Story Girl (18 page)

“Pop would’ve cracked the whip by now. Anyway, Tracy – I didn’t say that my smoking necessarily caused the cough. I’m sure it doesn’t help, mind you. What I am saying is that I’ve been plagued by colds for the last ten years. Stubborn colds – more stubborn than most suffer. I’ve bought every flu remedy and cuckoo concoction on the market. Spent a forest full of Harley’s money. I’ve even had those tiny needle stick-things poked in me by some little quack. I just haven’t been that lucky in the health department. Lady luck deals the cards, and I play ‘em as best I can.”

As Johnny Cash crooned on about walking lines, I felt like I was straddling the one separating a mildly sane reality from the delusional brand practiced by my family.

I stared at the mounds of lasagna and Coke and cigarettes, and thought about the subjectivity of truth. Now I understood what Tan had meant by
stuck
– knowing something and pretending that you don’t.

“Are you a creationist, Mertyl?” I asked.

My mother looked as though she might fall out of her chair, “You have had quite enough gin, young lady.”

“Young? I thought I was past my prime, Mother. Only four paces away from hag-hood. Anyway, I was just wondering if she believes in Adam and Eve or if she thinks we evolved from monkeys.”

“I do not believe we came from monkeys,” Mertyl said. “And that’s an awful thing to say on such a blessed day.”

“It’s called evolution.”

“Where I’m from, it’s called blasphemy.”

“Why is there salt in our tears and our sweat?” I asked.

“From our food,” she said.

“It’s because we crawled out of the sea – single-celled organisms – without lungs, Aunt Mertyl. Imagine, no lungs – how could you smoke? Even without eyes.”

“No more anti-Christian horror stories,” she said. “I definitely need a smoke now – out of the sea without eyes, my left foot.” She was seized by a violent coughing attack and I was afraid we might soon be inundated with regurgitated lasagna.

“Stop torturing your poor aunt,” my mother whispered. “Now look what you’ve done to her.”

“I never forced her to start smoking,” I whispered back.

My mother scoffed at me like I wasn’t even worth the bother.

Were we really this insane? Could my mother not see that Mertyl was torturing herself, and that I had nothing to do with it? I looked deep into my mother’s eyes, into the welling anger and depth of sadness below. It sucked that she found it so difficult to really see
me
and connect, and my smart-alec approach wasn’t helping. I had so many questions for her, ones that could never be asked with words. Sometimes it seemed like the words themselves were separating us.

I pulled my eyes away and decided that I would do whatever it took to make this night run a little more smoothly, “You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Aunt Mertyl. Still a little tired and obnoxious from the jetlag.”

And just like that, I was able to do the
thing
– the cover-speak thing, the say-what-you-don’t-mean thing, the keep-it-all-from-crumbling-asunder thing. It felt like I was erasing something vital, but I would do it for her – for my mother. I would do it for now, until we were both able to speak with our real voice.

Aunt Mertyl took my hand and held it in her own, “I understand sweetie, that plane thing can poop out even the best of us.”

My mother finally exhaled, “Yes, those flights can be tricky, especially when you
lose
time.”

We should all win Oscars for such performances.

But we’d be okay. All three of us would be okay for this moment, all three of us losing time and speaking our language of cover.

chapter
25

T
HE EVENING CLIMAXED
with the painful croak of a trumpet.

Poor Luke had been instructed to blow his own horn – something he clearly hadn’t done since high-school. Jenny closed her eyes and swayed her hips as though Miles Davis himself was standing awkwardly in the corner.

Meager applause followed the show and Jenny announced that she had a gift for our beloved mother and father. I’d only brought a card – something about the years being like sand in a breeze, or maybe it was a windstorm.

Jenny and Luke stood side by side, and only vaguely reminded me of my parents. She held her husband’s hand and cleared her throat, “I just wanted to thank my husband for giving us such a lovely solo – which we dedicate to my parents – Herbert and Joanne Johnston.” She said this like she was introducing them to a packed arena full of strangers.

“And I wanted to thank you all for coming from so far away, especially my sister – who flew all the way out from Hollywood.”

More applause and soon I was feeling guilty about everything. I felt cheap and bare without a gift, especially given my hefty new account balance. And I’d also have to fix things with James – he didn’t deserve such a generous offering of my jagged edges.

“Anyway, I just want both my parents to know how much I love them. How they’ve served as such a shining example to me.” Jenny was near tears, “And my own little family would like to honor you both with a token of our gratitude.”

Jenny handed my mother a key. I thought they’d bought another SUV, but it was quickly explained that the key unlocked the new version of yard shed offered by Home Depot.

Now it was my poor father’s turn to suffer.

Every few years, my mother made it a point to not only paint the inside of the house a different color but also to change the upstairs carpet. She also enjoyed updating the garden shed every half decade. But most egregiously, she expected my father to share in her enthusiasm and be able to handyman the changes himself.

Unfortunately for them both, my father was not a handyman nor did he have any real interest in construction or anything to do with my mother’s brand of incessant décor. The non-stop home improvements helped to squelch her antsy thoughts, whereas my father was long accustomed to the ants and only wondered why she couldn’t occupy herself with him.

