Authors: Lois Walden
Fuck June. Every morning get up, walk to the 96th Street subway, descend into the bowels of the terra firma, hang from a subway strap, ascend from the bowels, walk the Village streets, ring the buzzer, enter Mary’s office, descend into the
unconscious
; rearrange the past. Every single morning at nine a.m., when my guard is down below my knees, I work and work to free myself from the shackles that tie me to a life of familiar damnations …
‘How do you feel?’
‘Wet.’
‘Good. What do you see?’
‘Shadows.’
‘What else?’
‘Feel pressure in soft place, round like egg … many openings. Feel pressure inside a no-named place where … pain.’
‘What hurts?’
‘Heart space … tight. Reach toward unknown. Fluid washes over … Fly in fluid. Shh … Listen … shh.’
‘What do you hear?’
‘Heartbeat?’
‘Whose heartbeat?’
‘Mine. Hers … Our heartbeat … World beating outside of time.’
‘Go inside the heartbeat.’
TIME PASSES
‘Inside. Wrrrmclsh-wrrmshh-tch-tch-ka-mrrsh’
‘Are you …’
‘Uh huh-llllrrrrrr mm-tch-zzz’
‘Listen to me, bird fish. Listen closely; in this place where you begin and never end, skies within skies merge as you emerge into the world. Find your breath … Find your beating heart, your unique rhythm and sound. Yes. The fluid that swims within you, the fluid that surrounds you, this is your protection. Hold on to nothing. Let go of everything. Feel, know, sense the world as it awaits your transformation into life. The cycle of life outside the womb is waiting.
‘Reach, stretch, glide through a waterway. The waterway opens wider and wider. The shoreline rearranges itself. You sail down the great river; the river where tides began; the river of moon and stars. You rest, for a moment, in a diamond-shaped grotto, until a mythic-sized wave carries you through the
grotto
’s mouth into a continuation of the living sea. Good. Breathe with your gills. That’s right. Now rise up to the surface. Your gills and wings in perfect working order, you breathe the salt air. Merge your fish body into your bird body. Emerge into life. Say hello to spirit. Spirit swallow human form. Human form swallow spirit and around and around it goes. Oceans upon oceans, skies into skies. Imagine you, the bird fish, are free, without limitation. The totality of that which has called you back into the universal pool of life is inside you. You are born; whole, complete, resplendent wet body.’
I reach up with gills, with wings, with hands that long for
touch, to be touched, not for an instant, but forever. The mother of all tides touches me. The mother of tomorrow, the mother of yesterday, touches me, lifts me into her arms. Lie on her belly. Let my sweet lips rest on her breast. Suck on the mother’s nipple. Taste the nectar of her love. Breathe, fondle, suck, swallow and again, breathe, fondle, suck, swallow. Feel the light of the world on my body, a world where there is no separation … from the other. Here is the holy union;
elemental
… ecstatic … in birth … the perfect … life. In being reborn, I am set free. Thank you, Mary Michelin. Because of you I am …
Alive, alive oh!
The problem with ‘Change History Work’, as it is called in many a therapeutic circle, is while the work is taking place on the inside, the outside self falls miles and miles behind the inside self. This makes for a schism in the individual’s life, causes unexpected disturbances in the status quo, leaves those close to the person going through the changes without a clue as to how to deal with the irrational behavior of the newly undone individual.
Simone and I were fucking our brains out; barely speaking, skin talking without feeling. Except for our over-stimulated erogenous zones, there wasn’t much intimacy. I closed my eyes, saw Maggie’s face, felt her skin. I was in two places at the same time, obviously a lesson learned from my mother. The more Simone wanted me, the more I wanted to be left alone. It was a stunning reversal of circumstances. Whenever Simone wasn’t around, Maggie and I spoke on the phone. Maggie was in therapy with Mike and Molly … Family was … a wee bit confused. I too was … a wee bit confused. I was mourning, at
the same time, I was rewriting my past, so I could have a less tormented future. Simone was plotting our future in Zurich. We were on polar-opposite life paths. It was a mongoose/cobra moment. One night, I enter our bedroom, Simone promptly hangs up the phone. We don’t talk about either her calls or my calls. To top things off, Dina was in the midst of her personal version of mourning, taking inventory of her life, counting each and every item at the Beechwood house. I’m talking towels, sheets, toilet paper, socks, shoes, canned goods, monkeys and more. Ralph suffered a sudden case of narcolepsy. When he wasn’t asleep, he was deep into sleep-related hallucinations of varying peculiarity. And, of course, both kids had fallen in love with unsuitable love interests.
