.
part xi:
.
When Michael returned from his team's weekly curling game, Marjory greeted him with an ear to ear smile. Hi honey, she called, how was the match?
Game, Marjory.
What game?
‘How was the game’, is what you meant to ask, right?
When Marjory started to cry then, Michael felt like a heel for correcting her. He wished she understood the difference between a match and a game by now, but he sure hadn’t meant to make her cry.
Michael stood without moving so much as a toe in her direction. He just stared at her, as if waiting for instructions on what he should do next. Twenty-six years of marriage and he still felt like an awkward boy around Marjory's tears. They were a rare occurence, true, but Michael knew he had come to rely on her strength.
He should do something, he thought to himself. His right foot left the ground when a quick rap was heard at the door.
Hello! It's just me! Peter’s voice bellowed from the breezeway.
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Showing posts with label October. Show all posts
Showing posts with label October. Show all posts
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
October
part x:
.
The ride home was long. The bus chugged along at a slow pace for no other reason than to keep itself on schedule. Jean stared out the window, though all she could really see was her own reflection.
When Jean was a little girl, she and her mother would take a monthly trip downtown by electric car. The sound it made kept her in a trance and she had this feeling of riding on a magic bus that was being pulled along by a wire. She used to wonder what would happen if the wire snapped. But feeling her life hanging by a metal thread only added to the excitement of their journey.
It was only the two of them, then. She didn’t know where her father was; she couldn’t say for certain that she had one. Her mother refused to speak to her about him, and Jean learned early on that asking was futile.
She wondered now, under the trance of the bus’s hum, if Adam had ever felt that sort of abandonment. She had done her best to give him everything. Everything unfortunately hadn’t included a father for Adam. Was it genetic, she wondered, looking at the bits of blackness she caught through the glass’s glare, something she had inadvertently passed on from her mother?
Jean worried about her son, feeling at a loss lately about how to reach out to him. She just wanted him to be happy. But he wasn’t her little boy anymore who she could protect by wrapping her arms around his little boy body and swing him round and round until his tears became giggles.
Main at Portage, the bus driver announced. She prepared to disembark at the next stop. She would leave behind her the Saturday morning trips with her mother and the young boy who used to be Adam. And when she climbed her connecting bus and handed over the transfer tag, she would think of Marjory and her son, Peter. She would think of the silence that followed the weeping she had witnessed with a sense of confusion and uneasiness. Jean had never before seen Marjory cry.
.
.
The ride home was long. The bus chugged along at a slow pace for no other reason than to keep itself on schedule. Jean stared out the window, though all she could really see was her own reflection.
When Jean was a little girl, she and her mother would take a monthly trip downtown by electric car. The sound it made kept her in a trance and she had this feeling of riding on a magic bus that was being pulled along by a wire. She used to wonder what would happen if the wire snapped. But feeling her life hanging by a metal thread only added to the excitement of their journey.
It was only the two of them, then. She didn’t know where her father was; she couldn’t say for certain that she had one. Her mother refused to speak to her about him, and Jean learned early on that asking was futile.
She wondered now, under the trance of the bus’s hum, if Adam had ever felt that sort of abandonment. She had done her best to give him everything. Everything unfortunately hadn’t included a father for Adam. Was it genetic, she wondered, looking at the bits of blackness she caught through the glass’s glare, something she had inadvertently passed on from her mother?
Jean worried about her son, feeling at a loss lately about how to reach out to him. She just wanted him to be happy. But he wasn’t her little boy anymore who she could protect by wrapping her arms around his little boy body and swing him round and round until his tears became giggles.
Main at Portage, the bus driver announced. She prepared to disembark at the next stop. She would leave behind her the Saturday morning trips with her mother and the young boy who used to be Adam. And when she climbed her connecting bus and handed over the transfer tag, she would think of Marjory and her son, Peter. She would think of the silence that followed the weeping she had witnessed with a sense of confusion and uneasiness. Jean had never before seen Marjory cry.
.
Friday, 31 October 2008
October
part ix:
.
Adam is fine. He was taking his Bachelor of Arts for a while. . . It just wasn’t his thing . . . school, and -
Oh, that’s too bad. That he gave it up, I mean. Education is so important, don’t you think? Peter went into Economics. Found himself a good position with the government. We’re very proud of him.
Jean went quiet then. It seemed that Marjory had turned their sons’ lives into a competition without explaining to Jean what the rules might be. She regretted then having accepted Marjory's invitation to tea.
