It was a quiet afternoon.
Outside the world was moving from fall into the coolness and frost of winter, when the world sleeps. Leaves were still thick on the ground in the backyard, and the sun had finally come to peek it's face out from behind the clouds. A bright day.
I had slept the night through, waking up occasionally to look over and see that she was still there, that she was breathing. It was a long watch, a watch that had lasted almost five full days. Every day the end was coming closer, and every day that passed hope grew smaller.
"Go get some air," my aunt said to me. "You should go on a walk. Take your phone and I will call you if something happens."
I was so relieved by her suggestion, as a part of me wanted to escape from the tension and the approaching final moment that frightened me. I felt guilty for wanting to leave, like if I left then she might not be there when I got back. That she would slip away if I turned my back for even the barest second.
Walking around the block, I took the long way up the hill and felt my legs burn as I climbed, felt my lungs filling with the chill fall air. Thank God I am alive. With each step I prayed a small thankful prayer, more thought than words, grateful that I could move and breath and see. I passed houses where people were probably living normally, without death hanging over them and with no thought of how close it must be. Looking up to the sky I watched clouds swirl past, watched branches sway slowly. Life was going on, and I couldn't help but think to myself that no matter what happened or when it happened that life would go on. It would just be a different life. It would be a painful life.
When I arrived back to the front porch I found my brothers smoking with my Uncle, all of them coming out together for a cigarette break. We talked about the holidays, about my brother's university schedule, about the clear day. Suddenly the door swung open and my aunt's face appeared.
"Guys, come in, now." She was not loud or sudden but urgency was in her eyes and her tone. We rushed in behind her, my brothers hastily dropping cigarettes and forgetting to leave shoes by the door.
My dad was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down into the bright room where she was laying on the hospital bed.
"I think she's gone," he said, his voice cracking and his shoulders shaking a little. "I think Mom is gone."
I stopped and hugged him tight hoping that some of my strength flowed into him,willing hime to be strong... then I took a deep breath and went down the stairs to where everyone was gathered around her bed, the nurse standing over her and the smell of lemon-scented bleach hanging around us. The first thing I heard was the silence...she was not breathing in the same raspy, open mouthed way that she had been for the last two days. It was quiet, and I felt like all of the air was being squeezed out of me, my throat was closing and I thought I would choke on a scream or a sob that was trying to make it out of my mouth. I sat on her right side, leaning close over her bed to where her head lay raised on the pillow.
"This is it," the nurse said quietly, her round frame glasses glinting in the golden fall light. "She is going."
Leaning down close to her I could still see a vein in her neck moving, slowly pumping blood. But her breathing was still, her chest did not rise and fall.
"I love you, Mom," I whispered, leaning close and speaking into her salt and pepper puff of hair. "I love you."
We all sat together around her, my brothers holding her hands, touching her shoulders, my aunts and grandmother and dad and uncle all around her, all quiet and teary as slowly, slowly her pulse stopped and the silence became deeper and deeper.
I started crying, my hand searching for a tissue and my grandma next to me pulled me into a hug.
"She is gone." The nurse stood by the bright window, watching us all.
Mom was gone, she was beyond our earthly reach now, and I couldn't help but imagine her arriving to heaven, her face wiped free of exhaustion and sickness, stepping into the embrace of my grandfather, into the arms of God.
After feeling so grateful for the beautiful day, for my working body for nature around me, I couldn't help but feel grateful and blessed that in the last moments, on her last breath, that Mom had us all aorund her.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
when i was and who i am
The morning is my favorite time of day. Please don't take that to mean that I am a morning person necessarily... I find it hard to get out of bed sometimes, like many other people I know. But it seems to me that when I finally do get up, the day is worth it. That is what I always think to myself, especially on a day like today...my birthday.
At 7:03a.m. when I pushed the covers back and let my feet hit the floor, I could already smell what was going on in the kitchen. It was a mixture of cinnamon and fresh brewed coffee, and even though my brain was still foggy I couldn't help smiling. Wandering in with bare feet on the cold tile floor I found the culprit. Felix, my husband, was standing over the sink mixing icing in a bowl and glancing at the timer on the oven. Next to him on the counter were two steaming cups of coffee, one with milk and one without. Hearing my feet slapping the kitchen floor he looked over his shoulder and smiled at me.
"Hey gorgeous," he laughed as my disheveled head rested on his shoulder. "Good morning. Happy birthday!"
I grabbed the coffee and sat down on the stool, my arms resting on the countertop. Yes, this is the morning of my thirtieth birthday. And as that fact seemed to weigh on me the morning light changed and somehow didn't look so bright.
"Yeah, you are married to an old woman now, Prince Charming." Felix winked at me.
"Oh darling, but you are a sexy old woman...!"
The timer went off and he leaned down to open the oven, revealeing a tray of perfect cinnamon buns that were without a doubt home-made. Felix may work construction by day, but by night he is a fine cook, baker, chef...gourmet food is one of his hobbies, which has accounted for afew extra pounds over the years. Thirty years.
"Really? Honey, am I really still sexy?"
Felix heaped icing on one of the fresh cinnamon buns and transferred it to a waiting plate which was deposited in front of me. He looked me in the eyes and smiled a slow smile, the kind of smile that I usually saw when he was about to take advantage of me...
"Darling, you are as sexy as you were when we first met."
When I was twenty-two I met Felix for the first time. I had just graduated from university and was job hunting in Dallas where my aunt and uncle lived along with my two cousins. I was staying with them and sharing a room with my cousin Krista, who was twenty-three and still living at home while she worked her way through grad school. On the third night of my stay which was also Friday night, Krista insisted that I come out with her and some friends after a rough day of two interviews and several hours of waiting, along with a parking ticket. Despite not feeling up for it I let her dress me in her cute turquoise halter top and put glitter on my eyelids, and we went. As soon as I walked in the door I felt out of place amidst a group of friends who all knew each other, so I ordered a drink and settled in at the periphery, waving at Krista with a tired smile when she looked questioningly at me.
Felix caught my eye after about ten minutes, as he was talking with one of Krista's friends and I watched the exchange as he gestured over to me and Krista smiled and leaned in to say something in his ear. Before I knew it he had walked over and settled himself next to me, beer in hand, with a very charming smile and began a freindly conversation that instantly made me feel at ease and by the end of the night I was glad that Krista had made me come and made me wear the turquoise halter top, which really was kind of sexy. While I didn't get the a job in Dallas and left two days later, I did get Felix's number and we started talking. Two months later he showed up at my internship at the end of the day with flowers in hand and asked if I wouldn't mind dating him. I said yes, even though he was a year younger than me and still finishing his last year at trade school and lived in Dallas. When he finished trade school he moved up to Madison. We moved in together. A year later, almost two years after we met, we got married. I was twenty-four, and he was twenty-three.
Putting on my make-up later I couldn't help but think about twenty-four. Here I am, six years later, and oh, how things have changed. When I was twenty-four I had Miss Helmund as my agent in Madison. Every week I would sit down and pound out at least one short story, and send it to Miss Helmund who would then send it on to some publisher or if she thought it was more of a mass audience piece would send it to a magazine or paper. I had gotten my Converse-clad foot in the door of the publishing world, and I still dreamed dreams of writing the new great American novel and moving to a beach house in South Carolina, far away from Wisconsin winters, where I would surely have much more inspirtation and definately better weather. Miss Helmund, while always encouraging, never quite got me there. She eventually retired from being an agent, and I never got the chance to ask her why despite being sixty-four she still went by "miss." Long story short I never found another agent like her, and so I just stopped looking and my writing slowed as consequence. I got a real job, and my life streamed on, farther away from the new great American novel. Dreams.
I grabbed my coat on the way the the garage, steeling myself for the February chill in the northern Wisconsin air, a mug of coffee clutched in one gloved hand and car keys in the other. Felix kissed me on the way out.
"So see you tonight? I checked everything yesterday and we are good to go."
"Yes, sounds good. I should be home around six."
"What? Can't you get off earlier? The reservation is at seven, remember, and we have to drive there, and..."
"Felix, honey, I will try to get out earlier but I can't promise anything. With the developments in the Art Department over the last two days things are getting crazy." Felix raised an eyebrow at me, with an expectant look. "But..." I bit my lip and then let out a sigh. "I really will do my best."
"Ok, darling. I just want to do something nice on your birthday..."
I opened the garage door and felt the icy wind blow in around my ankles. I put my coffee in the cup holder and smiled at Felix with my most winning smile before getting into the car.
"Thanks, honey. I will see you later tonight."
The roads were not really so bad this morning, despite the snowfall last night. My favorite U2 song came on the radio, which I took to be a good omen for my brithday and as I waited at the last red light before my building I sipped coffee and continued to remember. Something nice for my brithday....
The nicest birthday I ever had was probably my eighteenth. It was my senior year of high school, the last birthday I spent with both of my parents, and I got the best gift and had the best time.
The morning of I woke up to my Dad bringing me breakfast in bed. It was a Friday, I remember, because my grandma was coming the following day and my cousins too since they hadn't yet moved to Texas, and we were going to have a big family party with everyone.
"Happy Birthday, favorite daughter!" Dad sat down on the side of my bed and waited as I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed, pushing my pillows back.
"Dad, what is this? Did you really make me your famous blueberry pancakes? Blueberries aren't even in season...!" But there they were, perfectly round and steaming right under my nose with some scrambled eggs and orange juice and the perfect drizzle of syrup, just the way I liked it, not so much that the páncakes were soaking but enough so that it soaked into the pancake instead of drowning it. To complete the tray there was a lone pink rose in a glass of water...my mother's touch, and my favorite flower. Mom poked her head into the room and grinned at me. Dad patted my knee.
"It's your birthday, sweetie. And you only turn eighteen once." He kissed me on the cheek and wrapped me in a flannel hug that smelled like sawdust from his shop and aftershave. Mom came in and smiled at me, holding out a plain envelope with my name on it in her perfect cursive.
"Here, sweetie, this is part of your gift. So you can start to plan your day." I looked up at her puzzled, and took the envelope, opening it and catching my breath. In my hands were two tickets to the U2 concert that was downtown that night.
"MOM!" I screamed and almost upset my breakfast tray, my face practically splitting open my smile was so big. "How did you get these????? And it's tonight????? Are you SERIOUS??!" Mom laughed and kissed me on the cheek.
"Like you Dad said, baby girl, you only turn eighteen once. Take Alexa with you tonight and have fun."
The rest of the day I spent on Cloud Nine, and upon arriving to school I immediately began planning my evening with Alexa, my best friend since third grade and fellow U2 super fan. She was more rock and rebel than I was, with her artistic mother and step-father, and had spent seventh grade living in Spain with her real father and going to school there, and she often helped me with Spanish homework and constantly introduced me to new music of the obscure but excellent kind, while cultivating my love of classic rock and oldies but also insisting that I listen to opera and dismaying that I could not "feel the story in the music." She had recently convinced me to go out for the school paper and regularly took me along with her on "assignments" that involved covering local music events and sometimes the occasional Latino event. Thanks to Alexa the writing bug got hold of me and my music tastes have over time become varied and objective enough to make me predisposed to give pretty much anything a listen. She had turned eighteen herself just last month and already had a tattoo to show for it, along with bleached blonde hair.
"Oh God, this is the best gift EVER. Your parents really went all out!!!! This is amazing!" I had just shown her the tickets and informed her that all evening plans she had would have to be cancelled. "Girlfriend, YOU are my evening plan!" She giggled and threw an arm around my shoulder as the bell rang and we made our way to biology class. The day was spent passing notes between classes and with many friendly birthday wishes, and that night we spent at least an hour picking out our clothes and then talking baout nothing but the band while we drove there, with extra money in the dash for food and parking. We got into the concert and screamed along with thousnads of other fans as song after classic song played, and when the lights and speakers finally went out our ears were ringing and we could barely understand each other we were so hoarse. We made our way back to the car in the crowded lot discussing the perks and downfalls of being a groupie/journalist/song writer. We agreed that we would start an alternative music magazine which would eventually rival Rolling Stone, and travel the world together going to music festivals and promoting promising bands and being chief editors, of course. That night, when eighteen years made the world seem bright and made everything seem possible, was one of the highlights of my life and without a doubt my best birthday, ever. Since then I have had "nice" birthdays, but never anything quite on the same level. Certainly turning thirty was not going to be as great as turning eighteen.