In mourning, Dina was more critical and hyper-vigilant than ever. ‘Your nephew, Charlie, has fallen in love with a jazz singer.’
‘I was a singer. What’s so bad about that?’
‘She’s black.’
‘So what?’
‘A black jazz singer?! My son.’
‘Is she any good?’
‘You’re not any help at all.’
‘So what if she’s black or green or pink? He’s in love. What the fuck else matters? Why don’t you give your kids a break!? Nothing is ever good enough for you. I’m glad you’re not my mother!’ Stop. ‘I’m sorry I said that.’ Dina cries. ‘Please don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.’
‘Ralph thinks it’s menopause.’
‘Aren’t you way past menopause?’
‘When he’s not sleeping, he watches me cry. Doesn’t say a word.’
‘Sounds like a marriage to me.’
‘And your niece, Sara …’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Yes you do. What about her?’
‘She’s fallen in love with a Rabbi she met at a Temple Emanuel Shabat service.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘He lives in Israel.’
‘Long-distance relationships are great.’
‘You ought to know. She wants to move to Israel.’
‘It will pass.’
‘They’re not normal. They’re never getting married. I don’t understand it. Wasn’t I a good mother?’
‘Let them live their lives.’
Hot, hard summer. No easy answers. The world is upside down. I’m trying to change my life. Life is trying to change me. Thank the Lord for Mary Michelin, visits to Mrs B., phone calls from Maggie Malone, and Molly checks in once in a while.
Molly wins the contest. I am thrilled for her. I call her on a June morning. She is cool, but polite. ‘Willwrite agrees summer school’s a good idea. Have to make up for my poor grades or else I won’t get into college.’
‘Where are you applying?’ She sounds so grown up.
‘University of Iowa.’
‘Great writing school.’
‘And University of Nebraska. My parents want me to stay close to home.’
‘How’s the therapy going?’
‘Fine. Mom’s having a difficult time.’
‘It’s going around.’ Why did I say that?
‘What does that mean?’
‘Stupid.’
‘I’ve been to a few therapy sessions myself.’
‘Oh …We’re all in therapy.’
‘You don’t like my father, do you?’
‘I don’t know him.’ She is so damned smart.
‘He’s a great guy.’
‘He’s your father. You only get one. Wasn’t that your line?’
‘Guess so. Mom wants to speak to you.’
‘Wait a second. Are you angry about something?’
‘No. Should I be?’ Molly yells for her mother. ‘Ma! It’s Loli. Pick up! Bye. Speak to you soon.’
‘Glad everything is going so well,’ I say, as she hangs up the telephone.
Maggie picks up. In a very low voice she whispers, ‘She …’ yells, ‘be right down!’
‘I can’t hear you. What’d you say?’
‘Molly knows about you and me.’
‘Great.’
‘I talked about us in therapy. I couldn’t help it. Mike cried. Molly ran out of the office. It was horrible.’
‘Mike knows?’
‘He does.’
‘Does all of Beatrice know?’
‘Of course not. Have you told Simone?’
‘No.’
‘What are we doing?’ Maggie slams the door.
‘I didn’t want it to get ugly. Why does it always get ugly?’ I cry out of frustration. ‘I’m sorry. I better hang up.’
‘I love you.’
‘Love you too.’ Can’t do this. They’re a family. ‘I feel so shitty about Molly. What a disappointment I must be for her. A homewrecker.’
‘He wants to come back.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘What should I do?’
How can I make it easier for her? ‘I won’t call. If you need me, call me.’
‘I miss …’
‘I know.’ … Molly Malone. I never wanted to let you down. Please forgive me.
Re-hashing the meaning of a tawdry life is what comes of taking summers off, breaking up families, being in reconstructive therapy, having too much time on my hands. By the end of July, Simone is hobnobbing in Zurich, readying her fall show.
My moods are swinging like the old rope swing in our Beechwood backyard. Dina is still busy counting hand towels and cloth napkins. To what end, I can hardly imagine. While searching for a missing blue sock, early one morning in late July, the phone rings. I am harried, late for Mary, but some subtle inner voice yells: ‘Pick up the phone, bitch!’
