Go Write a Love Letter to your Mother, Kid

December 2, 2022

Read Time: 10 minutes

The jazz drummer plays.

Tss-tss-tss tss tss tss-tss-tss 

The trumpets flare.

Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo doo-doo doooooooo 

Cigarette smoke fills the jazz club. 

Robert Smith sings the vocals.

“Oh, how I lovvvvvvvvvvvvve youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.”

Robert Smith was the reason that everyone showed up to the jazz club that night.  It was Robert Smith and his band.

Robert Smith’s birth name is Antonio Ricci.  Robert’s parents were first-generation immigrants from Italy.  After his talent was noticed and he got an agent, he changed his name, his clothes, and his hair.  Robert became wildly famous.

***

In the back of the club, during a ten-minute break, there was a bit of unease in the room.  Robert’s band was huddled around one another.

Robert walked in, read the room, and asked, “What’s goin’ on here, fellas?” 

“It’s Richie…the drummer,” said one of the fellas. “Richie ain’t doin’ well, boss.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Richie ain’t doin’ well, boss…he, he.”

Richie looked up.  He was slumped in his chair.  He was barely looking out from under his eyelids. 

“It’s my mother, sir,” Richie said.  Richie had tears in his eyes.

Richie was 18 years old.  He had been banging pots and pans his whole life.  His mother always told him to keep it down.  Richie had to sneak away to the city streets and outside his school to bang pots and pans.  Richie made a little money here and there.  He made music with his friends.  His friends called him “Quickie Richie” because of his hands and fingers’ ability to bang sticks on the drums so fast.  Richie hated the nickname.  So, his friends called him it more. Richie hated the nickname because he thought it made him sound like a promiscuous fella…he didn’t want his mother getting the wrong idea.

Tonight, Richie was going to get enough money to not worry about his family’s bills for a whole month.  He did not want to let his family down.  He did not want to let the band members down, nor the club owners, nor Robert Smith, nor himself down either.  This was Richie’s big chance.

***

Richie went on.  He went on telling Robert Smith what the matter was. “My mother is in the hospital, sir…”

Robert looked up to the ceiling, rubbed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  Robert asked, “How’s she doing?”

“She’s been un-well her whole life, sir.  My daddy-o…he keeps her in line, but she had a real spill lately.  She fell down some stairs.”

Robert rubbed his eyes again.

“I got her on my mind, sir,” Richie said.

“You need something to keep you going?” Robert asked.  Robert fumbled through his pockets for some medicine he had.  Robert always had medicine in his pockets.

One of the other fellas said, “He’s a Christian boy, Robby. He ain’t gonna take nothing you give him…”

Robert sighed and shook his head.  

Robert wasn’t upset.  He was thinking.  They had only a few more minutes to get back out there and keep the music playing.

“You wanna play?” asked Robert.

Richie looked up.  Richie thought to himself.  Richie looked into Robert’s eyes.  Richie said, “I…I think I wanna go home.  I wanna go see my mother.”

Robert hopped up and shook a little bit.  Robert grabbed two sticks and kept his eyes on Richie.

Robert spoke. “You’re good, kid.  Go take care of your mother…”

Robert continued, “You mind me asking, what’s your last name, kid?  I wanna send you, your mother, and your family something.”

“Smith.”

Robert chuckled.  Then, Robert ate some of the medicine he took out of his pocket.

“Yeah,” Robert said, “Smith ain’t my real last name either, kid.”  

Robert winked and smiled at Richie.  Richie cracked half a smile.

Robert spoke to the rest of the fellas, “Fellas, I’ve got drums with Richie out.  It’s been a minute since I’ve banged the drums so we’ll get rolling nice and easy and build up.  Gimme a song or two to get up to speed.  Don’t you worry about a thing…tonight, we’re playing for Richie’s mother.”

Robert pointed a drumstick at Richie.

Richie’s eye glowed.  Richie’s half smile did not move.  His face was stone.  He could not believe how friendly Robert Smith was.  He didn’t care if Robert was going to send him and his family two dimes in an envelope.  Richie was all cool with Robert.

“Go on,” said Robert. “Get out of here, kid.  You’ve got your mother to take care of.”

Richie left.  And the band went out on stage.

Robert took Richie’s place and grabbed a microphone for him to sing while drumming.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Robert said into the microphone. “We humbly apologize.  Our drummer, my good friend, Richie is feelin’ a bit under the weather tonight. He shimmied out of here and he’s gonna get some rest…and maybe a lady or two.” 

Robert smiled and chuckled.  The crowd laughed and laughed and laughed.

“We’re gonna continue good and easy though.  The drums ain’t my main squeeze, but I can make ‘em run…”

Robert whispered to the fellas in his band.  He forgot to get them all on the same page. He told them what songs they were going to play next.  Now that Richie was out, the whole show changed.

Robert continued talking to the audience. “This one goes out to a good friend of mine…a good friend of mine who I know can really feel used up sometimes…”

Robert saw Richie leaving out of the back of the club.  They made eye contact with one another.  Robert pointed his drumstick at Richie.  Robert smiled and winked at Richie. 

Richie stopped in his tracks at the jazz club door.  He waited for the music to start.

Robert continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, Bill Withers is a good friend of mine and I wanna pay a little tribute to him before we get the good-good-good feelings goin’ again. We got a beautiful one for you right here.”

Robert whispered to the band again.  Robert clicked his drumsticks together.

Click. Click. Click.

“Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone…”

“It’s not warm when she’s away…”

Richie watched the band from the back of the club.  He felt like he was about to cry.  Richie left the club. 

Richie thought to himself, “No taxis are going to pick me up around here…”

Richie ran as fast as he could to the hospital.

Time for a joke:

I used to dislike my hair...but it's growing on me.