed against the arm of the sofa and Mark's tongue was down his throat. After a moment, the filmmaker let him up.

"I missed you too," Roger murmured, attempting to straighten out his shirt and fix his hair.

"Kill me," Mark said in reply, hanging his head. "I just hope that things will get better when Cindy gets in here." (For the record, Mark realized that this was close to impossible, but found it somewhat comforting to say aloud.) At that moment, Cindy, Mark's mother, and Cindy's daughter Samantha entered the room. Mark plastered a fake smile across his face. Roger smoothed out his shirt again.

"Hi, Cin," Mark said warily.

"How's everything been?" Roger asked. This was not, of course, a smart thing to ask a PTA mom, but Roger had never been known for being exceptionally bright. Thus, they were launched into a long diatribe about the state of New York public schools, the cost of ballet and t-ball, the rise in prices for activities at the JCC, and how technology should stop trying to find a cure for the common cold and practice on making teething more painless for the caregivers of children. (The author would like to add that she agrees with the last statement.)

Meanwhile, as Cindy prattled on to Roger, Mrs. Cohen was laying even more guilt on Mark.

"Three children, Cindy has three children now, Mark."

"I know, mom."

"Have you even seen all of them at once?"

"Yes, mom."

"I don't think you've ever been here on a holiday to see them all at once!"

"I've seen them, mom."

"I bet you haven't even seen the baby."

"Mom, she's right there."

"Have you even held her?"

"I've held a lot of babies in my life, mom. I held her when she was first born, remember?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, mom."

"You haven't held her recently."

"I haven't been around recently."

"Here." Mark found a toddler being shoved into his face. "Hold her now, Mark." With a sigh, Mark took Samantha from his mother and held her, engaging in that baby talk that he so hated in hope that it would deflect his mother's questions for a little while. Mostly it did, although he was now being forced to listen to all of Sam's vital statistics, from birth until now. His mother was just getting into the speed at which the baby's teeth were growing in when something buzzed in the kitchen. Linda Cohen stopped abruptly and flitted away to fix the stove.

"I'll be right back!" she called behind her. Mark bounced Samantha a little and glanced at Roger and Cindy, who had finally finished their detailed discussion about OraGel. Sam started to chew on the sleeve of Mark's sweater.

"Oh, let me get you a teething ring, Mark!" Cindy exclaimed, starting to rustle through her diaper bag. Mark rolled his eyes at Roger and went back to bouncing Sam on his knee.

"Oh, there's one on the end table from your last visit, Cindy," Mrs. Cohen said as she came back into the room and returned to her seat. "It's right-" She stopped. Mark frowned. Cindy looked up. "Oh my lord!" And then it hit him.

Sam was chewing on his collar.

"Mark, is that-" Cindy started to say. Mark and Roger winced in unison.

"-a bruise?!" Mrs. Cohen interrupted before Cindy could finish. Mark and Roger sighed in unison. "Oh dear, Mark, how did you get a bruise on your neck? Did somebody hit you? Oh, I told you that the city would be bad for you, but you never, ever listen, do you?" Mark and Roger exchanged a look. Cindy was glowering at them.

"Oh, uh, it wasn't that," Mark said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "I, uh, I fell. I wasn't mugged or anything. I'm sure that it will go away soon." He gave Roger a pointed look. Roger smirked at him, looking very pleased with himself.

"Oh, Mark! Let me get you an ice pack, honey, it must hurt! Do you know what you fell on?" Mark thought that he heard Cindy mutter, 'Roger's mouth' under her breath, but he ignored her.

"Uh, a...doorknob..." he improvised. This just produced another sob and flail from his mother as she rushed off to make him an ice pack.

"Well, that was easy," Roger murmured out of the corner of his mouth. Mark looked from his lover to his sister.

He didn't think Cindy was going to make it as easy as Roger said...


To Be Continued...

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