‘Hello. Bleak House.’
‘Pardon me. I must have the wrong number.’
‘Maybe not. Who you looking for?’
‘Ms Loli Greene, please.’
‘This is Ms Greene. What can I do for you? I’m late for an appointment, so if you don’t mind …’
‘Ms Greene. Do you remember me, Franklin Willwrite from Beatrice High School? English, eleventh grade …’
‘Mr Willwrite! Of course, of course.’ Damn blue sock! …
‘Thank you so much for your condolence note. That was so thoughtful of you.’
‘It was the least I could do. You only have one father. I remember how it was when I lost mine.’
‘Mr Willwrite I’m …’
‘Call me Franklin.’
‘I’ll call you Franklin, if you call me Loli.’
‘Loli, I need your help.’
‘What can I do for you Mr … Franklin?’
‘Do you know anyone who teaches the way you do?’
‘Not really. Why?’
‘I need someone to take over my fall classes? English
literature
, junior and senior years. I have been ill for quite some time now. I believe my wife told you about my recent sojourn at the Mayo Clinic?’
‘She did mention it. By the way, your wife is lovely.’
‘I think so. Let’s not get side-tracked, Ms … Loli. I have a rare degenerative heart disease. My father died when he was forty-eight.’
‘So young.’
‘When he died, he looked a hundred. It was devastating. I was eighteen when it happened, I’m forty-seven now.’
‘You are?’
‘You probably thought I was much older?’
‘No, no, not at all.’ Could have sworn the guy was at least sixty-five. Poor fellow.
‘The Mayo Clinic has found the perfect match for me. They want me in hospital immediately. I need time Ms … Loli. I need the fall to recuperate. Hopefully, I will be home … soon. If I follow the doctors orders, if I make it through November, I have a fifty-fifty chance of living a normal life. I could be back
teaching by January. Give it some thought. If you have any suggestion, please call me.’
‘Mr Willwrite … would you consider me for the job?’
‘Why, Ms Greene. I never thought …’
‘I know. I know. I might not be a teacher …’
‘Let me correct you, Ms Greene. You might not have a certificate, but you are a teacher. Ask Molly Malone.’
‘Franklin. I … I wouldn’t know how…’
‘Ms Greene.’
‘Loli.’
‘Loli, if you’re serious, and I hope you are.’
‘I am, Franklin. Honest.’
‘It might take some doing on my part, but maybe I can make arrangements for you to receive emergency certification. What a brilliant idea! Maybe I can do that.’
‘But.’
‘There are no buts here, Ms Greene, only asses. Please take the job. Now my heart is set on you. Next year’s seniors will be studying Mark Twain. Mark Twain … themes, Ms Greene, fit for your inspired teaching skills; freedom, the white mans’ folly called slavery, the enslavement of an entire race of people, treated like animals because of the color of their skin … Oppression, Ms Greene. You will chew these themes up and change lives.’
‘But, how do I prepare? How do I teach every day … every single day … day in day out?’
‘Details, Ms Greene. Details. I will help you with your lesson plan, which I am sure you will throw out the window after the first day. Then, you will find your own way, I have no doubt, to inspire these young adults as they have never been inspired before. I know what I’m talking about, Ms Greene. I was in the room.’
‘But …’
‘Molly Malone will be in your senior English class.’
‘Molly?’
‘She needs you, Ms Greene. I need you. We all need you. God knows what kind of substitute teachers they will saddle my students with. Hmm, not like me to end a sentence with a preposition.’
‘What about Ms Laws?’
‘My dear wife will have the difficult task of taking care of her husband; pity the poor girl.’
‘Mr Willwrite, I …’
‘Don’t say anything, Ms Greene. Do. Do my students and me a great service.’
‘Franklin … I’ll do it.’
‘Good. I will be sending you papers to peruse at your convenience. You will have to be in Beatrice for orientation by August 28th. I can’t promise you a jacuzzi, but I can promise to make your stay here a most pleasant one. Maggie Malone will find you suitable housing.’
‘Thank you, Franklin.’ Blink … Blink … Change history…
When you change your life, some who love you will fall to their knees, begging you to reconsider your plans. Dina was scared I might never return.
‘What about the unveiling?’
‘I’ll be there. I promise.’ Dina knew I had to leave for my best and highest good. In spite of her imminent abandonment issues, she wished me well.