And then just a month ago...out of the blue...who could have known? Marjory continued, he just ups and announces that he’s gay! Always been gay, he says. Ha ha! Can you imagine? Oh, you should have seen Michael. Besides himself, he was. Hmm... would you like a warm-up?
Jean sensed something was off in her friend’s voice. No, thanks. I’m fine. And on fine, as if on cue, Marjory began to sob.
.
.
Adam is fine. He was taking his Bachelor of Arts for a while. . . It just wasn’t his thing . . . school, and -
Oh, that’s too bad. That he gave it up, I mean. Education is so important, don’t you think? Peter went into Economics. Found himself a good position with the government. We’re very proud of him.
Jean went quiet then. It seemed that Marjory had turned their sons’ lives into a competition without explaining to Jean what the rules might be. She regretted then having accepted Marjory's invitation to tea.
And then just a month ago...out of the blue...who could have known? Marjory continued, he just ups and announces that he’s gay! Always been gay, he says. Ha ha! Can you imagine? Oh, you should have seen Michael. Besides himself, he was. Hmm... would you like a warm-up?
Jean sensed something was off in her friend’s voice. No, thanks. I’m fine. And on fine, as if on cue, Marjory began to sob.
.
Saturday, 25 October 2008
October
part viii:
.
November came quickly, and with it a bone chilling cold like Winnipeg hadn’t suffered for some time. Jean found herself in Marjory’s living room, waiting for the tea to steep and for Marjory’s return. She herself would have preferred a dark cup of coffee. That would surely warm her after the long bus ride into St-Vital.
She wasn’t used to these ticky-tacky houses lined up side by side, their numbers barely distinguishable to Jean’s eyes as she slowly made her way one house at a time before coming upon the street number she was seeking.
Here we are, Marjory said as she entered the room with a plate of home-baked cookies in hand. You take sugar, if I recall?
Yes, please, Jean replied, but just a little. I’m trying to lose weight –
Oh, but why? You look just fine, Jean. Just fine.
Was Jean being too sensitive, or was that second ‘fine’ one too many? Is it just you and Michael in this big house?
Yes. Well, but, I keep Peter’s room the way he left it two years ago when he suddenly decided to move out. Just in case, you know?
In case of what? asked Jean.
Oh, well, in case he decides to come back home.
Jean cleared her throat before asking her why Peter would want to come back home and then realized it had probably come out the wrong way. But Marjory was already speaking . . .
Well, you just never know, do you? And it's a mother’s job to make sure that her child always feel welcome when he does return, don’t you think? But enough about that, she said before Jean had a chance to reply, I want to hear all about Adam!
.
.
November came quickly, and with it a bone chilling cold like Winnipeg hadn’t suffered for some time. Jean found herself in Marjory’s living room, waiting for the tea to steep and for Marjory’s return. She herself would have preferred a dark cup of coffee. That would surely warm her after the long bus ride into St-Vital.
She wasn’t used to these ticky-tacky houses lined up side by side, their numbers barely distinguishable to Jean’s eyes as she slowly made her way one house at a time before coming upon the street number she was seeking.
Here we are, Marjory said as she entered the room with a plate of home-baked cookies in hand. You take sugar, if I recall?
Yes, please, Jean replied, but just a little. I’m trying to lose weight –
Oh, but why? You look just fine, Jean. Just fine.
Was Jean being too sensitive, or was that second ‘fine’ one too many? Is it just you and Michael in this big house?
Yes. Well, but, I keep Peter’s room the way he left it two years ago when he suddenly decided to move out. Just in case, you know?
In case of what? asked Jean.
Oh, well, in case he decides to come back home.
Jean cleared her throat before asking her why Peter would want to come back home and then realized it had probably come out the wrong way. But Marjory was already speaking . . .
Well, you just never know, do you? And it's a mother’s job to make sure that her child always feel welcome when he does return, don’t you think? But enough about that, she said before Jean had a chance to reply, I want to hear all about Adam!
.
Sunday, 19 October 2008
October
part vii:
.
The seat across the aisle from Jean had become available and Marjory scooted herself in while asking her old companion, with some sense of urgency in her voice, about Adam. But with every inhalation Jean took in preparation to reply, Marjory came back with another question until Jean just wasn’t sure what to say anymore.
The two women faced each other now in an awkward silence which Marjory clearly felt an obligation to fill.
My son is gay now, you know, were the words that flew out of her mouth. It was announced with such ceremony as to impart on the passengers some need to look around them, awaiting this gay son to pop out of an imaginary curtain and announce, Ta-da!