The headquarters of the Bad Bone were already bustling when I arrived. While it was not the dream job Alexa and I had envisioned at eighteen, being assistant editor of a pet magazine is not so bad. But people are usually surprised to find out that I do not have a pet...just a lot of editing experience.
My mailbox outside my office was full of the usual...rough drafts and advertisements and memos, along with a surprising bag full of my favorite blueberry cake donughts. I glanced around the room and caught a certain brunette head peeking over her cubicle at me. Maureen, my close friend from marketing waved at me and gave me a thumbs up before ducking back down to her desk. I smiled and unlocked my door balancing coffee and the bag of doughnuts in one hand, with the rest of my mail tucked under one arm.
By lunch I had cleared my inbox and sent off messages to several co-workers, edited a few of the rough drafts left to me and had gotten an update on the art deptartment crisis from the editor in chief, my boss, Maxwell Larssen. Apparently Ben Wiegand who was one of the top illustrators was having some sort of personal issue and it was holding up production in a major way. At 1:18p.m. I finally slowed down and sent Maureen a message to meet for lunch.
We sat in the cafeteria on the first floor of the building, me with a salad and Maureen with some left over casserole and green beans. Occassionally we were interrupted as people passed by and said Happy Birthday, and I smiled and politely thanks them all the while wondering if I had smile lines...when people turn thirty they always seemed to suddenly have more wrinkles, and I kept crossing my fingers that they were at least smile lines. Halfway through my salad Maureen brought up the gossip.
"So Wiegand," she began, her volume dropping. "Just found out his girlfriend is pregnant. I bet that is part of why he is freaking out."
"Really." I moved a piece of tomato around on my plate before spearing it and a cucumber. "Well, that is a pretty big development."
"I know..." Maureen shook her head slightly, leaning away from her tupperware. "I mean, I can't even fathom having kids with Jeff, you know? Our world would pretty much end. And I don't know that I even want to be a mom."
Maureen, despite being fabulous at multitasking and finding new marketing opportunities, as well as having the most upbeat personality and one of the sharpest senses of humor I have ever encountered, is not the most attractive of women. She has crazy curly brown hair and is overweight, and usually wears headbands that are actually folded bandanas along with black Birkenstock clogs and no makeup except for mascara. Her nose, which was broken at the tender age of eleven in a bike accident, is slightly crooked and doesn't fit the rest of her face. What makes Maureen beautiful is who she is...and Jeff, her boyfriend of five months, sees her. I could not imagine them having kids either, especially not after five months. And after a long pause, Maureen's comment about motherhood threw me back into remembering.
After three years of marriage and several years of birth control, Felix and I decided we wanted to have a family. At twenty-seven I was a healthy young woman, a regular gym-goer and the delicious food my husband spoiled me with had not yet settled on my hips. Consulting with both my regular doctor and a gynecologist I went off birth control and Felix and I continued with our regular romps, excited by the fact that the encounters might now bear fruit. I got a few library books about fertility and looked up information about child development, waiting for my period and being even more mindful about my body. But nothing changed, nothing happened...for months my period came regularly, and each time it did I felt a stab of dissapointment. Finally my gynecologist suggested some Natural Family Planning methods as well as an exam for both of us. But everything was functioning normally, and after three months of making the most of my fertile days, nothing had happened and...I gave up.
Felix came home late one evening to find me curled up on the couch with a pint of ice cream watching The Notebook, and when our eyes met I started crying. He dropped his tools and came around to me, taking the ice cream out of my hands and wrapping me a hug that smelled like sweat and dust and cut grass. I continued to cry even though I noticed that his shirt was so dusty that it was staining my white top. But it was an insignificant detail, compared to the knowlege that I was twenty seven years old and apparently as barren as the Sahara.
"My darling," he whispered into my hair with his muscular arms around me. "Please don't be sad."
"But, honey," I gasped, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "We will never have a family. I can't give you kids..." And on the word 'kids' my body started trembling again. Felix pulled me into his lap then, and kissed my forehead before wrapping me up in his dusty embrace.
"Listen to me." His voice was soft but commanding, and I took a deep breath and tried to stop the flood. "YOU are my family. And when we got married we both agreed that we maybe wanted kids. Please," he cupped my face in his rough hands and his eyes looked deeply into mine. "Do not blame yourself. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe it's neither of us. Maybe we are just not meant to be parents. And if that is how our lives are going to be, then ok. I will have you all to myself."
"Oh, Felix..."
"Really, darling. I mean it. You are all I need. You are my family. You are enough."
That night Felix was tender with me, and as I thought on his words I felt calm seeping into my dissapointed heart. When I was twenty-seven I had known that YES, I wanted to be a mom. And I had learned to accept that I would never be...and listening to Maureen's doubts and living the memories all over again, I had a growing sympathy for Ben Wiegand. The things we never know we wanted, until it's too late...
By the end of the day there were rumors flying fast about the situation in the art department, and my boss's stress level had risen to boiling point with the still unfinished illustrations for the next issue, which was scheduled to be printed this weekend. By 4:57 p.m. I knew that I would never make it home by six. But I still held off calling Felix to tell him that. While I hung in the doorway and tried to soothe Mr. Larssen there was a sudden commotion at the end of the hallway and the stairwell burst open, with Ben Wiegand tumbling out, followed closely by the Art Director Lisa who was shouting shrilly at him to 'stop this nonsense and get back to his desk.' But Ben Wiegand walked purposefully down the hallway, eyes ablaze and stopped right in front of the editor's door where I was standing. Pushing me gently aside he stood defiantly in Mr. Larssen's office and clenched his fists. Lisa the Art Director teetered to a halt beside me in her neat black heels, breathless with eyes wide and furious.
"Mr. Larssen, sir, I really must apologize--" she began but Larssen held up a hand to silence her and focused on Wiegand.
"What is going on here?" he said quietly, and Ben Wiegand took a deep breath before closing his eyes and answering.
"Mr. Larssen, with all due respect, Bad Bone is a pretty good magazine. I have worked here for the last seven years and I've learned a lot, had some great opportunities, really enjoyed the people I have worked with. BUT" here he paused and took anothe deep breath, and I could see his shoulders tense. "This is not what I want to do with my life. I cannot spend the rest of my days drawing stupid cartoon dogs and hoping that something better will come along and find me. I am already thirty-seven years old and I am not getting any younger."
In my head my basic math skills informed me that if Ben Wiegand was thirty-seven and had been working at Bad Bone for seven years, then he had been thirty when he first started working here. Thirty...like me.
"I just found out a few days ago that my girlfriend is pregnant. Do you have kids, Mr. Larssen?" The editor nodded slowly but did not say anything, giving Ben the chance to continue. "My life is about to change. I want to give my kid the best of everything. I am going to ask my girlfriend to marry me. And I am not going to keep drawing stupid cartoon dogs."
By now, all of the floor had gone quiet and everyone waqs peeking over the top of thier cubicle. I saw Maureen's curly brown head among them, listening raptly to this man pour out his soul.
"When I was young, I wanted to be an illustrator of children's books. I had dreams, I had passion, I had drive. Somehow it went out, it faded away, but now it is back I know that I can make things happen, that I can do what I always wanted to do. I have to follow my dream. And that dream is not here at Bad Bone."
As I listened to Ben Wiegand's words my memories and thoughts compiled over the course of the day seemed to all wash through my mind together, and I felt instinctively what was happening to Ben Wiegand. I knew what he meant about not following dreams and I knew exactly how his dreams and passion had faded away, because that is what had happened to me too. When I was eighteen it happened, losing my best friend after going to college and forgetting our dream. It happened when I was twenty-four, losing my agent and letting my passion simmer down. It happened when I was twenty-seven, and despaired that I would never have children. What, what would I say, I wondered, about my thirtieth year? Would I let something else go by the wayside? Would I stay here and drift farther away from my dreams?
I didn't care for dogs. My passion was writing and music, not editing and managing. All my life I had dreamed of living on a beach and finding inspiration, not in Wisconsin living in monotone. Ben Wiegand seemed to have reached down and tugged on something in my heart....
"Mr. Larssen," Wiegand's voice was quiet and solemn and sorry. "I quit."
He turned on his heel in the silence that followed and made his unhurried way to the door, brushing past me and Lisa the Art Director, then pausing and turning back to look me in the eye and say with a genuine smile,
"Happy birthday, by the way."
As the elevator closed behind him the office seemed to errupt with activity and noise as people started moving and talking again, but Mr. Larssen and I were the only ones who stood quietly for a moment more in thought before joining the chaos.
That afternoon Mr. Larssen told me to go home at 5:20 p.m. He and I were up to our eyebrows in old copy with Lisa, trying to find appropritate art for the next edition before midnight and he turned to me and insisted that I go home.
"After all, it's your birthday today. You only turn thirty once." I did not ask how he knew that I was thirty...I simply took advantage of the early dismissal and grabbing my coat and purse from my office headed for the elevator, blowing an envious Maureen a kiss on my way.
When I got home at 5:40 p.m. Felix was already there, freshly showered and putting on one of the three button down oxford shirts he owned, hair slicked back with water and smelling of the cologne I had just gotten him for Christmas.
"Honey," I said to him, wrappping my arms around his waist. "You look amazing." He laughed and shook me off, going to the closet to pick one of his five ties and going to the bathroom mirror with a determined look.
"Well my darling, you need to get yourself ready as well. You need to look amazing for your birthday dinner tonight." I smiled at him and put my purse down, starting to undress and watching him with delight as his eyes strayed from his tie to watch me.
At 7:03a.m. when I pushed the covers back and let my feet hit the floor, I could already smell what was going on in the kitchen. It was a mixture of cinnamon and fresh brewed coffee, and even though my brain was still foggy I couldn't help smiling. Wandering in with bare feet on the cold tile floor I found the culprit. Felix, my husband, was standing over the sink mixing icing in a bowl and glancing at the timer on the oven. Next to him on the counter were two steaming cups of coffee, one with milk and one without. Hearing my feet slapping the kitchen floor he looked over his shoulder and smiled at me.
"Hey gorgeous," he laughed as my disheveled head rested on his shoulder. "Good morning. Happy birthday!"
I grabbed the coffee and sat down on the stool, my arms resting on the countertop. Yes, this is the morning of my thirtieth birthday. And as that fact seemed to weigh on me the morning light changed and somehow didn't look so bright.
"Yeah, you are married to an old woman now, Prince Charming." Felix winked at me.
"Oh darling, but you are a sexy old woman...!"
The timer went off and he leaned down to open the oven, revealeing a tray of perfect cinnamon buns that were without a doubt home-made. Felix may work construction by day, but by night he is a fine cook, baker, chef...gourmet food is one of his hobbies, which has accounted for afew extra pounds over the years. Thirty years.
"Really? Honey, am I really still sexy?"
Felix heaped icing on one of the fresh cinnamon buns and transferred it to a waiting plate which was deposited in front of me. He looked me in the eyes and smiled a slow smile, the kind of smile that I usually saw when he was about to take advantage of me...
"Darling, you are as sexy as you were when we first met."
When I was twenty-two I met Felix for the first time. I had just graduated from university and was job hunting in Dallas where my aunt and uncle lived along with my two cousins. I was staying with them and sharing a room with my cousin Krista, who was twenty-three and still living at home while she worked her way through grad school. On the third night of my stay which was also Friday night, Krista insisted that I come out with her and some friends after a rough day of two interviews and several hours of waiting, along with a parking ticket. Despite not feeling up for it I let her dress me in her cute turquoise halter top and put glitter on my eyelids, and we went. As soon as I walked in the door I felt out of place amidst a group of friends who all knew each other, so I ordered a drink and settled in at the periphery, waving at Krista with a tired smile when she looked questioningly at me.
Felix caught my eye after about ten minutes, as he was talking with one of Krista's friends and I watched the exchange as he gestured over to me and Krista smiled and leaned in to say something in his ear. Before I knew it he had walked over and settled himself next to me, beer in hand, with a very charming smile and began a freindly conversation that instantly made me feel at ease and by the end of the night I was glad that Krista had made me come and made me wear the turquoise halter top, which really was kind of sexy. While I didn't get the a job in Dallas and left two days later, I did get Felix's number and we started talking. Two months later he showed up at my internship at the end of the day with flowers in hand and asked if I wouldn't mind dating him. I said yes, even though he was a year younger than me and still finishing his last year at trade school and lived in Dallas. When he finished trade school he moved up to Madison. We moved in together. A year later, almost two years after we met, we got married. I was twenty-four, and he was twenty-three.
