Your wife disappeared eighteen years ago because she met a slick talking salesman who told her he'd give her the world and she bought his pitch. Little did she know the world he was promising didn't extend very far outside the glass-enclosed showroom of Carson City Motorcycle and RV, where she is presently the number 4 saleperson (out of six).
She left you to raise your son alone. He was just a baby when she split, and if he ever got curious about her, he kept it to himself. So when you pull onto the lot today to buy your and her son a new Kawasaki for his high school graduation present, the boy doesn't have a clue that he's being upsold by his very own mama.
"Pretty kickass," you son says, sitting on a banana yellow Ninja 250R.
You and his mother stare at each other with the boy in between. Her eyes wonder if you brought him here on purpose. You let her know with your eyes that it's just one of those funny coincidences that are never as funny as they should be, that the only thing you wanted in life was to make it to the grave without seeing her face again.
"Four stroke engine," she says, unable to look the boy in the eye. "Liquid cooled. DOHC. Four valve per cylinder."
Your son bounces in the seat. His mother sighs at the sight, now looking like she's on the verge of breaking down and throwing her arms around his shoulders.
"Liquid cooled," she repeats herself. "Four valve."
Your son asks you if he can have it.
"Looks like you just made yourself a sale," you say.
The price on the windblock reads $7200.
"You're not even gonna haggle dad?" your son asks.
You don't say a word. You just pull your checkbook out of your pocket and start to write.
"I can give you a good deal," she says. "Half-price."
"I'll pay the price on the vehicle," you say, continuing to write your check.
"I want to give you this deal," she says.
Your son looks at his mother, then at you.
"Ain't no way you're taking a penny less than full price for my son's high school graduation present," you say, not lifting your eyes from the check.
She looks at the boy. He's staring at you bewildered. He doesn't see her lift her hand to his head, and he's startled when she puts her fingers through his hair.
This grabs your attention. This is worth looking up from that checkbook to witness. You let it happen. You don't yank her arm away from the boy so you can break it at the wrist. You don't need to. There's way too much pain in that touch already.
Happy Carson City Motorcycle and RV Day!