Before the many pairs of eyes-and lost for words-Jean heard herself say, Well now, how nice for you...
What a silly-ass thing to say! she thought to herself, no longer knowing where to avert her eyes.
.
.
The seat across the aisle from Jean had become available and Marjory scooted herself in while asking her old companion, with some sense of urgency in her voice, about Adam. But with every inhalation Jean took in preparation to reply, Marjory came back with another question until Jean just wasn’t sure what to say anymore.
The two women faced each other now in an awkward silence which Marjory clearly felt an obligation to fill.
My son is gay now, you know, were the words that flew out of her mouth. It was announced with such ceremony as to impart on the passengers some need to look around them, awaiting this gay son to pop out of an imaginary curtain and announce, Ta-da!
Before the many pairs of eyes-and lost for words-Jean heard herself say, Well now, how nice for you...
What a silly-ass thing to say! she thought to herself, no longer knowing where to avert her eyes.
.
Monday, 6 October 2008
October
Jean, part iii:
.
Jean and Marjory had shared a hospital room some twenty-three years ago. They were both very pregnant when they first met. And they would each give birth to boys, born just hours apart. In those days, the St-Boniface General took good care of their new mothers, well aware that once they arrived home, they would be alone to care for their bundled joys while the proud fathers celebrated their offspring with a den of men, a scotch and a cigar.
And so, the women were best of friends for three days. Marjory’s exuberance sometimes got under Jean’s skin, it’s true, but the guilt-filled single mother was pleased for companionship during those first frightening days. Jean had taken it as a blessing that she was not roomed up with some judgmental church-going mother of five who would make certain her whispers would be heard through the thin linings that passed for walls between the beds.
The two young mothers had met on several occasions after the big event. Jean suspected that Marjory thought she would be having difficulty handling an infant on her own. And she would have been correct. Those were trying days. There were times Jean didn’t know how she would manage on her own, although stubbornly wanting to show her family and neighbours that she could make single parenthood work.
Jean took solace in those hours shared with Marjory, and those lovely early days of Spring they had spent with Adam and Peter playing in the park. How was it again that they had lost touch?. .
.
.
Jean and Marjory had shared a hospital room some twenty-three years ago. They were both very pregnant when they first met. And they would each give birth to boys, born just hours apart. In those days, the St-Boniface General took good care of their new mothers, well aware that once they arrived home, they would be alone to care for their bundled joys while the proud fathers celebrated their offspring with a den of men, a scotch and a cigar.
And so, the women were best of friends for three days. Marjory’s exuberance sometimes got under Jean’s skin, it’s true, but the guilt-filled single mother was pleased for companionship during those first frightening days. Jean had taken it as a blessing that she was not roomed up with some judgmental church-going mother of five who would make certain her whispers would be heard through the thin linings that passed for walls between the beds.
The two young mothers had met on several occasions after the big event. Jean suspected that Marjory thought she would be having difficulty handling an infant on her own. And she would have been correct. Those were trying days. There were times Jean didn’t know how she would manage on her own, although stubbornly wanting to show her family and neighbours that she could make single parenthood work.
Jean took solace in those hours shared with Marjory, and those lovely early days of Spring they had spent with Adam and Peter playing in the park. How was it again that they had lost touch?. .
.
Friday, 3 October 2008
October
Jean, part ii:
.
It seemed to take forever before the bus came into view. Jean was cold and tired by the time she plopped herself into what they must have considered to be a whole seat. This was the one remaining seat though, next to a large, malodorous man who whistled through his nose.
She thought she heard her name, but she didn't turn toward the voice, so certain was she that her aging ears were playing tricks on her. Rarely venturing out of her sheltered neighbourhood, who could she possibly know on the North Main Express?
Jean? The voice approached. Jean Rickert? Is that really you?
Jean slowly turned, trying to place the vaguely familiar voice with a long-ago memory. Only then did she find herself looking up into the woman’s beaming face. Hesitating, she said, Marj...Marjory?
But before she had time to have a really good look at the person belonging to the smile, the woman had already wrapped herself around Jean's neck with no sign of letting go. Hmm, this has to be Marjory, Jean thought to herself . . .
.
.
It seemed to take forever before the bus came into view. Jean was cold and tired by the time she plopped herself into what they must have considered to be a whole seat. This was the one remaining seat though, next to a large, malodorous man who whistled through his nose.