Putting on my make-up later I couldn't help but think about twenty-four. Here I am, six years later, and oh, how things have changed. When I was twenty-four I had Miss Helmund as my agent in Madison. Every week I would sit down and pound out at least one short story, and send it to Miss Helmund who would then send it on to some publisher or if she thought it was more of a mass audience piece would send it to a magazine or paper. I had gotten my Converse-clad foot in the door of the publishing world, and I still dreamed dreams of writing the new great American novel and moving to a beach house in South Carolina, far away from Wisconsin winters, where I would surely have much more inspirtation and definately better weather. Miss Helmund, while always encouraging, never quite got me there. She eventually retired from being an agent, and I never got the chance to ask her why despite being sixty-four she still went by "miss." Long story short I never found another agent like her, and so I just stopped looking and my writing slowed as consequence. I got a real job, and my life streamed on, farther away from the new great American novel. Dreams.
I grabbed my coat on the way the the garage, steeling myself for the February chill in the northern Wisconsin air, a mug of coffee clutched in one gloved hand and car keys in the other. Felix kissed me on the way out.
"So see you tonight? I checked everything yesterday and we are good to go."
"Yes, sounds good. I should be home around six."
"What? Can't you get off earlier? The reservation is at seven, remember, and we have to drive there, and..."
"Felix, honey, I will try to get out earlier but I can't promise anything. With the developments in the Art Department over the last two days things are getting crazy." Felix raised an eyebrow at me, with an expectant look. "But..." I bit my lip and then let out a sigh. "I really will do my best."
"Ok, darling. I just want to do something nice on your birthday..."
I opened the garage door and felt the icy wind blow in around my ankles. I put my coffee in the cup holder and smiled at Felix with my most winning smile before getting into the car.
"Thanks, honey. I will see you later tonight."
The roads were not really so bad this morning, despite the snowfall last night. My favorite U2 song came on the radio, which I took to be a good omen for my brithday and as I waited at the last red light before my building I sipped coffee and continued to remember. Something nice for my brithday....
The nicest birthday I ever had was probably my eighteenth. It was my senior year of high school, the last birthday I spent with both of my parents, and I got the best gift and had the best time.
The morning of I woke up to my Dad bringing me breakfast in bed. It was a Friday, I remember, because my grandma was coming the following day and my cousins too since they hadn't yet moved to Texas, and we were going to have a big family party with everyone.
"Happy Birthday, favorite daughter!" Dad sat down on the side of my bed and waited as I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed, pushing my pillows back.
"Dad, what is this? Did you really make me your famous blueberry pancakes? Blueberries aren't even in season...!" But there they were, perfectly round and steaming right under my nose with some scrambled eggs and orange juice and the perfect drizzle of syrup, just the way I liked it, not so much that the páncakes were soaking but enough so that it soaked into the pancake instead of drowning it. To complete the tray there was a lone pink rose in a glass of water...my mother's touch, and my favorite flower. Mom poked her head into the room and grinned at me. Dad patted my knee.
"It's your birthday, sweetie. And you only turn eighteen once." He kissed me on the cheek and wrapped me in a flannel hug that smelled like sawdust from his shop and aftershave. Mom came in and smiled at me, holding out a plain envelope with my name on it in her perfect cursive.
"Here, sweetie, this is part of your gift. So you can start to plan your day." I looked up at her puzzled, and took the envelope, opening it and catching my breath. In my hands were two tickets to the U2 concert that was downtown that night.
"MOM!" I screamed and almost upset my breakfast tray, my face practically splitting open my smile was so big. "How did you get these????? And it's tonight????? Are you SERIOUS??!" Mom laughed and kissed me on the cheek.
"Like you Dad said, baby girl, you only turn eighteen once. Take Alexa with you tonight and have fun."
The rest of the day I spent on Cloud Nine, and upon arriving to school I immediately began planning my evening with Alexa, my best friend since third grade and fellow U2 super fan. She was more rock and rebel than I was, with her artistic mother and step-father, and had spent seventh grade living in Spain with her real father and going to school there, and she often helped me with Spanish homework and constantly introduced me to new music of the obscure but excellent kind, while cultivating my love of classic rock and oldies but also insisting that I listen to opera and dismaying that I could not "feel the story in the music." She had recently convinced me to go out for the school paper and regularly took me along with her on "assignments" that involved covering local music events and sometimes the occasional Latino event. Thanks to Alexa the writing bug got hold of me and my music tastes have over time become varied and objective enough to make me predisposed to give pretty much anything a listen. She had turned eighteen herself just last month and already had a tattoo to show for it, along with bleached blonde hair.
"Oh God, this is the best gift EVER. Your parents really went all out!!!! This is amazing!" I had just shown her the tickets and informed her that all evening plans she had would have to be cancelled. "Girlfriend, YOU are my evening plan!" She giggled and threw an arm around my shoulder as the bell rang and we made our way to biology class. The day was spent passing notes between classes and with many friendly birthday wishes, and that night we spent at least an hour picking out our clothes and then talking baout nothing but the band while we drove there, with extra money in the dash for food and parking. We got into the concert and screamed along with thousnads of other fans as song after classic song played, and when the lights and speakers finally went out our ears were ringing and we could barely understand each other we were so hoarse. We made our way back to the car in the crowded lot discussing the perks and downfalls of being a groupie/journalist/song writer. We agreed that we would start an alternative music magazine which would eventually rival Rolling Stone, and travel the world together going to music festivals and promoting promising bands and being chief editors, of course. That night, when eighteen years made the world seem bright and made everything seem possible, was one of the highlights of my life and without a doubt my best birthday, ever. Since then I have had "nice" birthdays, but never anything quite on the same level. Certainly turning thirty was not going to be as great as turning eighteen.
The headquarters of the Bad Bone were already bustling when I arrived. While it was not the dream job Alexa and I had envisioned at eighteen, being assistant editor of a pet magazine is not so bad. But people are usually surprised to find out that I do not have a pet...just a lot of editing experience.
My mailbox outside my office was full of the usual...rough drafts and advertisements and memos, along with a surprising bag full of my favorite blueberry cake donughts. I glanced around the room and caught a certain brunette head peeking over her cubicle at me. Maureen, my close friend from marketing waved at me and gave me a thumbs up before ducking back down to her desk. I smiled and unlocked my door balancing coffee and the bag of doughnuts in one hand, with the rest of my mail tucked under one arm.
By lunch I had cleared my inbox and sent off messages to several co-workers, edited a few of the rough drafts left to me and had gotten an update on the art deptartment crisis from the editor in chief, my boss, Maxwell Larssen. Apparently Ben Wiegand who was one of the top illustrators was having some sort of personal issue and it was holding up production in a major way. At 1:18p.m. I finally slowed down and sent Maureen a message to meet for lunch.
We sat in the cafeteria on the first floor of the building, me with a salad and Maureen with some left over casserole and green beans. Occassionally we were interrupted as people passed by and said Happy Birthday, and I smiled and politely thanks them all the while wondering if I had smile lines...when people turn thirty they always seemed to suddenly have more wrinkles, and I kept crossing my fingers that they were at least smile lines. Halfway through my salad Maureen brought up the gossip.
"So Wiegand," she began, her volume dropping. "Just found out his girlfriend is pregnant. I bet that is part of why he is freaking out."
"Really." I moved a piece of tomato around on my plate before spearing it and a cucumber. "Well, that is a pretty big development."
"I know..." Maureen shook her head slightly, leaning away from her tupperware. "I mean, I can't even fathom having kids with Jeff, you know? Our world would pretty much end. And I don't know that I even want to be a mom."
Maureen, despite being fabulous at multitasking and finding new marketing opportunities, as well as having the most upbeat personality and one of the sharpest senses of humor I have ever encountered, is not the most attractive of women. She has crazy curly brown hair and is overweight, and usually wears headbands that are actually folded bandanas along with black Birkenstock clogs and no makeup except for mascara. Her nose, which was broken at the tender age of eleven in a bike accident, is slightly crooked and doesn't fit the rest of her face. What makes Maureen beautiful is who she is...and Jeff, her boyfriend of five months, sees her. I could not imagine them having kids either, especially not after five months. And after a long pause, Maureen's comment about motherhood threw me back into remembering.
After three years of marriage and several years of birth control, Felix and I decided we wanted to have a family. At twenty-seven I was a healthy young woman, a regular gym-goer and the delicious food my husband spoiled me with had not yet settled on my hips. Consulting with both my regular doctor and a gynecologist I went off birth control and Felix and I continued with our regular romps, excited by the fact that the encounters might now bear fruit. I got a few library books about fertility and looked up information about child development, waiting for my period and being even more mindful about my body. But nothing changed, nothing happened...for months my period came regularly, and each time it did I felt a stab of dissapointment. Finally my gynecologist suggested some Natural Family Planning methods as well as an exam for both of us. But everything was functioning normally, and after three months of making the most of my fertile days, nothing had happened and...I gave up.
Felix came home late one evening to find me curled up on the couch with a pint of ice cream watching The Notebook, and when our eyes met I started crying. He dropped his tools and came around to me, taking the ice cream out of my hands and wrapping me a hug that smelled like sweat and dust and cut grass. I continued to cry even though I noticed that his shirt was so dusty that it was staining my white top. But it was an insignificant detail, compared to the knowlege that I was twenty seven years old and apparently as barren as the Sahara.
"My darling," he whispered into my hair with his muscular arms around me. "Please don't be sad."
"But, honey," I gasped, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "We will never have a family. I can't give you kids..." And on the word 'kids' my body started trembling again. Felix pulled me into his lap then, and kissed my forehead before wrapping me up in his dusty embrace.
"Listen to me." His voice was soft but commanding, and I took a deep breath and tried to stop the flood. "YOU are my family. And when we got married we both agreed that we maybe wanted kids. Please," he cupped my face in his rough hands and his eyes looked deeply into mine. "Do not blame yourself. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe it's neither of us. Maybe we are just not meant to be parents. And if that is how our lives are going to be, then ok. I will have you all to myself."
"Oh, Felix..."
"Really, darling. I mean it. You are all I need. You are my family. You are enough."
That night Felix was tender with me, and as I thought on his words I felt calm seeping into my dissapointed heart. When I was twenty-seven I had known that YES, I wanted to be a mom. And I had learned to accept that I would never be...and listening to Maureen's doubts and living the memories all over again, I had a growing sympathy for Ben Wiegand. The things we never know we wanted, until it's too late...
By the end of the day there were rumors flying fast about the situation in the art department, and my boss's stress level had risen to boiling point with the still unfinished illustrations for the next issue, which was scheduled to be printed this weekend. By 4:57 p.m. I knew that I would never make it home by six. But I still held off calling Felix to tell him that. While I hung in the doorway and tried to soothe Mr. Larssen there was a sudden commotion at the end of the hallway and the stairwell burst open, with Ben Wiegand tumbling out, followed closely by the Art Director Lisa who was shouting shrilly at him to 'stop this nonsense and get back to his desk.' But Ben Wiegand walked purposefully down the hallway, eyes ablaze and stopped right in front of the editor's door where I was standing. Pushing me gently aside he stood defiantly in Mr. Larssen's office and clenched his fists. Lisa the Art Director teetered to a halt beside me in her neat black heels, breathless with eyes wide and furious.
"Mr. Larssen, sir, I really must apologize--" she began but Larssen held up a hand to silence her and focused on Wiegand.
"What is going on here?" he said quietly, and Ben Wiegand took a deep breath before closing his eyes and answering.
"Mr. Larssen, with all due respect, Bad Bone is a pretty good magazine. I have worked here for the last seven years and I've learned a lot, had some great opportunities, really enjoyed the people I have worked with. BUT" here he paused and took anothe deep breath, and I could see his shoulders tense. "This is not what I want to do with my life. I cannot spend the rest of my days drawing stupid cartoon dogs and hoping that something better will come along and find me. I am already thirty-seven years old and I am not getting any younger."
In my head my basic math skills informed me that if Ben Wiegand was thirty-seven and had been working at Bad Bone for seven years, then he had been thirty when he first started working here. Thirty...like me.
"I just found out a few days ago that my girlfriend is pregnant. Do you have kids, Mr. Larssen?" The editor nodded slowly but did not say anything, giving Ben the chance to continue. "My life is about to change. I want to give my kid the best of everything. I am going to ask my girlfriend to marry me. And I am not going to keep drawing stupid cartoon dogs."
By now, all of the floor had gone quiet and everyone waqs peeking over the top of thier cubicle. I saw Maureen's curly brown head among them, listening raptly to this man pour out his soul.
