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Divorcee,facing reunion with high school sweetheart not seen in 20 years (unfinished book) |
| I felt a bit better the next morning. I was still feverish from the sunburn, and large fluid-filled blisters had formed on my back and legs, but some of the frustration I had had dissipated. It just felt good to wake up in my own house, even if it wasn’t in my own bed. Lizzie and her friend Amy (the short one with the braces,) came in early and both were in very good moods. They planted themselves in the living room in front of the TV, fully occupied by Season V of the Gilmore Girls, a DVD set Amy had brought from home. They were up to the episode where the entire town finds out about LoraLai and Luke’s secret relationship. Lizzie loves it. Her favorite ones all involve Rory’s relationships, but I gave up on that when Dean broke-up with Rory. I thought he was adorable. I sat down with the girls for a bit to watch the show. I should relate really well to it since it is about a single mom raising one daughter. The only hitch is I don’t look like LoraLai Gilmore. Also, my daughter doesn’t think I understand her every mood and whim the way LoraLai understands Rory’s. Ever since Lizzie became hooked on the show, I’ve dropped quite a few notches on the mommy rating scale. If truth be told, Lizzie and I get along pretty well. My sister Vivien and I got along well too and she and Lizzie are just alike so that seems to make sense. Regardless, my experiences as a kid are a far stretch from Lizzie’s so it is a little hard for me to relate to some of her ideas. For example, when I was her age, I would go into a store, pick a shirt off the rack, and then wonder why it always looked so much worse on me than it did on the hanger. When my daughter tries on clothes, it invariably is followed by a cry of “Mom, you have to come see how much better this shirt looks with my boobs.” That’s another thing. At fourteen, I didn’t have boobs. I barely qualified medically for having a chest. At forty, I’m still waiting for them to develop. Yet, she does have boobs and they are quite large, just like my mom’s.. One of her favorite past times is to stand in front of the bathroom mirror and hold them. She is constantly touching them. If you walk in on her when she is fondling them, she’s not the least embarrassed. She’ll just smile and say, “I love my boobs” and gives them a big squeeze with both hands. I don’t ever remember Vivien being in love with her boobs like Lizzie is. Maybe she was and I was just too distracted by the fact that I didn’t have any to notice. Someday, I think I will call Vivien and ask her at what age did she start fondling her own boobs. It will at least give me a laugh. I don’t mind the boob thing. In fact, for the last couple of years, I considered it a safety net. As long as she was in love with her boobs, I wouldn’t have to worry about her falling in love with another human being. But the past six months have proved me wrong. About every two or three weeks, a different boy sparks her interest. The problem is that the boys were interested in her long before that so I know I’m in serious trouble over the next several years. She may be only fourteen, but she can easily pass for sixteen, and maybe even older if the person looking at her is not wearing their glasses. This is not something the boys her age have overlooked. At the same age, I was still getting into the movies, unquestioned, for the under twelve rate. I watched that whole episode of the Gilmore Girls. It was rather nice watching someone else embarrass herself. My one struggle was to fight the urge to eat the chocolate milk and powdered donuts the girls were consuming, but I conquered it and settled for an orange. I felt very proud of myself because I truly have no discipline. I took myself off to the patio and left the girls to vegetate in front of the TV. I even spent time that morning talking with Naked Terry. I was sitting on the patio, drinking my second cup of coffee, when he joined me. I have to admit, he essentially is a nice person – that is, with his clothes on. He smiles a lot and there is something about him that reminds me of Grandpa on the old TV show “The Waltons”. I was still glad when he said that he and Mom were going out for the day. I even felt better about the humiliation I endured with the neighbor. The way I figured it is that in about a month I would look so much better and so different that Charles would never associate me with the bikini-clad mutant he had seen. All I had to do was to avoid him for the next month or so, and if the subject ever came up, I would pretend that it had been a visiting cousin or something like that. It would be easy. As long as his truck was parked in the driveway, I would simply stay inside. My car is always parked in the garage so I can easily slip in and out without ever being seen. I intended to spend the entire day in side the house anyway. I was in too much pain for one thing. About every couple of hours, I would have to soak in cold water and smother myself in lotion or gel. Nevertheless, I was going to make the best of it. I could munch on rabbit food and plan my Jason strategy. The thought of the cool water sounded wonderful, so I hauled my butt out of the chair, aiming for the tub. When I got out, I asked Lizzie to rub the sunburn lotion on my back. That was a mistake. She took one look and said, “Gross. I’m not touching that!” Teenagers can always be counted on to tell you what they really think. They never worry about offending anyone over the age of twenty especially their own mothers. The exception of course is Rory Gilmore who would never dream of purposely insulting anyone. I would have to try to remind Lizzie of that the next time she does the LoraLai vs. My Mom comparison thing. I ended up putting the lotion on myself again. First, I wrapped my wet hair in a towel on top of my head so that I wouldn’t get the lotion in it, and then smeared it all over my face. For some reason, it was green and pasty. I guess to give the affect