Primal (3 page)

Alison was raised by her father. It was just the two of them
in a hushed world. She was eight years old when they buried her mother on a
dazzling sunny day. Allie believed people should only be buried on rainy days
and she never quite forgave the sun for its disrespectful behavior that
morning. Losing her mother so young, and then learning she could not trust the
sun, made her a cautious little girl most at ease inside her own home. And
since little Allie had anticipated rain on that terrible morning, she had
dressed wrongly. She had worn her heavy black wrap skirt and teal wool sweater,
and even though she was not dressed for the weather, that was not the origin of
her physical discomfort. She had woken up the day before with a rash covering
both of her legs. Doctor Hartman called it idiopathic - but she told her dad
(privately) that Doctor Hartman was the idiot because it was obvious she was
allergic to burying her mother. Allie stood graveside, as still as stone, even
though her need to scratch her legs was more pressing than her need to breathe.
She stood still in her wool outfit, and did not scratch, because she was
holding her dad’s hand, and she would rather have endured the awful itch than
let go. She bore the itch, along with the choking sensation in her throat, and
an unreal floating feeling in her head.

Afterward, Allie and her dad clung to each other with
ferocity. They were indoorsy people he used to say, fond of Scrabble, books,
and an elaborate electric train set they’d worked on together all the time she
was growing up. That train set with its little stations, plastic trees, and
wooden fences now circles Jimmy’s bedroom upstairs. On Saturday mornings, when
the other kids were out playing, Allie would make scrambled eggs while her dad
read aloud the local newspaper. Then, they’d set up the Scrabble board. For
months after her mom died, neighborhood women would show up like the gustatory
Red Cross primed to assist. They gave advice on how to raise Allie and they
left hot casseroles. He ignored their advice, but always accepted the
casseroles. They devoured them while rolling their eyes and feeling secretly
naughty. The doorbell would ring. Her dad would race to answer and whisper
“Allie, look hungry.” Little Allie would put on her most pathetic expression
and they would accept the offering, close the door, and giggle all the way to
the kitchen where they’d enjoy the lasagna from Mrs. Betty or the baked
shepherd’s pie from Mrs. Eckhart. Having lost his wife, having lost her mother,
they were so grateful to have each other. Their bond grew strong and it was
fulfilling. Her dad lived healthfully until the end, and when the day came last
year for Alison to say good-bye to him, she did so with a grateful heart, and
with the hope she could be a quarter of the parent he had been. Alison carries
a singular irreplaceable affection for her gentle father, and every time that
train whistles upstairs in her son’s room, she feels it all the way through to
her bones. It makes her sad and it makes her smile - it is a paradox she can
live with.

After ten years, Alison navigates with deft skill around
Hank’s extended animated family. What is interesting to her is the emotional
continuity; grudges and arguments resurface year after year, are pulled out,
addressed all over again, and in the end, everyone hugs and kisses and goes
home until the next time. Alison is intimidated by conflict, but she likes
watching them all - it’s like her own personal reality show. Tonight Hank’s entire
tribe is in her home: laughing, arguing, eating, joking, complaining.

In her cozy yellow and white flowered kitchen, there is a
butcher’s block with a cabinet and drawers for a center island. Over the sink,
four little ceramic spice pots line up along the windowsill, which looks out on
the backyard. Rosemary and basil scent the air. Along the far wall, past the
wooden country kitchen table, is the door that leads down to the basement. She
read once in a women’s magazine that a kitchen tells the tale of the woman who
likes it; Alison’s kitchen is understated, elegant, and meticulously clean.