"When I was young, I wanted to be an illustrator of children's books. I had dreams, I had passion, I had drive. Somehow it went out, it faded away, but now it is back I know that I can make things happen, that I can do what I always wanted to do. I have to follow my dream. And that dream is not here at Bad Bone."
As I listened to Ben Wiegand's words my memories and thoughts compiled over the course of the day seemed to all wash through my mind together, and I felt instinctively what was happening to Ben Wiegand. I knew what he meant about not following dreams and I knew exactly how his dreams and passion had faded away, because that is what had happened to me too. When I was eighteen it happened, losing my best friend after going to college and forgetting our dream. It happened when I was twenty-four, losing my agent and letting my passion simmer down. It happened when I was twenty-seven, and despaired that I would never have children. What, what would I say, I wondered, about my thirtieth year? Would I let something else go by the wayside? Would I stay here and drift farther away from my dreams?
I didn't care for dogs. My passion was writing and music, not editing and managing. All my life I had dreamed of living on a beach and finding inspiration, not in Wisconsin living in monotone. Ben Wiegand seemed to have reached down and tugged on something in my heart....
"Mr. Larssen," Wiegand's voice was quiet and solemn and sorry. "I quit."
He turned on his heel in the silence that followed and made his unhurried way to the door, brushing past me and Lisa the Art Director, then pausing and turning back to look me in the eye and say with a genuine smile,
"Happy birthday, by the way."
As the elevator closed behind him the office seemed to errupt with activity and noise as people started moving and talking again, but Mr. Larssen and I were the only ones who stood quietly for a moment more in thought before joining the chaos.
That afternoon Mr. Larssen told me to go home at 5:20 p.m. He and I were up to our eyebrows in old copy with Lisa, trying to find appropritate art for the next edition before midnight and he turned to me and insisted that I go home.
"After all, it's your birthday today. You only turn thirty once." I did not ask how he knew that I was thirty...I simply took advantage of the early dismissal and grabbing my coat and purse from my office headed for the elevator, blowing an envious Maureen a kiss on my way.
When I got home at 5:40 p.m. Felix was already there, freshly showered and putting on one of the three button down oxford shirts he owned, hair slicked back with water and smelling of the cologne I had just gotten him for Christmas.
"Honey," I said to him, wrappping my arms around his waist. "You look amazing." He laughed and shook me off, going to the closet to pick one of his five ties and going to the bathroom mirror with a determined look.
"Well my darling, you need to get yourself ready as well. You need to look amazing for your birthday dinner tonight." I smiled at him and put my purse down, starting to undress and watching him with delight as his eyes strayed from his tie to watch me.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
The Age of the Mask
24.
When I first began to use makeup, I was 24 years old. Before, I had ocasionally put on some mascara and a little glitter in the form of eyeshadow, leftovers from my foray into a pharmacy some years ago, items which should have been tossed health reasons. They say you should replace your brushes and applicators regularly, or at least clean them. But I didn't use them often enough to worry about it. All I learned I gleaned from magazines and from a friend who had done my makeup for prom and other school dances. Despite my Mom's suggestions I did not use blush.
15.
At 15 my mother finally gave me permission to buy, to wear makeup and nail polish. Nevermind that I had been watching my classmates since I was 12, eyeing thier painted nails and glittery eyelids with envy. I had wanted to paint myself too, to have shiny lip gloss instead of lip balm and to put glitter around my eyes and see my sparkling reflection, instead of my pale skin and plain brown eyes staring back. But it was not allowed. By the time I was finally permitted to wear makeup I had lost interest, and all of the gifts of eyeshadow and little collections of nail polish I received that year were kept rotting in a small green chest with a cheap mirror attached to the interior of the lid. The cotton balls shriveled and the q-tips disintegrated waiting to be used, while I fought pimples with drying solutions and various kinds of facewash.
21.
This year I starting using a concealer stick given to me by a high school friend in an effort to conceal my acne. It didn't occur to me to buy one in my own skin tone, because my friend was more pale and not olive like me. I applied the chalky stick on my forehead and prayed that no one would look too closely at my mismatched tone or see the acne it could not quite hide. Makeup was still so foreign. But my legs I shaved religiously twice a week.
33.
Now my makeup had become a ritual, a routine. Not even my 2 year old could keep me from applying the fine layer of concealer (matching, this time) to my under-eye circles and the slight red spots threatening to bloom into pimples. Then there was the eyelash curler, the eyeliner, the mascara. It was all so simple, it took 10 minutes, and when I noticed my reflection in the mirror I looked natural only better. My husband never commented on my routine, but he watched me at night cleaning my face with a babywipe, scrubbing ever so gently at the mascara clinging to my eyelashes. He would kiss me goodnight even without my "face" on.
25.
The year I stayed home and got a waitressing job I wore lots of foundation, inexpertly applied. My Dad would look at me as I prepared to leave and say "looks like you've got the pancake on." I wondered if maybe he could say something encouraging instead, like "you look nice" or "pretty" or at least something kind. After many styles I settled on gold and browns for eyeshadow and brown for eyeliner, attempting to look as natural as possible. A close friend of mine liked to wear more intense colors, purples and blues that usually matched her jewelry, and I decided that I would try to look as much like myself as I could, that no one wanted to see me looking like a clown. My collection of brown eyeliners forced me to buy another makeup bag and question just how many of them I actually needed...the liquid eyeliner for special days, the waterproof for work, the subtle sparkle for every day, the chrome finish just to mix it up...
38.
Over time people change, and our faces do too. I became uncomfortably aware of my fine lines, lines that I had been able to hide with my simple routine and daily moirturizer, but were starting to appear as more than mere creases. I consulted my grandmother and my close friends, searching for some rejuvenating routine that would help to retain elasticity and diminish or soften the wrinkles. Before bed every night I applied night cremes, only to rise in the morning and wash my face and then apply a day creme.
50.
Part of my birthday gift was a spa day, during which I went to a spa to be pampered and got a facial and micro scrub. Despite my best efforts the lines had only increased and grown deeper. I had settled into a new routine of moisturizing and applying only the thinest layer of concealer and some mascara, not bothering with eyeliner that was hidden now by my drooping eyelids. My husband faced his lines with more grace and calm, altering his shaving routine slightly to accomodate the changed geography of his face, and asking me with only a hint of self-conciousness if his graying temples made him look "distinguished." With my hands on his still firm and straight shoulders I smiled and told him that he was as handsome of a husband as I could have hoped for. In response he smiled happily and kissed my cheek and told me that he was thankful that I had never dyed my hair. We were silvering together, while I still tried my best to keep my face from betraying me.
43.
Day and night I moisturized. When I came out of the shower I slathered my face, neck and chest with lotion that claimed to "tighten and heal" skin with vitamins and promised results after 2 weeks. I began to obsess over anti-aging products, and became aware of my hair which had started to grow lighter instead of dark and rich and brown...when I went out with my son I was grateful that I had not yet been mistaken for grandma. I dreaded that moment, that era...being an "old lady" seemed a frightening turn.
57.
No longer does concealer play into my daily routine, as it did for so many years. Instead the lessons of my 40s and constant mointurizing are part of my ritual, and for decoration I use a simple mascara. The nights that my husband and I go out, or when we visit with friends or go to a movie I use a little lipstick, but not much else. My hair is short, and sometimes I miss my long waves. But gray is best kept to a minimum.
61.
Mascara alone has remained my constant companion. But with a more daring hairstyle another product has found it's way into my life...hair gel. A faux hawk would not be quite the same without it, much to my husband's delight. We share the same product, he to slick down and me to spike up. I cannot remember the last time I bought eyeliner.
69.
Moisture has saved me from the deep grooves of old age, though I will grow older still. My lines, once so fine, have become a map of past smiles and moments of laughter that have marked my face. My neck and chin have started to sag, despite my thin weight there seems to something hanging there. My arms, once so strong from lifting children and dishes and heavy pots, have grown soft but are not sagging yet, thanks to simple yoga that eases my back. My husband goes through the same cycle of positions with me every morning and every evening, and we smile at each other with reflecting roadmaps of wrinkles. My faux hawk stopped being funny and instead became fussy. So now I am GI Jane.
75.
Every morning I wash my face and use the same day creme, a gentle natural formula that my grand daughter found for me at her all natural store. My husband and I still manage to do our basic yoga every day, though sometimes the aches are too much and we cannot stretch as much as we'd like. Last month I went to a friend's funeral, and all I wore was my lipstick, which should probably be replaced after so many years. My lips felt tacky, gummy after just a little while. But my mask is not as important as it was at 15, 25, 33. At the funeral I saw women my age with caked faces, lines that could not be smoothed with any amount of makeup, eyeshadow so thick it seemed like paste. In her casket my beloved friend seemed to have undergone plastic surgery, her face smooth and her serene expression airbrushed. I felt strangely embarassed for her, and as my husband gently took my hand and tugged me away I looked at the beloved lines of his face and the frailness of his once firm shoulders and understood that now, at this age, there was no longer any mask or anything that I could hide behind.
I simply looked like myself, more than I ever had before. And it made me smile.
When I first began to use makeup, I was 24 years old. Before, I had ocasionally put on some mascara and a little glitter in the form of eyeshadow, leftovers from my foray into a pharmacy some years ago, items which should have been tossed health reasons. They say you should replace your brushes and applicators regularly, or at least clean them. But I didn't use them often enough to worry about it. All I learned I gleaned from magazines and from a friend who had done my makeup for prom and other school dances. Despite my Mom's suggestions I did not use blush.
15.
At 15 my mother finally gave me permission to buy, to wear makeup and nail polish. Nevermind that I had been watching my classmates since I was 12, eyeing thier painted nails and glittery eyelids with envy. I had wanted to paint myself too, to have shiny lip gloss instead of lip balm and to put glitter around my eyes and see my sparkling reflection, instead of my pale skin and plain brown eyes staring back. But it was not allowed. By the time I was finally permitted to wear makeup I had lost interest, and all of the gifts of eyeshadow and little collections of nail polish I received that year were kept rotting in a small green chest with a cheap mirror attached to the interior of the lid. The cotton balls shriveled and the q-tips disintegrated waiting to be used, while I fought pimples with drying solutions and various kinds of facewash.
21.
This year I starting using a concealer stick given to me by a high school friend in an effort to conceal my acne. It didn't occur to me to buy one in my own skin tone, because my friend was more pale and not olive like me. I applied the chalky stick on my forehead and prayed that no one would look too closely at my mismatched tone or see the acne it could not quite hide. Makeup was still so foreign. But my legs I shaved religiously twice a week.
33.
Now my makeup had become a ritual, a routine. Not even my 2 year old could keep me from applying the fine layer of concealer (matching, this time) to my under-eye circles and the slight red spots threatening to bloom into pimples. Then there was the eyelash curler, the eyeliner, the mascara. It was all so simple, it took 10 minutes, and when I noticed my reflection in the mirror I looked natural only better. My husband never commented on my routine, but he watched me at night cleaning my face with a babywipe, scrubbing ever so gently at the mascara clinging to my eyelashes. He would kiss me goodnight even without my "face" on.
25.
The year I stayed home and got a waitressing job I wore lots of foundation, inexpertly applied. My Dad would look at me as I prepared to leave and say "looks like you've got the pancake on." I wondered if maybe he could say something encouraging instead, like "you look nice" or "pretty" or at least something kind. After many styles I settled on gold and browns for eyeshadow and brown for eyeliner, attempting to look as natural as possible. A close friend of mine liked to wear more intense colors, purples and blues that usually matched her jewelry, and I decided that I would try to look as much like myself as I could, that no one wanted to see me looking like a clown. My collection of brown eyeliners forced me to buy another makeup bag and question just how many of them I actually needed...the liquid eyeliner for special days, the waterproof for work, the subtle sparkle for every day, the chrome finish just to mix it up...
38.
Over time people change, and our faces do too. I became uncomfortably aware of my fine lines, lines that I had been able to hide with my simple routine and daily moirturizer, but were starting to appear as more than mere creases. I consulted my grandmother and my close friends, searching for some rejuvenating routine that would help to retain elasticity and diminish or soften the wrinkles. Before bed every night I applied night cremes, only to rise in the morning and wash my face and then apply a day creme.
50.
