Popcorn

Mom has always loved popcorn. When we were kids Mom would take me and Ben to Tower movies almost every week. You could rent out a movie for seven days, so we’d usually get one foreign or black and white movie for mom and one that me and Ben could watch. We’d always go for the new releases but I think they were slightly more spendy than the older movies.

Of course Ben and I would usually pick our movie fast and then race over to Tower Records and Books, respectively, while mom perused the more obscure titles. Ben wanted to listen to the latest Tool or Deftones that came out on the headphones they had in the cd shop. I wanted to find a new good book to sink my eyes into.

When we got ready for a movie at home the first course of action was to get a huge bowl of popcorn ready with loads of salt and butter. Often we’d have to pause the movie half way through for more popcorn. If it was a movie mom didn’t want to see Ben and I would get a bowl and watch our movie in the living room, while mom took her bowl and movie to watch in her room. Her TV, unlike the one in the living room, had reception to watch regular stations for crime dramas, SNL, and whatever else. The living room TV only had capabilities to play movies with its VCR.

Well, I love popcorn to this day. I love my popcorn maker; so much easier than making popcorn in a pot on the stove. I like to season mine with olive oil, salt, pepper, curry powder, and nutritional yeast. Delicious.

When my husband and I go visit mom now she always brings out a bag of popcorn for us to munch on during our stay. Peculiarly the bags seem to get bigger and bigger each time we come over. We started asking her where she’s getting these bags of popcorn, but mom won’t divulge her sources to us. We’ve stopped trying to finish a bag during one visit because we’d likely explode.

Tonight we came to visit and mom didn’t answer the door. Luckily, I always bring my set of keys she gave me with its own collection of keychains, small flashlights, and whatnot. I figured she didn’t hear us knocking. Upon entering, we call out for mom and hear a muffled response from the kitchen. My husband discovers an enormous popcorn bag lying on the kitchen floor and tells me to come over. I come to find the popcorn bag squirming around and my mom’s dog whining in the corner.

I’m wondering what on earth could have got inside the popcorn bag and where is my mother. This obsession with popcorn has got to stop. She needs to start buying regular sized bags of popcorn. Clearly she can’t eat it fast enough and vermin are getting in.

I attempt to carry the bag out through her front door for fear of what’s inside, but it’s too heavy. Then my mom’s voice is coming from the bag, “get me out, Jessica!” My husband grabs the kitchen shears and gently cuts the top end of the bag. Mom and mounds of popcorn spill out from the bag. She crawls out and just lay there on the floor, breathing heavily and coughing up kernels. We stand over her, unsure of how to proceed. Her dog, relieved, helps by eating the popcorn out of her hair.

“Mom, are you alright?” I crouch down beside her. “How did this happen?” She’s elusive with her response; vague to an unbearable degree. I thought it was Costco, but this must be some other worldly place. Did she offend the popcorn maker? She has a tendency at times to make inappropriate comments. She can be quick to voice her disapproval and concerns without reading the room. It puts some people off and some people just don’t have any sense of humor.

Mom gets up and dusts herself. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here! You saved me. What would I have done without you?” I don’t actually know what she would have done, but she can be quite resourceful. It’s still a mystery how she wound up in the popcorn bag. I’ve since bought her a popcorn maker like my own with the firm rule of home-popped popcorn only.