Benny Jay: Chicken Soup Confessions

My wife and older daughter are out of town, so my younger daughter and I head over the local Chinese joint for dinner.

It's freezing outside and we're racing through the cold to stay warm. At the restaurant I order a big bowl of steaming-hot chicken soup. The waitress asks if my wife's working. Like it's any of her business. I start to tell her that, no, she's out of town and then I stop. If I go there one thing will lead to another and it will be five minutes of answering the who, what, when, where and why of my wife's absence. I'm too hungry to talk. Plus, I don't want to be talking while I'm eating and looking up and over my shoulder. I look at my daughter and see she's thinking the same thing. And I say, "Yes, she's working...."

My daughter and I start talking about this and that, and somehow I launch into a recollection of how I met her mother. It was only going to be a short story, but I wind up leaving the restaurant, magically floating back in time to 1980. I'm 24, just back in town from Connecticut (long story), living at home with my parents (though not for long) and I get a call from Kevin.

He's a friend of an old girlfriend. Haven't seen to him in years. Barely know him as it is. Surprised he even has my number. He says he has an extra ticket to a Bruce Springsteen concert and do I want to go? I'm like -- are you for real? Of course, I want to go. Everyone knows I love Bruce Springsteen.

So I drive to Kevin's house, an apartment in Lakeview, in my `73 Toyota Celica, coolest car I've ever owned. It turns out he's a drug dealer. Had his drugs out in the open -- hashish, weed, cocaine. I remember he had a phone in every room, even the bathroom. Don't know what that's all about -- some kind of drug-dealer thing. People kept dropping by to snort, smoke and buy. I never did coke, by then I was off of weed. I sat on the couch and watched.

Then your mom walks in. She's wearing this pink leather jacket. I'm thinking -- this girl is hot....

"You are so weird...."

I snap out of my trance. I forgot I'm talking to my daughter.

"The concert was in Rosemont," I say. "Kevin drove...."

"You were in one car?"

"Yes...."

"We're you sitting on laps?"

"No, my memory is that we squeezed three in the front and three in the back. I was in the back with mom and my ex-girlfriend. That was weird. Mom was Kevin's date. Once we got to the concert they sat up front in the really good seats. The rest of us we're way in the back. I'm not complaining. It was just after Springsteen released The River. The crowd sang along with Hungry Heart -- everyone knew the words...."

"How's your soup?" It's the waitress.

"Good," I say.

"Are you done?" she says to my daughter.

"Yes...."

The waitress looks at my daughter's soup dish, like she's disappointed, and says: "You didn't eat the chicken...."

My daughter smiles and shrugs. The waitress clears the plates. I return in time to 1980: "After the concert, Kevin drove us back to his place. And here's the thing -- mom asked me to drive her home. I think Kevin was expecting mom to stay at his place, cause, you know, he got her the tickets and all. But mom wasn't playing that game and I drove her home. She took advantage of the fact that I had a car to drive her home....."

"Well, she wasn't going to sleep with that loser...."

I take a sip of water. "You know, he died....''

"Who?"

"Kevin...."

"How?"

"I think it was some kind of drug overdose, but I'm not sure. After that concert I never saw him again. But, you know, I wouldn't be so hard on him. If not for him, mom and I probably wouldn't have met. You wouldn't be here. It's weird -- isn't it?"