Part of my birthday gift was a spa day, during which I went to a spa to be pampered and got a facial and micro scrub. Despite my best efforts the lines had only increased and grown deeper. I had settled into a new routine of moisturizing and applying only the thinest layer of concealer and some mascara, not bothering with eyeliner that was hidden now by my drooping eyelids. My husband faced his lines with more grace and calm, altering his shaving routine slightly to accomodate the changed geography of his face, and asking me with only a hint of self-conciousness if his graying temples made him look "distinguished." With my hands on his still firm and straight shoulders I smiled and told him that he was as handsome of a husband as I could have hoped for. In response he smiled happily and kissed my cheek and told me that he was thankful that I had never dyed my hair. We were silvering together, while I still tried my best to keep my face from betraying me.
43.
Day and night I moisturized. When I came out of the shower I slathered my face, neck and chest with lotion that claimed to "tighten and heal" skin with vitamins and promised results after 2 weeks. I began to obsess over anti-aging products, and became aware of my hair which had started to grow lighter instead of dark and rich and brown...when I went out with my son I was grateful that I had not yet been mistaken for grandma. I dreaded that moment, that era...being an "old lady" seemed a frightening turn.
57.
No longer does concealer play into my daily routine, as it did for so many years. Instead the lessons of my 40s and constant mointurizing are part of my ritual, and for decoration I use a simple mascara. The nights that my husband and I go out, or when we visit with friends or go to a movie I use a little lipstick, but not much else. My hair is short, and sometimes I miss my long waves. But gray is best kept to a minimum.
61.
Mascara alone has remained my constant companion. But with a more daring hairstyle another product has found it's way into my life...hair gel. A faux hawk would not be quite the same without it, much to my husband's delight. We share the same product, he to slick down and me to spike up. I cannot remember the last time I bought eyeliner.
69.
Moisture has saved me from the deep grooves of old age, though I will grow older still. My lines, once so fine, have become a map of past smiles and moments of laughter that have marked my face. My neck and chin have started to sag, despite my thin weight there seems to something hanging there. My arms, once so strong from lifting children and dishes and heavy pots, have grown soft but are not sagging yet, thanks to simple yoga that eases my back. My husband goes through the same cycle of positions with me every morning and every evening, and we smile at each other with reflecting roadmaps of wrinkles. My faux hawk stopped being funny and instead became fussy. So now I am GI Jane.
75.
Every morning I wash my face and use the same day creme, a gentle natural formula that my grand daughter found for me at her all natural store. My husband and I still manage to do our basic yoga every day, though sometimes the aches are too much and we cannot stretch as much as we'd like. Last month I went to a friend's funeral, and all I wore was my lipstick, which should probably be replaced after so many years. My lips felt tacky, gummy after just a little while. But my mask is not as important as it was at 15, 25, 33. At the funeral I saw women my age with caked faces, lines that could not be smoothed with any amount of makeup, eyeshadow so thick it seemed like paste. In her casket my beloved friend seemed to have undergone plastic surgery, her face smooth and her serene expression airbrushed. I felt strangely embarassed for her, and as my husband gently took my hand and tugged me away I looked at the beloved lines of his face and the frailness of his once firm shoulders and understood that now, at this age, there was no longer any mask or anything that I could hide behind.
I simply looked like myself, more than I ever had before. And it made me smile.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Traveler
His flight left at 12:45pm, which meant that by 10am he was entering the doors of the airport, passport clutched in hand and his backpack behind him, secure on his shoulders.
After completeing the check-in he felt a nervous energy tingle through him. He was going to fly, he was going to leave the country! It was only a 10 day trip, but here at the start he felt it stretching out before him like infinity, full of possibility. He had another hour before preliminary boarding and so he wandered, taking in the people around him, fellow travellers speaking languages he didn't recognize, toting carryons and bags and rolling luggage of all colors and sizes.
He thought he might have a coffee before he left, and consulted the terminal map hanging on the wall to find the nearest coffee shop. Five minutes and many gates later he stood and searched the drink menu, frowning slightly as he noted the prices. How could they charge so much for a simple coffee? Those extras cents could go toward bus fare, or another coffee somewhere in another country...so he turned and went across the terminal to the little everything shop, where they charged only one dollar for a regular coffee.
With his drink in hand he made his way back down to his gate, his walk slow and his eyes fast. People flowed all around him, and from time to time he caught the sharp words of a language different from his own.
He admired the trim chinos and pressed shirt of a man sitting and reading a newspaper, black carry-on parked beside him. He admired the patience of a mother as she put on her toddler's coat in the line to board thier flight, tugging little arms through sleeves. He admired the colorful energy of a group of teenagers sitting on the floor in a corner, engrossed in thier converstaion and eyes and fingers moving nimbly over thier electronics. He admired the frailty of an old woman being pushed ahead of an attendant in a wheelchair, her luggage clutched in her lap and her worn brown loafers peeking out from beneath her long blue skirt. How wonderful that she was still able to travel at her age! He smiled and silently wished her well, hoping that he could still make trips when he was as old as she.
Arriving back at his gate he chose a seat, wedged between a casual businessman and a young woman who looked too fashionable to be flying economy. He took a hot sip and paused to dig his journal out of his backpack, fishing a pen from his pocket. With steady strokes he wrote the date and his flight information, consulting his ticket. He wrote his destination, the name of his contact. The journal held other entries just like this from previous destinations: Rome, New Zeland, Alaska, Mexico, Amsterdam, Tokyo... Where were all of these people going? What had brought them together to make the trip across so many miles in a plane full of strangers, to entrust thier lives to a machine made of metal with wings?
He couldn't help but shake his head as he thought of the miracle of flight, sending silent thanks to the brothers that authored air travel.
Yes it was only a 10 day trip, but for a traveler it was an open journey into the unknown and held all the wonder and excitement of a first kiss, a first ride, a first flight...
As the attendants finally began boarding he smiled and stood up, stretching arms and legs before stowing pen and journal, putting the backpack on his shoulders, anxious and excited to be starting a new adventure.
After completeing the check-in he felt a nervous energy tingle through him. He was going to fly, he was going to leave the country! It was only a 10 day trip, but here at the start he felt it stretching out before him like infinity, full of possibility. He had another hour before preliminary boarding and so he wandered, taking in the people around him, fellow travellers speaking languages he didn't recognize, toting carryons and bags and rolling luggage of all colors and sizes.
He thought he might have a coffee before he left, and consulted the terminal map hanging on the wall to find the nearest coffee shop. Five minutes and many gates later he stood and searched the drink menu, frowning slightly as he noted the prices. How could they charge so much for a simple coffee? Those extras cents could go toward bus fare, or another coffee somewhere in another country...so he turned and went across the terminal to the little everything shop, where they charged only one dollar for a regular coffee.
With his drink in hand he made his way back down to his gate, his walk slow and his eyes fast. People flowed all around him, and from time to time he caught the sharp words of a language different from his own.
He admired the trim chinos and pressed shirt of a man sitting and reading a newspaper, black carry-on parked beside him. He admired the patience of a mother as she put on her toddler's coat in the line to board thier flight, tugging little arms through sleeves. He admired the colorful energy of a group of teenagers sitting on the floor in a corner, engrossed in thier converstaion and eyes and fingers moving nimbly over thier electronics. He admired the frailty of an old woman being pushed ahead of an attendant in a wheelchair, her luggage clutched in her lap and her worn brown loafers peeking out from beneath her long blue skirt. How wonderful that she was still able to travel at her age! He smiled and silently wished her well, hoping that he could still make trips when he was as old as she.
Arriving back at his gate he chose a seat, wedged between a casual businessman and a young woman who looked too fashionable to be flying economy. He took a hot sip and paused to dig his journal out of his backpack, fishing a pen from his pocket. With steady strokes he wrote the date and his flight information, consulting his ticket. He wrote his destination, the name of his contact. The journal held other entries just like this from previous destinations: Rome, New Zeland, Alaska, Mexico, Amsterdam, Tokyo... Where were all of these people going? What had brought them together to make the trip across so many miles in a plane full of strangers, to entrust thier lives to a machine made of metal with wings?
He couldn't help but shake his head as he thought of the miracle of flight, sending silent thanks to the brothers that authored air travel.
Yes it was only a 10 day trip, but for a traveler it was an open journey into the unknown and held all the wonder and excitement of a first kiss, a first ride, a first flight...
As the attendants finally began boarding he smiled and stood up, stretching arms and legs before stowing pen and journal, putting the backpack on his shoulders, anxious and excited to be starting a new adventure.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Gifts
OCTOBER
Dear Henry,
Today has been too short. It was Jamie´s birthday and when I got up this morning the first thing I did was start on a cake, because I wanted to make it from scratch. But Red had other things in mind... he jumped onto the counter when my back was turned, and the whole bowl fell to the floor and I just ended up getting Jamie a birthday doughnut, and my Mom made the cake we had at dinner. Jamie loved the Buzz Lightyear toy btw, thanks so much!
We missed you, it would have been nice to have you at the table. Between entertaining Jamie and trying to keep Red off my lap I am exhausted. But Jamie is growing up fast, and I am trying to savor every moment.
Stay safe, where ever you are.
Hugs,
Jess
NOVEMBER
Dear Jess,
I´m glad Jamie liked his gift! It was the least I could do. It´s not everyday you turn three.
Red is so needy, whenever I come over he always trys to absorb me. So easy to imagine him competing with Jamie for your lap... I would just settle for a hug.
Thanks for your gift! We all missed Thanksgiving dinner this year, it was hectic day and we saw some unfriendly fire. The can of pumpkin pie mix was perfect, everyone loved having a little taste of home (yes of course I shared, it was THANKSGIVING!). We figured out a way to cook just about everything, but it was definately not a traditional meal, haha, especially without a turkey.
Please make me a pie when I come home?
-Henry
DECEMBER
Dear Henry,
Your gift came in the mail today! You are so thoughtful, I love love LOVE IT! What girl doesn´t love something sparkly...I have been wearing these earrings nonstop for the last couple days. Did you really order Tiffany´s online? I had no idea you could do that!
It is getting cold here and we had our first real fire in the fireplace. Do you remember last year, when you first came over and we made cookies with Jaime and you started a fire for us then? A year goes by so quickly.
I hope you are safe and warm, and I am sending you extra hugs and all my love to keep you extra toasty. You have told me the desert gets cold at night.
Henry, I am so glad that you are part of my life. These past 12 months have been really blessed ones, and our relationship has filled me with joy and hope for the future. You are a good man, and you have been good to me and my son. I want to be honest and tell you that I think I am falling in love with you. Maybe I am telling you this too soon, but it has been on my mind a lot lately and I felt I should share it with you.
Please do your best to stay safe, and know that we pray for you every day.
Merry Christmas...
Hugs,
Jess
JANUARY
Dear Jess,
I am missing you today.
This morning the sky was overcast, and as we move the gray clouds seem to follow us. This is not the way I thought I would spend New Year´s, I hoped to be home already and be able to spend it with you and Jaime. Now it looks like I won't be back until March at the earliest.
Thanks for your last letter, and the gift. I have been wearing the scarf a lot, especially at night, and now it´s a dark green instead of light.
Being away all this time has really made me think alot about my life at home, who I am, what I want. Jess, I have to tell you, I was not looking for anyone when you came into my life, but you have made such a difference and you have helped me to become a better person. Without you now I feel like something is missing.
Hope to see you soon.
-Henry
FEBRUARY
Dear Henry,
This month I feel like I have been overdosed with chocolates and hearts and right now I am so sick of pink! The only cards I got that I liked on Valentine's Day were from you and Jaime, of course. Jaime's was a blue heart, and when I asked him why blue he said it was because he knew it was my favorite color, haha! He is such a smart little guy. Your card was amazing, thank you, and the lilies at work!!! All the other girls were beside themselves with envy....
The only way things could have been better would be with you there. Maybe next year?
Start thinking about when you come home next month! Once you know your flight details send them along, Jaime and I would be more than happy to pick you up. I will have a pie waiting.
Hugs,
Jess
Dear Jess,
There is something I have to tell you.
I am in love with you. Every word you write feeds me and makes me believe it more.
Cannot wait to see you next month, hold on tight.
Love,
Henry
MARCH
Jess and Jaime stood waiting anxiously by the exit terminal, after scanning the arrival boards and seeing the flight landed on time.