that it was actually packed full of aloe vera. I did my back too which I had to admit was somewhat revolting. I could feel the fluid in the blisters. When I was done, I wrapped myself in my favorite old bathrobe. It was ratted and faded, but super soft. I traipsed down the hall, feeling all comfy and content, when I saw Charles standing in the foyer with Lizzie. I stopped in my tracks. This time I wasn’t mesmerized. I wasn’t dazed or confused. I was completely conscious of the faded robe, the towel on my head, and the fact that my face was green. What I wanted to do was to melt into the floor. What I did was to say, “Oh, hi”. He smiled really big. I thought he was going to laugh, but instead, he stuck his hand out. “Hi, I’m your neighbor next door. I just moved in. I’m Keith Keller.” I managed to shake his hand. I tried to talk but it came out in a squeak. “Hi”. “I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time. I just wanted to make sure it was okay for the cable guy to go into your back yard on Monday. They said their connection box is in the back by your fence.” I could tell from his voice that he was trying not to laugh. I heard him, but I did not respond. He had on a shirt this time, a kind of striped red and blue button-down. My eyes were fixed on the pocket. I knew something was expected of me so I raised my head and looked at his chin. There was no way I was going to look him in the eye. My lack of response clearly concerned him. I could hear it in his voice. He tried again. “Is that going to be okay? Is there a problem?” When I still didn’t say anything, Lizzie shoved an elbow into my side. “Mom, he’s talking to you.” “No, no problem,” I said, snapping my eyes toward my daughter briefly and then letting them fall back on Charles, this time on his belt buckle. After a moment, I considered that might seem a little personal, so I concentrated on his chin again. “That’ll be fine, Charles. Whatever we can do to help.” Lizzie elbowed me again. “It’s Keith, Mom, not Charles.” I shot her a deadly look. “Whatever,” I muttered. It did not matter what he called his self. He was Charles. He couldn’t be a Keith. The only Keith I knew was Keith Partridge. Given that Charles did not have long hair and bell-bottoms, he could never be a Keith. I looked back at him and tried to cover the animosity I was currently feeling towards my daughter. “I mean, whatever you need,” I corrected myself to him, now looking at his nose. “Not a problem.” I don’t know what came over me then, but I heard the words come out of my mouth. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve been very ill.” I spun around and headed back to the bedroom. I was in the room with the door shut before Charles or Lizzie could utter a sound. I was stretched out across the bed naked, lying on my stomach with the ceiling fan spinning at full speed when Lizzie interrupted my misery an hour later. I know it looked funny, but the cool air blowing on my exposed back was so soothing. My head was smothered under the pillows, not because I was trying to suffocate myself, but simply because I had no desire to show myself to anyone again. I felt like an ostrich but hey, two disgraces in two days. I was so pathetic. “Mom, why is your head under the pillows when the rest of you – uh, yuck, the disgusting parts – are left in full view. i mean, seriously, Mom, your back is totally gross. And you’re just laying here like this. Anyone in the world could come in here and see you? Can’t you put some clothes on or something?” “I am not expecting anyone in the world in my bedroom.” I spoke into the pillow so it sounded muffled. “And I am only lying like this to help RELIEVE all those disgusting parts. Don’t you have something better to do other than to comment on my damaged body?” “I only came in here to tell you that Amy and I are going swimming at the pool.” “Fine, don’t forget to wear sun block.” “Mom, I’m not wearing sun block. If I do, I won’t tan.” “If you don’t, you’ll look like me. Is that what you want?” I knew that would get to her. With or without blisters, the idea that she might look like me scares her. “Fine, I’ll take the sun block.” “Good, have fun at the pool. See you in a couple of hours.” I always found the pool thing amusing. My daughter’s swimming consisted of nothing more than lounging on a recliner. There was no fear of her drowning. I doubt if she ever put a toe in the water - too much chance of messing up the hair. It also meant that the cute blond lifeguard that she had a crush on was presumably on-duty. He was about five years too old for her and I could only pray that he was aware of it. It was perfectly natural that she would be attracted to him. He was the exact same type as her father, not that she knew that. She never knew her father and hasn’t ever seen a picture of him either. That is not from my design. We just never had one. He was the lifeguard type, which suited him because he was from California. He had moved down here and got a job at the museum. He was not into art or anything like that. He worked in the maintenance department. He lifted, packed, and moved the art to where ever it needed to be moved. We were never really friends either. In fact, he never talked to me until he was forced to do so by circumstances. A friend of mine at the museum was getting married to a guy that also worked there. Neither one of them really had any family so they planned a Vegas wedding with just a couple of friends. The bride asked me and another girl named Malorie who also worked there to be her bridesmaids. It sounded like fun. The date coincided with the weekend of my 25th birthday so I thought it would be a great way to celebrate. The groom’s best man turned out to be Derek. That’s how we all started hanging out together. We would get together after work and make plans for the big weekend. The thing is I actually started thinking that Derek liked me. He spent all his time talking to me, and fairly ignored Malorie. That was odd because they were more suited. He was a gorgeous blond with muscles and a fabulous