The Lozenge

I was picking my mother up from her pottery class in Anaheim. And she got in the car and immediately said that I should have left ten minutes earlier, because I was ten minutes late. I told her she was wrong, but her face was blurry and then it changed into a man’s face, then into a Chinese man’s face, then into an Indian woman’s face. I thought it was ugly for a person to be changing faces but I said nothing. – You’ve been drinking, she said to me. – Drinking has nothing to do with it! I shouted. –You’ve got a drinker’s personality, she said. – That doesn’t matter, I shouted, I’m not going to change, why should I? I’m my own man on my own life mission. You be nice to me or you can get out of the car. We drove home in silence. I went downstairs and began to wash my hands. She came into the bathroom, now as the Chinese man. She placed a lozenge as big as two thumbs on the sink. – Swallow this so that the police don’t smell the alcohol on your breath, she said. I swallowed the lozenge, which make me choke. – No more battles, mother, I said. – Oh George, she said, in a way that made my heart ache. I’ll destroy you if I have to.