It seemed like years as Jess stood there, Jaime's hand clutched in hers, eyes scanning the crowd for his fatigues. And then she saw him, smiling with his backpack over one shoulder, striding towards them. She thought that she might scream but both her hands flew to her mouth and she felt a flood of relief. Time stopped as Jaime leapt at him, and she heard his easy laugh as he held the three-year-old in his arms and hugged him tight. Then his eyes met hers and he pulled her close under his free arm and they stood like that, close together for a moment savoring the feeling of being toegether. Finally he leaned bcak and put Henry down, turning to face her. She felt tears on her cheek and brushed them away with a sleeve, embarassed.
"Jess," He said, taking her hands in his. "Your prayers and words and your gifts helped me to get through. You helped me stay positive, gave me a piece of home and eased my mind... I am so glad to be home with you, babe."
Jess smiled and saw Jaime clap his hands. She gave Henry's hand a squeeze as he drew a breath and continued.
"There is one gift you can give me, though, that would make me even more happy."
As he said this he sank to one knee, and removed a little blue box from one pocket. Jess felt her eyes growing wide and she started crying more, looking at him in disbelief. She felt Jaime clutching her leg. The diamond inside was small, simple, perfect. The biggest gift from Henry yet.
"Jess," Henry said in a soft voice, "will you be my wife? Will you let me be a permanant part of your life and Jaime's life?"
Jess felt like exploding with happiness, with joy. She became suddenly and accutely aware of the people around them, many of whom had stopped to watch. Jaime's clutch on her leg seemed electric, and when she opened her mouth she was surprised her voice didn't send of sparks or fireworks.
"Yes."
The sounds of people around them cheering and even Jaime's excited burble seemed to fade as he rose up and put the ring on her finger, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close and she kissed him.
"That is the best gift of all, babe. Your love."
He whispered it quietly but she could hear his smile, and she knew exactly how he felt.
Dear Henry,
Today has been too short. It was Jamie´s birthday and when I got up this morning the first thing I did was start on a cake, because I wanted to make it from scratch. But Red had other things in mind... he jumped onto the counter when my back was turned, and the whole bowl fell to the floor and I just ended up getting Jamie a birthday doughnut, and my Mom made the cake we had at dinner. Jamie loved the Buzz Lightyear toy btw, thanks so much!
We missed you, it would have been nice to have you at the table. Between entertaining Jamie and trying to keep Red off my lap I am exhausted. But Jamie is growing up fast, and I am trying to savor every moment.
Stay safe, where ever you are.
Hugs,
Jess
NOVEMBER
Dear Jess,
I´m glad Jamie liked his gift! It was the least I could do. It´s not everyday you turn three.
Red is so needy, whenever I come over he always trys to absorb me. So easy to imagine him competing with Jamie for your lap... I would just settle for a hug.
Thanks for your gift! We all missed Thanksgiving dinner this year, it was hectic day and we saw some unfriendly fire. The can of pumpkin pie mix was perfect, everyone loved having a little taste of home (yes of course I shared, it was THANKSGIVING!). We figured out a way to cook just about everything, but it was definately not a traditional meal, haha, especially without a turkey.
Please make me a pie when I come home?
-Henry
DECEMBER
Dear Henry,
Your gift came in the mail today! You are so thoughtful, I love love LOVE IT! What girl doesn´t love something sparkly...I have been wearing these earrings nonstop for the last couple days. Did you really order Tiffany´s online? I had no idea you could do that!
It is getting cold here and we had our first real fire in the fireplace. Do you remember last year, when you first came over and we made cookies with Jaime and you started a fire for us then? A year goes by so quickly.
I hope you are safe and warm, and I am sending you extra hugs and all my love to keep you extra toasty. You have told me the desert gets cold at night.
Henry, I am so glad that you are part of my life. These past 12 months have been really blessed ones, and our relationship has filled me with joy and hope for the future. You are a good man, and you have been good to me and my son. I want to be honest and tell you that I think I am falling in love with you. Maybe I am telling you this too soon, but it has been on my mind a lot lately and I felt I should share it with you.
Please do your best to stay safe, and know that we pray for you every day.
Merry Christmas...
Hugs,
Jess
JANUARY
Dear Jess,
I am missing you today.
This morning the sky was overcast, and as we move the gray clouds seem to follow us. This is not the way I thought I would spend New Year´s, I hoped to be home already and be able to spend it with you and Jaime. Now it looks like I won't be back until March at the earliest.
Thanks for your last letter, and the gift. I have been wearing the scarf a lot, especially at night, and now it´s a dark green instead of light.
Being away all this time has really made me think alot about my life at home, who I am, what I want. Jess, I have to tell you, I was not looking for anyone when you came into my life, but you have made such a difference and you have helped me to become a better person. Without you now I feel like something is missing.
Hope to see you soon.
-Henry
FEBRUARY
Dear Henry,
This month I feel like I have been overdosed with chocolates and hearts and right now I am so sick of pink! The only cards I got that I liked on Valentine's Day were from you and Jaime, of course. Jaime's was a blue heart, and when I asked him why blue he said it was because he knew it was my favorite color, haha! He is such a smart little guy. Your card was amazing, thank you, and the lilies at work!!! All the other girls were beside themselves with envy....
The only way things could have been better would be with you there. Maybe next year?
Start thinking about when you come home next month! Once you know your flight details send them along, Jaime and I would be more than happy to pick you up. I will have a pie waiting.
Hugs,
Jess
Dear Jess,
There is something I have to tell you.
I am in love with you. Every word you write feeds me and makes me believe it more.
Cannot wait to see you next month, hold on tight.
Love,
Henry
MARCH
Jess and Jaime stood waiting anxiously by the exit terminal, after scanning the arrival boards and seeing the flight landed on time.
It seemed like years as Jess stood there, Jaime's hand clutched in hers, eyes scanning the crowd for his fatigues. And then she saw him, smiling with his backpack over one shoulder, striding towards them. She thought that she might scream but both her hands flew to her mouth and she felt a flood of relief. Time stopped as Jaime leapt at him, and she heard his easy laugh as he held the three-year-old in his arms and hugged him tight. Then his eyes met hers and he pulled her close under his free arm and they stood like that, close together for a moment savoring the feeling of being toegether. Finally he leaned bcak and put Henry down, turning to face her. She felt tears on her cheek and brushed them away with a sleeve, embarassed.
"Jess," He said, taking her hands in his. "Your prayers and words and your gifts helped me to get through. You helped me stay positive, gave me a piece of home and eased my mind... I am so glad to be home with you, babe."
Jess smiled and saw Jaime clap his hands. She gave Henry's hand a squeeze as he drew a breath and continued.
"There is one gift you can give me, though, that would make me even more happy."
As he said this he sank to one knee, and removed a little blue box from one pocket. Jess felt her eyes growing wide and she started crying more, looking at him in disbelief. She felt Jaime clutching her leg. The diamond inside was small, simple, perfect. The biggest gift from Henry yet.
"Jess," Henry said in a soft voice, "will you be my wife? Will you let me be a permanant part of your life and Jaime's life?"
Jess felt like exploding with happiness, with joy. She became suddenly and accutely aware of the people around them, many of whom had stopped to watch. Jaime's clutch on her leg seemed electric, and when she opened her mouth she was surprised her voice didn't send of sparks or fireworks.
"Yes."
The sounds of people around them cheering and even Jaime's excited burble seemed to fade as he rose up and put the ring on her finger, arms wrapping around her and pulling her close and she kissed him.
"That is the best gift of all, babe. Your love."
He whispered it quietly but she could hear his smile, and she knew exactly how he felt.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Forward Motion
"So you think it will be tonight?"
"Hey, I never said that...I just think it's coming. It could be anytime."
They were sitting over their cafe sandwiches and sipping lite iced coffees, and discussing the proposal. Because Ellie was sure he would propose any time now, with the upcoming holiday.
"It's almost Thanksgiving, you know? I bet he wants to do it when the family is here, to celebrate. Make it special."
Leslie rolled her eyes and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She had known Ellie for the last six years, and what she loved most about her friend was her unfailing sense of hopefulness. Ellie was a sweetie, and Leslie was more a cynic. Somehow they struck a balance.
"Well, Ellie honey. You guys went ring shopping two months ago already...! He better hurry up!"
Ellie shrugged and rolled her ice cubes around her cup of cold coffee, not saying anything. She thought he would do it soon, she had a feeling he would do it soon...she hoped it would be soon.
Jason felt like he was being bombarded.
Sitting in his brother's living room on the sofa with a beer in hand, he was being subjected to yet another commercial featuring a cute couple and a sparkly diamond ring going for a good price. The couple leans in to kiss and the jeweler's name appeared on the screen and he grimaced and covered his eyes. Next commercial break it would probably play again.
"What man? You out of beer already?" His brother John got up from the Lazy Boy with his empty beer bottle in hand and headed for the kitchen.
"No," Jason called. "I'm ok."
He heard the fridge open and close and John reappeared with another beer, sinking himself back into his chair and eyeing Jason.
"Then what? Because you came in here looking troubled. Don't deny it, I know you man, I can tell." Jason sighed and put his beer on the coffee table.
"Man, I am just not feeling right lately...about Ellie and this whole engagement thing." John took a sip of beer and looked at his little brother squarely.
"Look, Jason. The whole thing shouldn't be taken lightly. It's promising yourself to another person for the rest of your life. God knows I thought a long time before I got up the guts to propose to Hannah." Jason sighed again and hung his head.
"Yeah, I know." He pictured Ellie and her smile and her soft brown hair. " But I just don't know if that is really what I want."
John took another sip and settled back into his chair as the game came back on.
"Well I will tell you this, brother. Ellie is a damn good woman. And honest, you would be a fool to let her escape. When you find something good...you hold on. You make it last." Jason closed his eyes and tried not to feel sick.
Two weeks ago on a Wednesday he had been on the job, landscaping the front of the Merrill building just outside of downtown. He had been trimming up the shrubs by the main entrance when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around he came face to face with Kelley Fitz, his high school ex-girlfriend. They had gone steady starting sophomore year, right up to two weeks after graduation, when they parted ways...she went to an out of state university and he chose community college.
"Jason? Hey." She smiled and her eyes crinkled just like he remembered.
"Hey, Kelley." He smiled back, a genuine smile, and took of his protective glasses. "How are you?"
"I'm pretty good. I just came back into town last week. I'm working here at Merrill now," she added, gesturing at the building. "Just started Monday."
"Well congratulations, that is great!" They stood smiling and taking each other in for a moment. Kelley took a deep breath.
"Hey...maybe we could get together sometime? Catch up? Here is my card." She handed him a light blue business card with her name across the top and the company logo across the bottom. She started in toward the glass doors before pausing to look at him over her shoulder. "Give me a call sometime, ok?" He nodded and held up her business card.
"Ok."
That Friday Jason gave Kelley a call around lunch time and they sat down and caught up.
On Monday they caught up again. And again on Wednesday. This last week they had lunch together four days in a row. Jason had been with Ellie for the last two years but he didn't find himself thinking about her as much as he used to, didn't feel enchanted by her smile anymore. He had started thinking more about what to say to Kelley at their next lunch, found himself laughing about some high school memory, relaxed when she sat down across from him and talked to him in their old familiar way. He had known Kelley since third grade and had been with her most of high school, and seeing her again now brought back a lot of good memories. At times he even found himself wondering if they could make it work again. It wasn't until their last lunch when Kelley had suggested dinner that he thought that maybe he wasn't being fair to Ellie. Kelley's request conflicted with their date night, and he had asked to cancel, his guilty conscience weighing on his shoulders...
"Baby, can we cancel? I'm sorry but I just can't tonight. Promise I will make it up to you next week." Ellie sighed and smirked.
"Well alright. I have been meaning to go see that new movie with Leslie, we can make it a girls' night." She kissed him. "But you better make it up next week. Even with family around."
"Ok." He smiled, but he felt sick inside. Ellie trusted him totally, didn't even ask what his plans were. If she did he knew he wouldn't be able to lie...and then where would they be? Jason left for dinner not feeling his best, but anxious to see Kelley.
She was already there when he walked in. Her pale blonde hair caught the low light and looked golden, and he smiled, thinking how beautiful she looked. He thought of the way all the other guys had looked at him enviously at Senior Prom, with Kelley on his arm...she had been a goddess with her hair in ringlets, and a low cut gold dress. That was the year they won King and Queen, of course.
"Hey!"She smiled and squeezed his hand as he sat down across from her. "I went ahead and got some wine, hope you don't mind." There was a goblet of deep red in front of his plate. "Try it, it's a special California blend."
He smiled and lifted the glass, taking a sip. He thought the taste was awful...wine was not his thing, beer was. But he swallowed the mouthful and smiled anyway.