Alison kicks open the back kitchen door, which leads in from
the barbeque, and steps inside the room. She is wearing a two-piece sage green
linen pants outfit, which highlights her green eyes. She looks radiant,
relaxed, and in her element. She carries a platter of perfectly grilled
chicken. Stepping inside, she bumps the back door closed with her hip and
hurries over to the center island where she places the heavy platter on top of
the butcher’s block top. She rinses and wipes off the long sharp two-pronged
BBQ fork and replaces it in the drawer under the butcher’s block. As she passes
the microwave, she hits one button without even looking and the timer
automatically sets to fifteen seconds. It counts down as she grabs the tomato
and oregano salad out of the refrigerator. She looks at the salad
disapprovingly. It’s not tomato season and so she wouldn’t normally make this
dish. Tomatoes have no taste unless purchased from local growers in season;
however, it is Jimmy’s favorite so she made it even though she knows it will be
disappointing. When the microwave has counted down fifteen seconds, it beeps
loudly and she removes the cup of tea she was warming. She stops for a moment
and takes a sip as a loud burst of family laughter from the other room makes
her smile. She looks around at her home, her family, and decides that no matter
how unpleasant the coming few days might be, she will be positive. Really, she
asks herself, how bad could it be? A few days in the woods, big deal.

Using her butt to swing open the door into the dining room,
Alison carries the platter to the table, which has been set up as a buffet. The
relatives have congregated around the table and are grabbing plates and
napkins. The oval dining room table has a white eyelet lace tablecloth that
sets a bright backdrop to the blue and yellow Italian ceramic platters and
bowls Alison has carefully set around for the buffet. The room smells like warm
cheddar biscuits and freshly cut oranges. Alison savors the scents and she does
wish that Aunt Beth would not smoke inside the house, but she is too gracious
to say so. Jimmy and Alan dip their fingers in the potatoes au gratin.

“Boys,” Alison stops them, “fingers out of the food. Jimmy,
please run into the kitchen and bring in the lemonade.”

“Aw, Mom, I want soda.”

“Soda?”

“It’s my birthday!”

“So you think you can just have anything you want?”

“No, just soda.”

“You think because it’s your birthday you can just gulp down
a big ole glass of soda?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re right. Go.”

Jimmy flies merrily into the kitchen. Alan follows.

“Not you, Alan.” Alan freezes at the sound of his mother’s
voice. Jill looks at Alison, “We don’t ever approve of soda.”

Alison smiles, letting the derision in Jill’s tone slide off
her, “Your prerogative as Alan’s mother.”

“We don’t even have soda in the house,” she adds with just a
hint of judgment in her tone.

“I’m glad that works for you.” Alison turns away but Jill
continues.

“Well, you know, Jimmy is my nephew and I surely wish he
didn’t drink soda either.”

Alison drops her head forward just a bit to give herself a
brief second to get the ire out of her eyes. She finds her sister-in-law
trivial, and self-righteous, and Alison does believe that Jill goes out of her
way to bait her. Aunt Lydie looks over with her eyebrows raised hoping for a
messy takedown.

Alison responds, “And I suppose that is my prerogative as
Jimmy’s mother.”

“I suppose. I just don’t understand why you’d continue to
buy that poison when you know how bad it is.”

“Well, Jill, I’m an enigma.”

Jill hates it when Alison uses uncommon words. She knows she
does that to test her. And truthfully, Jill doesn’t have an exact fix on what
enigma means and so rather than make an error she shrugs and walks away.

“Suit yourself,” Jill says.

Alison makes eye contact with Aunt Lydie who grins exposing
some missing teeth.

Uncle Wes, who is a pudgy red-faced man nearing retirement
age, passes a plate to his twenty-year-old niece Eleanor. Aunt Beth reaches
across the table for her spoon as she attempts to stir up conflict.

“Fry-‘em,” Aunt Beth says, “the death penalty is the only
answer.”

Uncle Wes agrees, “Two chairs - no waiting.”

“Isn’t that a little barbaric?” Alison can’t help herself
even though she has learned staying out of political discussions with Hank’s
family is the prudent course.

“Naw,” Uncle Wes says, “it’s nature. Bloody real nature.”

“I think, we, as humans, should be above that.”

“Read a paper, Alison,” Aunt Beth responds, and blows a
smoke ring. Eleanor can’t keep quiet another second.

“You know, Aunt Beth, passive smoke is harmful to us all.”

“So, hold your breath.”

Uncle Wes laughs loudly. Alison shakes her head as she
proceeds down the hall looking for her husband. She finds him in the den with
his sister Emily, who is breast-feeding, and their mother, Carolyn, who is
disgusted.

Hank insists, “Emily, a nipple’s a nipple.”