tan, while she was pretty and feminine and when you looked at her you immediately thought, “How adorable.” I t was just as well that Derek ignored Malorie because she said the way he stared at her all the time gave her the creeps. I told her he was probably staring at her because it was freaky at how much she looked like Malorie on “Family Ties.” . When the big weekend came, it ended up being just the bride, groom, Derek, and me. Malorie had an appendicitis attack and was laid-up in the hospital so she missed the whole thing. One thing led to another, drinks and partying and so on, and when I woke up the next morning, well, I was not alone. I rolled over in the bed and my head landed in a pile of puke. As tired, sick and hung over as I was, I still knew instinctively that it wasn’t mine. But it gave me the urge to do the same thing; I jumped up and ran for the bathroom. I just barely took in that Derek was curled up on the floor with most of the covers on top of him next to another pile of puke. When I recovered from the initial sickness, I made some coffee and climbed in the shower. I usually never use those hotel coffee pots. It just seems to dirty but I was desperate. I was not about to waddle six floors down to the dining area with a major headache and hangover. If I so much as had a whiff of bacon or sausage, I would spend the rest of my life hugging a toilet. As soon as I got the coffee, I submerged myself in hot water. I stayed in there for over two hours, partly because I felt so bad and partly because I did not know how to act when I saw Derek. Should I simply pretend as if nothing had happened or do I acknowledge it but act like I was accustomed to flings with men I hardly knew? By the time I came out of the bathroom, I had convinced myself that there was nothing to worry about and everything would be wonderful. We obviously had had a good time together and after last night, I now had a boyfriend – and a good-looking one too. Everything was going to be fine. We would spend lots of time together and become very close. He was not in the room, which I could understand because the puke was still all over the place and it stunk. By the time he came back, I was dressed which I was thankful for, especially after I heard what he had to say. I don’t know what I expected him to do. Maybe that he would come in, give me a kiss, make a comment about the messy room, and then ask me to take a shower with him or something. When he did come back, he looked bad and smelled even worse. It seemed as if he was having a very hard time standing up. He did not even look at me, but he knew I was there because he spoke. “Sorry about last night,” he mumbled, as he staggered towards the bed. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread it around. I don’t want to blow it with Malorie. I really like her.” He hit the bed and was out. I handled it fairly well. I gathered up all my stuff and went sat at the airport. My flight wasn’t scheduled for five hours but it didn’t matter. I was relieved when he didn’t show for the flight home. You might think that I took that personally but I didn’t. I figured he was still passed out on the bed. We never hung out again. Occasionally, if he saw me at the museum he would say something like, “Hey, How’s it going?” He wouldn’t wait for an answer though. Then a couple of months later when I tried to get him to meet me after work so I could tell him I was pregnant, he always had an excuse. One time he agreed but he didn’t show up. I finally cornered him at work in the basement. What really made me mad was his reaction. I had thought about it a lot. I had played the scene over and over again in my head. I was fully primed and ready to be rational when he asked for a paternity test. I was wholly prepared if he offered to marry me. I knew exactly how I would turn him down. I had a reasonable, gentle, but firm response to anything he could possibly say. What I got instead was an insult from the stupid jerk. He just accepted that I was pregnant and that he was the father. He didn’t for a moment give a single thought to the idea that someone else could be responsible. It was as if he just could not fathom someone else would ever be with me. I imagine from his standpoint, a guy would have to be out of his mind drunk to make out with me. I guess since I hadn’t been hung over recently that it positively ruled that out as a possibility. Besides, he never offered to marry me either. The result was I had the baby with my mom and sister standing in for the absent dad. I did not have a name picked out because I assumed that I would take one look at my baby and know straight away what her name should be. It didn’t happen. I grappled with it for a couple of days and in the end decided to name her after two of my favorite characters in two of my favorite books: Elizabeth for Elizabeth Bennet in “Pride and Prejudice”, and Anne for “Anne of Green Gables”. I reckoned it was a good start. I mean neither character was said to be a raving beauty, but both were attractive and were strong, smart, capable, and sensitive. They were also deeply loved and admired by the men in their lives. What more could a person want? Her dad knew she was born but he never asked to see her. For the first year, he paid $200 a month child support. He disappeared for the next three years, and when the Attorney General finally located him in San Diego, the support was lowered to $125 because he earned less money. Maybe he believed he would eventually make big bucks working as a lifeguard. If so, he was sorely disappointed. I know for sure that I was. He never did hook-up with Malorie. She started dating some banker guy right about the time word got out that I was pregnant. I have wondered what would have happened if Malorie had gone on that trip. Not that it matters, it must have been fate and if it hadn’t been Derek it would have been somebody else. Of course, the only other guy in our group was the groom. So in a sense I was lucky. That would have been a real mess. |
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