"Yeah, it's alright."
"Oh come on, it is more than 'alright!' This is delicious." She took another sip from her glass and picked up the menu. "Anyway, let's order. I'm hungry."
"Yeah, me too." Jason chuckled nervously.
The conversation continued unbroken, flowing until they finished with main course. Jason couldn't put a finger on it but he kept getting more and more uncomfortable. He felt like Kelley was sliding back into high school mode, felt like tonight all he could see were the things about her that hadn't changed. As the waiter cleared their plates they picked up the dessert menu.
"I would like the tiaramisu, please. And a cappucino." Kelley put her menu down and looked expectantly at Jason.
"Uh, a piece of the chocolate layer cake, please." The waiter nodded and left them alone.
"Oh, Jason,"Kelley sighed his name and leaned forward, stretching out her hands on the table. "I have really enjoyed these last couple weeks. You have made me feel welcome, and right at home here all over again." Her hand moved forward and covered his. "It's like things haven't changed between us, J-Baby."
Jason felt like someone dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. J-Baby? He couldn't believe Kelley had just called him by his high school nickname. Finally he understood why he had been feeling so uncomfortable...this wasn't him. It just wasn't. He wasn't the football player who got the cute cheerleader, he wasn't the Prom King anymore. He was a million miles away from that, he had grown and he had found bigger and better things in his work, his relationships, his life...with Ellie. Life was about moving forward, not back. He stared at Kelley, and he thought like he was seeing her again for the first time. She was still cute and blonde, her hair was the same style and she still wore the color periwinkle like it was her second skin. Kelley was all good memories and familiar feelings, but she didn't know him anymore. She was looking for the same boy she knew in high school, but he was long gone. Closing his eyes, Jason felt certianty. He knew what he wanted. And it wasn't cute, blonde Kelley Fitz. He took out his wallet and put down money to cover their check, getting up smoothly from the table.
"Look, Kelley, this has been great. It really has. Great to catch up and see you again. But I have to go."
He couldn't help smiling at her bewildered look despite himself. "Goodbye."
He didn't even glance over his shoulder to see Kelley sniff indignantly and cross her arms tightly over her chest as the waiter put her tiaramisu and cappucino in front of her, along with a piece of chocolate layer cake that would go uneaten.
"Hey! You all had better finish these mashed taters, I have enough leftovers with the turkey as it is!" Mom's voice rang out loud and clear over the noisy conversation in the family room of Jason's house, full to the ceiling with family and extended family. There were John and Hannah or course, along with their two kids, and Hannah's little sister came too, since their folks had passed and she was still single. Mom's brother Tim and his wife, along with their daughter, and Mr. Brown who lived next door and was widowed, with kids living way out in Washington who only came for Christmas...and of course, Ellie.
John laughed and leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of the wine Mr. Brown had brought for the meal.
"Yeah, Ma, I don't know if we can eat another bite! We have to save room for that pie Ellie made!" Jason saw Ellie smile and blush. "It smelled soooo good!" Mom poked her head back into the dining room and her gaze softened.
"Well alright, I have to tell you I want a piece too. How about we finish clearing up in here and go sit in the living room? I have the coffee brewing and we can eat dessert in there." There was a flurry of activity as extra utensils were gathered, plates rinsed and leftovers covered with foil and bagged to be put away later.
Jason sat with Ellie on the loveseat, a piece of pumpkin pie in his lap. He looked around contentedly at his family and extended family and friends, all gathered talking and eating quietly by the light of the fireplace. In his pocket was nestled a slim black box, lined with red velvet, containing a sparkly diamond ring at a good price, cut the way Ellie had told him she wanted when they went ring shopping almost three months ago...
"Hey now," suddenly Dad's voice rose above the rest and everyone quieted. "Tonight we have been blessed to eat a wonderful meal, and to share some wonderful company. To wrap up this holiday I would like for each of us to mention something we are grateful for. I'll start," Everyone was nodding and put down forks and mugs of coffee as he began. Jason felt himself reflecting on all the things mentioned; family, home, safety, work, love, opportunity. When it came time for him to share, he knew what he was going to say.
"Right now I am so grateful for the presence of everyone here, to be able to spend tonight with so many people I care about. I am especially thankful for Ellie," He turned to look at her and her soft eyes were warm and peaceful, her smile content. In a smooth move he got up from the couch and rested in front of her on one knee. Behind him he heard Mom gasp, and saw John's smile. "Because she has blessed my life in so many ways." From his pocket he produced the little black box, and in Ellie's eyes he could see disbelief, joy, longing. "And I hope that she will keep blessing me, for the rest of my life." He opened the box and revealed the sparkler, offering it to her.
"Ellie," he said he name softly, saying it just to her while the whole room held its breath, rapt. "Ellie, please let me stay by your side always. Please marry me." Her hand slowly extended and she touched his cheek, leaning in closer to kiss him.
"Yes."
As the room around them exploded in congratulations, joy, exclamations, all Jason could focus on was her and found himself feeling excited to know that this was the the first step of a journey forward with Ellie by his side.
"Hey, I never said that...I just think it's coming. It could be anytime."
They were sitting over their cafe sandwiches and sipping lite iced coffees, and discussing the proposal. Because Ellie was sure he would propose any time now, with the upcoming holiday.
"It's almost Thanksgiving, you know? I bet he wants to do it when the family is here, to celebrate. Make it special."
Leslie rolled her eyes and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She had known Ellie for the last six years, and what she loved most about her friend was her unfailing sense of hopefulness. Ellie was a sweetie, and Leslie was more a cynic. Somehow they struck a balance.
"Well, Ellie honey. You guys went ring shopping two months ago already...! He better hurry up!"
Ellie shrugged and rolled her ice cubes around her cup of cold coffee, not saying anything. She thought he would do it soon, she had a feeling he would do it soon...she hoped it would be soon.
Jason felt like he was being bombarded.
Sitting in his brother's living room on the sofa with a beer in hand, he was being subjected to yet another commercial featuring a cute couple and a sparkly diamond ring going for a good price. The couple leans in to kiss and the jeweler's name appeared on the screen and he grimaced and covered his eyes. Next commercial break it would probably play again.
"What man? You out of beer already?" His brother John got up from the Lazy Boy with his empty beer bottle in hand and headed for the kitchen.
"No," Jason called. "I'm ok."
He heard the fridge open and close and John reappeared with another beer, sinking himself back into his chair and eyeing Jason.
"Then what? Because you came in here looking troubled. Don't deny it, I know you man, I can tell." Jason sighed and put his beer on the coffee table.
"Man, I am just not feeling right lately...about Ellie and this whole engagement thing." John took a sip of beer and looked at his little brother squarely.
"Look, Jason. The whole thing shouldn't be taken lightly. It's promising yourself to another person for the rest of your life. God knows I thought a long time before I got up the guts to propose to Hannah." Jason sighed again and hung his head.
"Yeah, I know." He pictured Ellie and her smile and her soft brown hair. " But I just don't know if that is really what I want."
John took another sip and settled back into his chair as the game came back on.
"Well I will tell you this, brother. Ellie is a damn good woman. And honest, you would be a fool to let her escape. When you find something good...you hold on. You make it last." Jason closed his eyes and tried not to feel sick.
Two weeks ago on a Wednesday he had been on the job, landscaping the front of the Merrill building just outside of downtown. He had been trimming up the shrubs by the main entrance when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around he came face to face with Kelley Fitz, his high school ex-girlfriend. They had gone steady starting sophomore year, right up to two weeks after graduation, when they parted ways...she went to an out of state university and he chose community college.
"Jason? Hey." She smiled and her eyes crinkled just like he remembered.
"Hey, Kelley." He smiled back, a genuine smile, and took of his protective glasses. "How are you?"
"I'm pretty good. I just came back into town last week. I'm working here at Merrill now," she added, gesturing at the building. "Just started Monday."
"Well congratulations, that is great!" They stood smiling and taking each other in for a moment. Kelley took a deep breath.
"Hey...maybe we could get together sometime? Catch up? Here is my card." She handed him a light blue business card with her name across the top and the company logo across the bottom. She started in toward the glass doors before pausing to look at him over her shoulder. "Give me a call sometime, ok?" He nodded and held up her business card.
"Ok."
That Friday Jason gave Kelley a call around lunch time and they sat down and caught up.
On Monday they caught up again. And again on Wednesday. This last week they had lunch together four days in a row. Jason had been with Ellie for the last two years but he didn't find himself thinking about her as much as he used to, didn't feel enchanted by her smile anymore. He had started thinking more about what to say to Kelley at their next lunch, found himself laughing about some high school memory, relaxed when she sat down across from him and talked to him in their old familiar way. He had known Kelley since third grade and had been with her most of high school, and seeing her again now brought back a lot of good memories. At times he even found himself wondering if they could make it work again. It wasn't until their last lunch when Kelley had suggested dinner that he thought that maybe he wasn't being fair to Ellie. Kelley's request conflicted with their date night, and he had asked to cancel, his guilty conscience weighing on his shoulders...
"Baby, can we cancel? I'm sorry but I just can't tonight. Promise I will make it up to you next week." Ellie sighed and smirked.
"Well alright. I have been meaning to go see that new movie with Leslie, we can make it a girls' night." She kissed him. "But you better make it up next week. Even with family around."
"Ok." He smiled, but he felt sick inside. Ellie trusted him totally, didn't even ask what his plans were. If she did he knew he wouldn't be able to lie...and then where would they be? Jason left for dinner not feeling his best, but anxious to see Kelley.
She was already there when he walked in. Her pale blonde hair caught the low light and looked golden, and he smiled, thinking how beautiful she looked. He thought of the way all the other guys had looked at him enviously at Senior Prom, with Kelley on his arm...she had been a goddess with her hair in ringlets, and a low cut gold dress. That was the year they won King and Queen, of course.
"Hey!"She smiled and squeezed his hand as he sat down across from her. "I went ahead and got some wine, hope you don't mind." There was a goblet of deep red in front of his plate. "Try it, it's a special California blend."
He smiled and lifted the glass, taking a sip. He thought the taste was awful...wine was not his thing, beer was. But he swallowed the mouthful and smiled anyway.
"Yeah, it's alright."
"Oh come on, it is more than 'alright!' This is delicious." She took another sip from her glass and picked up the menu. "Anyway, let's order. I'm hungry."
"Yeah, me too." Jason chuckled nervously.
The conversation continued unbroken, flowing until they finished with main course. Jason couldn't put a finger on it but he kept getting more and more uncomfortable. He felt like Kelley was sliding back into high school mode, felt like tonight all he could see were the things about her that hadn't changed. As the waiter cleared their plates they picked up the dessert menu.
"I would like the tiaramisu, please. And a cappucino." Kelley put her menu down and looked expectantly at Jason.
"Uh, a piece of the chocolate layer cake, please." The waiter nodded and left them alone.
"Oh, Jason,"Kelley sighed his name and leaned forward, stretching out her hands on the table. "I have really enjoyed these last couple weeks. You have made me feel welcome, and right at home here all over again." Her hand moved forward and covered his. "It's like things haven't changed between us, J-Baby."
Jason felt like someone dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. J-Baby? He couldn't believe Kelley had just called him by his high school nickname. Finally he understood why he had been feeling so uncomfortable...this wasn't him. It just wasn't. He wasn't the football player who got the cute cheerleader, he wasn't the Prom King anymore. He was a million miles away from that, he had grown and he had found bigger and better things in his work, his relationships, his life...with Ellie. Life was about moving forward, not back. He stared at Kelley, and he thought like he was seeing her again for the first time. She was still cute and blonde, her hair was the same style and she still wore the color periwinkle like it was her second skin. Kelley was all good memories and familiar feelings, but she didn't know him anymore. She was looking for the same boy she knew in high school, but he was long gone. Closing his eyes, Jason felt certianty. He knew what he wanted. And it wasn't cute, blonde Kelley Fitz. He took out his wallet and put down money to cover their check, getting up smoothly from the table.
"Look, Kelley, this has been great. It really has. Great to catch up and see you again. But I have to go."
He couldn't help smiling at her bewildered look despite himself. "Goodbye."
He didn't even glance over his shoulder to see Kelley sniff indignantly and cross her arms tightly over her chest as the waiter put her tiaramisu and cappucino in front of her, along with a piece of chocolate layer cake that would go uneaten.