“Not true. It’s a fact that breastfed babies are smarter.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hank replies.

Carolyn adds, “Neither of you were breastfed”

“Oh, so, that explains it,” Alison says from the doorway.

“My wife knows us too well.”

“Dinner.” Alison smiles. Hank walks over to her in the
doorway, but Carolyn has not quite finished her thought.

“Emily, I love you but you look like a cow.”

“Mother, it’s a normal part of nature.”

“So is peeing and I don’t want to share that with you
either.”

As Hank kisses Alison, “My family drives me crazy.”

“They have a special gift.”

“Did I ever thank you for putting up with them?”

“Not often enough.”

He leans close and whispers into her ear, “Later I’m going
to thank every inch of your body with my tongue.” His moist warm breath is
welcome on the side of her neck. It gives her a little thrill. He still makes
her crunch her toes. Hank runs his hands through his bangs. His caramel hair is
long for a man in his thirties, but it is nicely trimmed and has a natural
cowlick in the front, which is really attractive. He has a broad grin, which he
employs constantly to keep those around him smiling, too. He can be lazy about
shaving and so the five o’clock shadow that the macho movie stars try so
diligently to achieve, comes naturally to Hank. Women always notice him. He
only sees Alison. Sometimes, he wonders why this refined lovely woman puts up with
him: his constant need for music, his quirky sense of humor, and his relatives.
He doesn’t appreciate how entertaining a large vivacious family could be to a
girl from Alison’s quiet world.

He kisses her on the neck, turns and walks toward the dining
room singing “Beautiful” in falsetto. Alison looks back at her mother-in-law
and they smile. Wife and mother - yes, they both love that man. That is their
bond.

After dinner, all of the relatives gather around Jimmy’s
birthday cake to sing. His parents flank him. He blows out the red and white
swirl candles, which relight over and over. He’s too old for that trick. She
knows that, of course, but the sentimental strain in her refuses to stop buying
them. She joked with him last year that when he’s forty years old she will be
lighting those same candles so he should get used to it. She leans in and
kisses him on the top of his head. She knows he will allow a small public kiss
since it is his birthday, and his cool friends are not at the family party. She
lingers for a second, smelling his freshly washed hair and wants to submerge
herself in the disheveled mess of it. She remembers the afternoon he marched
off the grammar school playground and announced with gritty six-year-old
determination she could no longer hug or kiss him in public: it was too
embarrassing. And she knew there would quickly come a time when he would be too
tall to kiss on the top of his head. What a series of wrenching trade-offs:
each year he becomes more interesting as a person, but less hers alone.

Jimmy beams since he knows the gifts are next. He grabs for
a box and rips into the wrapping paper. Alison and Emily return together to the
kitchen to divide the cake.

Emily asks, “What did you get Jimmy? Hank said it was really
special.”

“We told Jimmy for his birthday he could pick where we would
go on our family vacation.”

“Great idea.”

“I figured, you know, Disneyland, Universal Studios.”

“And?”

“And he picked a ragged outback fishing camp in the middle
of Lake Superior.”

“Let me guess, no room service.” Emily grins.

“No indoor plumbing.”

“So Hank and Jimmy are going without you?”

“No. All for one.”

“Well, at least you’ll get some fresh air.”

“Fresh air gives me hives.”

“Didn’t you go to camp as a kid?”

“I went to camp one time. I got a staph infection from a
mosquito bite and my dad had me airlifted out.”

“Well, aren’t you Dora the Explorer. I’m kinda sorry I’m
going to miss this adventure.”

“There will be nothing to see as far as I’m concerned. I
bought two eight-hundred-page novels and enough bug repellent to maintain a
defensible perimeter.” They each grab cake plates and head back into the dining
room to distribute the cake.

Alison hands a plate to Jill who recoils and asks, “Is that
Red Dye Number Two in the icing?”

Aunt Beth retorts, “Could someone please get the duct tape,
Jill’s ruining dinner again.”

Jimmy pulls a two-foot remote controlled robot out of the
box. He’s ecstatic! Everyone watches. He presses the controls and the robot
scurries around the room with bells ringing and lights flashing.

“Cool! Really cool! Thanks, Uncle Wes.”