“Does it require any sort of assembly?” my father asked. The edge in his voice bordered on severe.

Jenny looked at me with alarm, as if just realizing she’d poked at an open wound. She’d always been less adept at deciphering subtext, content to see her parents as a textbook case of storybook perfection.

“Yes, but it might only be tongue and groove,” Luke assured.

“Tongue and groove?” my father asked.

My sister shot me a glance, as if just remembering that I was a lesbian.

“Of course it requires assembly,” my mother spat. “It doesn’t build itself.”

“Right,” Jenny said, reading from the descriptive flyer. “This shed requires nails and stuff.”

My father shook his head and turned to me, “You know how much I hate assembly.”

“I know. But Luke and I can put it together.”

“No – I can put the damned thing together,” he said.

My mother shook her head with disgust, as though erecting a shed should be the pinnacle of my father’s desires.

Jenny continued to look at me with saucer eyes – like I somehow had to fix everything. I looked around slowly at the two tables worth of relatives. It felt like we were all actors on some strange set, and it was my turn to speak – to save the day somehow – but I was still waiting for someone to bring me my lines.

So it was time to improvise, “Mom and Dad, I love you.”

I was shocked to feel the lump gathering in my throat, and was determined to avoid a crying scene. I tried to imagine everybody naked in the room, but it only made me want to sprint for the exit.

“Congratulations on a lifetime spent together.”

Jenny started handing out large squares of vanilla bean cheesecake.

“And well, I do have a gift for you.”

Eyes darted from the cheesecake to the scared thirty-year-old choking back an eruption of gin-soaked emotion. I almost started calling out bingo letters to ease the strain.

“You’re both coming with me to Hollywood. We’re going to go to the beach, and Disneyland, and maybe even a show taping. I know how much you love sit-coms. And don’t worry about cost – it’s all on me.”

Jenny was instantly up in my face, scowling like I’d copied her wedding dress or something. Everyone started clapping and I could hear both my sister and my parents protesting that I couldn’t afford such a gesture. I looked to Aunt Mertyl for support, but her eyes were already darting around for ways to devour her next slice of a hereditary gland problem.

The whole experience felt like some long experimental movie, the likes of which I could only discuss with someone like James.
I was eager to admit that I really did miss him, and that maybe he should fly out here. We could drive around the rolling hills of Minnesota, stopping to do God-only-knows-what in the back of my dad’s Cadillac.

I hugged everybody and ran outside to call him. The air had turned crisp and fresh and wonderful – perfect for lovers. I fantasized us holding hands behind the bingo hall. He’d just presented me with a bulk supply of paper and ink; his strong hands were around my waist, kneading the small of my back. And then his mouth was on my ear and then…

The music died.

Something had crashed inside, and I assumed it was Jenny’s ghetto blaster. I stood very still and waited until Patsy Cline started singing about how crazy she was for loving some putz that clearly didn’t deserve her.

I closed my eyes, but James was gone. At least I’d allowed myself an extended fantasy over somebody I actually knew – a very encouraging sign.

I dialed his number, ready to cop to all of my mistakes.

“Hello?” The voice was weary, cautious.

“It’s me – Tracy.”

He didn’t respond.

“James?”

“Yes, I’m here. I’m just tired.”

“I’m outside, behind the bingo hall. Things are going a little better.”

He only yawned.

“Dusk here is really beautiful,” I continued.

“That’s good.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Because you sound distant.”

“I am.”

“I don’t mean miles.”

“Neither do I.”

I really wasn’t expecting this much ice from him, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m missing you.”

“You’ll change your mind in five minutes.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“It’s not your job to make me feel good, remember?”

“It’s just that I’m going through a lot, and you know that.”

More yawning.

“I’m afraid to be in a relationship. There – I said it.”

“Is that so?”

“And you are too.”

“Really?”

“Stop being so smug. I don’t want to lose myself, James. But I don’t want to shit on my own joy either.”

“And?”

“And every time I’ve ever felt anything for anyone, I’ve started to feel my own selfness fade away. And I’m still fumbling about for myself. I’m fumbling. And I’m craving real intimacy.”

“What kind is that?”

“The kind that comes from self-acceptance. That’s where it has to start.”

I was pretty pleased with the way in which I was expressing myself – maybe the bucket of gin was helping.

“Listen, Tracy – I really do have to go.”

“You’ve been calling me all day.”

“This is a really bad time.”

“It is not. You’re just saying that because I did.”

He was silent.

“James?”

“I’m on a date.”

Bingo
.

I hung up my phone and turned off the power.

chapter
26

I
WOULD HAVE
sworn to it in a court of law.

That my heart was nothing more than a cold black stone.

The three of us were driving home in silence. My mother was sleeping in the backseat and my father was flicking at the wheel.

I was trying hard not to think about James, but it was once again impossible. He’d lived up to all of my expectations by letting me down so quickly - but maybe I’d even hoped for it. He had confirmed the accuracy of my theory about romantic love – that nothing in this world was more conditional.

The sweaty crevice behind my knee started to itch and I knew I was on the brink of another outbreak. I had to breathe deeply and try not to think about the fact that I was lonely, unemployed, and without a single inkling as to what my next move should be.