"Hey! You all had better finish these mashed taters, I have enough leftovers with the turkey as it is!" Mom's voice rang out loud and clear over the noisy conversation in the family room of Jason's house, full to the ceiling with family and extended family. There were John and Hannah or course, along with their two kids, and Hannah's little sister came too, since their folks had passed and she was still single. Mom's brother Tim and his wife, along with their daughter, and Mr. Brown who lived next door and was widowed, with kids living way out in Washington who only came for Christmas...and of course, Ellie.
John laughed and leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of the wine Mr. Brown had brought for the meal.
"Yeah, Ma, I don't know if we can eat another bite! We have to save room for that pie Ellie made!" Jason saw Ellie smile and blush. "It smelled soooo good!" Mom poked her head back into the dining room and her gaze softened.
"Well alright, I have to tell you I want a piece too. How about we finish clearing up in here and go sit in the living room? I have the coffee brewing and we can eat dessert in there." There was a flurry of activity as extra utensils were gathered, plates rinsed and leftovers covered with foil and bagged to be put away later.
Jason sat with Ellie on the loveseat, a piece of pumpkin pie in his lap. He looked around contentedly at his family and extended family and friends, all gathered talking and eating quietly by the light of the fireplace. In his pocket was nestled a slim black box, lined with red velvet, containing a sparkly diamond ring at a good price, cut the way Ellie had told him she wanted when they went ring shopping almost three months ago...
"Hey now," suddenly Dad's voice rose above the rest and everyone quieted. "Tonight we have been blessed to eat a wonderful meal, and to share some wonderful company. To wrap up this holiday I would like for each of us to mention something we are grateful for. I'll start," Everyone was nodding and put down forks and mugs of coffee as he began. Jason felt himself reflecting on all the things mentioned; family, home, safety, work, love, opportunity. When it came time for him to share, he knew what he was going to say.
"Right now I am so grateful for the presence of everyone here, to be able to spend tonight with so many people I care about. I am especially thankful for Ellie," He turned to look at her and her soft eyes were warm and peaceful, her smile content. In a smooth move he got up from the couch and rested in front of her on one knee. Behind him he heard Mom gasp, and saw John's smile. "Because she has blessed my life in so many ways." From his pocket he produced the little black box, and in Ellie's eyes he could see disbelief, joy, longing. "And I hope that she will keep blessing me, for the rest of my life." He opened the box and revealed the sparkler, offering it to her.
"Ellie," he said he name softly, saying it just to her while the whole room held its breath, rapt. "Ellie, please let me stay by your side always. Please marry me." Her hand slowly extended and she touched his cheek, leaning in closer to kiss him.
"Yes."
As the room around them exploded in congratulations, joy, exclamations, all Jason could focus on was her and found himself feeling excited to know that this was the the first step of a journey forward with Ellie by his side.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
The Kid from Delphine
Most people can't find it on the map, the town of Delphine. It gets lost along the state route and then you come to the next big town over, and you get distracted and forget what you were looking for to begin with.
There is only one gas station, and one grocery, and the post office is so small that come Christmas you can hardly get in the door because the whole damn town is trying to get in at the same time.
Everyone goes to buy their laundry detergent at the same place, and all of the kids have the same color folders and notebooks from the little bookstore on the corner, and you can only go to two services on Sundays...the eight o'clock at Freedom Baptist on First Street or the eleven o'clock at Greater Presbyterian on Main Street. Attendance at eleven is usually better.
Delphine has no great claim to fame. It is a small town that has always been small and will go on being small, at least through the foreseeable future.
That doesn't mean that everyone in Delphine is small town, don't be fooled.
He was born on June eleventh at the hospital in the next big town over, and when he first opened his eyes his parents both said they seemed to sparkle, much brighter than the eyes you would expect of a newborn baby.
When he was two years old he won a contest at the nursery for "cutest baby," and his mother couldn't push his stroller down the street without at least a dozen folks stopping her to compliment her little boy and his sweet eyes.
When he was in kindergarten he insisted on joining the school choir, and while they never went anywhere the director recommended that he get singing lessons. He continued with lessons until he was twelve.
In eighth grade he had a brief stint modeling for the uniform store, and was featured in their mini catalog that season. That year he got so many love notes at school and letters at home and even phone calls that his parents briefly considered changing their phone number. But the next year he started high school in the next big town over that drew kids from all over the county and he blended in with the other good-looking teenagers and the letters and phone calls stopped.
He played soccer for a few months freshman year, before quitting the team and joining the chorus. He impressed the director so much that she started offering him solos and even booked him to sing the national anthem before football and basketball games.
Everything changed the day she recorded him at a regular chorus practice, in preparation for a county competition. He never knew he was being recorded until later.
It was a normal Thursday afternoon and his mother was making a casserole with her special bean dip while his father worked on the backyard...just a few minutes before they sat down to dinner the doorbell rang.
On the front steps stood two representatives from Capital Recordings. They asked politely to speak with the young man in the house and without saying too much popped the recording into the dvd player and there he was at chorus practice, his voice clear and strong and resonant, drawing you in. At the end of the two minute clip both of the representatives were sitting with elbows on their knees, leaning in toward the television, entranced. When the recording stopped they both seemed to shake themselves out of a daze and straightened their ties.
"That is not a talent you hear every day," Said one.
In two weeks they had negotiated a contract that allowed him to finish the year before going into the recording studio that summer, and by fall he was releasing his first album, which would go gold in just 9 months.
Fast forward three years, just after his nineteenth birthday in November.
He had finished high school on the road, leaving Delphine behind him to go to Atlanta and continue recording, hiring his cousin who majored in business and communications to be his manager and making contacts and deals while trying to get used to his new celebrity. He had always been the cutie, the cute baby and the cute teenager, but after one year he couldn't even get a coffee without being mobbed. In an interview he speculated that it must be his "sparkling eyes," and hundreds of thousands of teen girls across the nation were inclined to agree. His hit single that came out in the following months and stayed on the charts for weeks was "Electric Eyes," much to his amusement. He played concerts in clubs, then special events, then was the opening act for a music tour with Soundstage Records and their golden artist, Mixx Magick, who was sitting at number two on the charts across the nation. After he finished recording his second album and it went platinum in seven months, he knew he'd hit it big. That summer he was on the road in his own bus, on his own tour, and he was the headline. Mixx Magick called to congratulate him.
Now he owned a condo in Atlanta and a little property in Miami, and paid off his parents' mortgage and treated them to a European tour for their twentieth wedding anniversary. He spent more time on the road than in the studio, and only made it back home for holidays.
As he turned off the state route and started down the quiet two lane highway his eyes fell on a sign half hidden by snow. "Delphine, 21 miles." His mouth turned up in a small smile and he admired the countryside covered in snow, the woodlands looming ahead and all the overhead branches covered by a layer of ice. Rolling into town he felt the memories flooding him...seeing the little candy store where he used to spend his allowance, the crosswalk that marked his route to school, the playground that he had donated to renovate, his grade school and the new arts wing attached to it bearing his name. Surrounded by all of the familiar streets and signs and buildings he felt like he was home, like the snow starting to fall from the quiet gray sky was the equivalent of confetti in a welcome home parade. So little had changed.
Pulling into his driveway he felt excitement coursing through him, doubled by the sight of his mother dropping the front curtain. While he got out of his car and brought in his small duffel bag he heard the front door open and there they stood, both his parents with happy anxious faces. They embraced him and he breathed in the familiar smell of his mother's perfume, the scent of apple pie cooling on the stove clinging to his father's sweater and broke into a wide smile. He was home.
No matter how far he had traveled, how much he had accomplished, this place would always be home. Settling down with a mug of hot chocolate and kicking off his Jordans and removing the tailored black leather bomber you could see in his sparkling eyes that he was still just a regular kid from Delphine, happy to be home for the holidays.
There is only one gas station, and one grocery, and the post office is so small that come Christmas you can hardly get in the door because the whole damn town is trying to get in at the same time.
Everyone goes to buy their laundry detergent at the same place, and all of the kids have the same color folders and notebooks from the little bookstore on the corner, and you can only go to two services on Sundays...the eight o'clock at Freedom Baptist on First Street or the eleven o'clock at Greater Presbyterian on Main Street. Attendance at eleven is usually better.
Delphine has no great claim to fame. It is a small town that has always been small and will go on being small, at least through the foreseeable future.
That doesn't mean that everyone in Delphine is small town, don't be fooled.
He was born on June eleventh at the hospital in the next big town over, and when he first opened his eyes his parents both said they seemed to sparkle, much brighter than the eyes you would expect of a newborn baby.
When he was two years old he won a contest at the nursery for "cutest baby," and his mother couldn't push his stroller down the street without at least a dozen folks stopping her to compliment her little boy and his sweet eyes.
When he was in kindergarten he insisted on joining the school choir, and while they never went anywhere the director recommended that he get singing lessons. He continued with lessons until he was twelve.
In eighth grade he had a brief stint modeling for the uniform store, and was featured in their mini catalog that season. That year he got so many love notes at school and letters at home and even phone calls that his parents briefly considered changing their phone number. But the next year he started high school in the next big town over that drew kids from all over the county and he blended in with the other good-looking teenagers and the letters and phone calls stopped.
He played soccer for a few months freshman year, before quitting the team and joining the chorus. He impressed the director so much that she started offering him solos and even booked him to sing the national anthem before football and basketball games.
Everything changed the day she recorded him at a regular chorus practice, in preparation for a county competition. He never knew he was being recorded until later.
It was a normal Thursday afternoon and his mother was making a casserole with her special bean dip while his father worked on the backyard...just a few minutes before they sat down to dinner the doorbell rang.
On the front steps stood two representatives from Capital Recordings. They asked politely to speak with the young man in the house and without saying too much popped the recording into the dvd player and there he was at chorus practice, his voice clear and strong and resonant, drawing you in. At the end of the two minute clip both of the representatives were sitting with elbows on their knees, leaning in toward the television, entranced. When the recording stopped they both seemed to shake themselves out of a daze and straightened their ties.
"That is not a talent you hear every day," Said one.
In two weeks they had negotiated a contract that allowed him to finish the year before going into the recording studio that summer, and by fall he was releasing his first album, which would go gold in just 9 months.
Fast forward three years, just after his nineteenth birthday in November.
He had finished high school on the road, leaving Delphine behind him to go to Atlanta and continue recording, hiring his cousin who majored in business and communications to be his manager and making contacts and deals while trying to get used to his new celebrity. He had always been the cutie, the cute baby and the cute teenager, but after one year he couldn't even get a coffee without being mobbed. In an interview he speculated that it must be his "sparkling eyes," and hundreds of thousands of teen girls across the nation were inclined to agree. His hit single that came out in the following months and stayed on the charts for weeks was "Electric Eyes," much to his amusement. He played concerts in clubs, then special events, then was the opening act for a music tour with Soundstage Records and their golden artist, Mixx Magick, who was sitting at number two on the charts across the nation. After he finished recording his second album and it went platinum in seven months, he knew he'd hit it big. That summer he was on the road in his own bus, on his own tour, and he was the headline. Mixx Magick called to congratulate him.
Now he owned a condo in Atlanta and a little property in Miami, and paid off his parents' mortgage and treated them to a European tour for their twentieth wedding anniversary. He spent more time on the road than in the studio, and only made it back home for holidays.
As he turned off the state route and started down the quiet two lane highway his eyes fell on a sign half hidden by snow. "Delphine, 21 miles." His mouth turned up in a small smile and he admired the countryside covered in snow, the woodlands looming ahead and all the overhead branches covered by a layer of ice. Rolling into town he felt the memories flooding him...seeing the little candy store where he used to spend his allowance, the crosswalk that marked his route to school, the playground that he had donated to renovate, his grade school and the new arts wing attached to it bearing his name. Surrounded by all of the familiar streets and signs and buildings he felt like he was home, like the snow starting to fall from the quiet gray sky was the equivalent of confetti in a welcome home parade. So little had changed.
Pulling into his driveway he felt excitement coursing through him, doubled by the sight of his mother dropping the front curtain. While he got out of his car and brought in his small duffel bag he heard the front door open and there they stood, both his parents with happy anxious faces. They embraced him and he breathed in the familiar smell of his mother's perfume, the scent of apple pie cooling on the stove clinging to his father's sweater and broke into a wide smile. He was home.
No matter how far he had traveled, how much he had accomplished, this place would always be home. Settling down with a mug of hot chocolate and kicking off his Jordans and removing the tailored black leather bomber you could see in his sparkling eyes that he was still just a regular kid from Delphine, happy to be home for the holidays.
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