She thought she heard her name, but she didn't turn toward the voice, so certain was she that her aging ears were playing tricks on her. Rarely venturing out of her sheltered neighbourhood, who could she possibly know on the North Main Express?
Jean? The voice approached. Jean Rickert? Is that really you?
Jean slowly turned, trying to place the vaguely familiar voice with a long-ago memory. Only then did she find herself looking up into the woman’s beaming face. Hesitating, she said, Marj...Marjory?
But before she had time to have a really good look at the person belonging to the smile, the woman had already wrapped herself around Jean's neck with no sign of letting go. Hmm, this has to be Marjory, Jean thought to herself . . .
.
Friday, 26 September 2008
October
Jean part i:
.
When October came, Jean decided that she had put it off long enough. She phoned Telebus and sheepishly she asked about the route she would need to take. The girl at the other end answered her questions in a patient manner and reminded Jean to obtain a transfer tag at Main and McDermot.
This is how Jean came to be knocking on her son’s door one brisk autumn morning.
When no one came to the door, Jean wondered how well she had thought this out. The bus ride here had consumed her with a list of words she might use to explain her sudden visit. Jean hadn’t stopped to consider that he might not be home.
Adam. . . she sighed softly. Despite his 23 years, he was and would always be her baby and she missed him something awful. What had occurred to bring a halt to his visits and their habitual Sunday night suppers and to those thoughtful calls he used to make just to say hi?
Jean sat on the dirty carpeting, her back against the wall, wondering if anyone ever cleaned these old corridors. She took out a pen and paper from her oversized bag, scribbled a few words down and slipped the note under his door.
.
.
When October came, Jean decided that she had put it off long enough. She phoned Telebus and sheepishly she asked about the route she would need to take. The girl at the other end answered her questions in a patient manner and reminded Jean to obtain a transfer tag at Main and McDermot.
This is how Jean came to be knocking on her son’s door one brisk autumn morning.
When no one came to the door, Jean wondered how well she had thought this out. The bus ride here had consumed her with a list of words she might use to explain her sudden visit. Jean hadn’t stopped to consider that he might not be home.
Adam. . . she sighed softly. Despite his 23 years, he was and would always be her baby and she missed him something awful. What had occurred to bring a halt to his visits and their habitual Sunday night suppers and to those thoughtful calls he used to make just to say hi?
Jean sat on the dirty carpeting, her back against the wall, wondering if anyone ever cleaned these old corridors. She took out a pen and paper from her oversized bag, scribbled a few words down and slipped the note under his door.
.
Thursday, 6 March 2008
Marjory
part iii:
Marjory was writing in her diary when Michael entered their bedroom. At first she seemed not to notice he was even there, but when he sat on his side of the bed, Marjory hugged him from behind. Michael was a sucker for her hugs. They felt like no one else’s, not that he received many others. “Do you think Peter enjoyed his birthday party?” she said.
“Are you kidding?”
“I think he had a nice time. And his friend David seems really nice, don’t you think?”
“Marjory,” Michael sighed, “Everyone left the party dripping wet with one of our towels in tow, and you’re wondering if they had a good time?”
“Oh, Michael,” was all Marjory had in response to her husband’s question. She decided he was in one his moods. “I like David. I think he’ll made a wonderful addition to our family!”
“Whoa! David is a perfect stranger, and –“
“Well, not a stranger, really...”
“And you’ve made him family already? I’m turning the light off,” Michael nearly burrowed his way under the sheets before she had a chance to say anything else that he wasn’t ready or willing to hear.
Marjory was writing in her diary when Michael entered their bedroom. At first she seemed not to notice he was even there, but when he sat on his side of the bed, Marjory hugged him from behind. Michael was a sucker for her hugs. They felt like no one else’s, not that he received many others. “Do you think Peter enjoyed his birthday party?” she said.
“Are you kidding?”
“I think he had a nice time. And his friend David seems really nice, don’t you think?”
“Marjory,” Michael sighed, “Everyone left the party dripping wet with one of our towels in tow, and you’re wondering if they had a good time?”
“Oh, Michael,” was all Marjory had in response to her husband’s question. She decided he was in one his moods. “I like David. I think he’ll made a wonderful addition to our family!”
“Whoa! David is a perfect stranger, and –“
“Well, not a stranger, really...”
“And you’ve made him family already? I’m turning the light off,” Michael nearly burrowed his way under the sheets before she had a chance to say anything else that he wasn’t ready or willing to hear.
Monday, 3 March 2008
Marjory
part ii:
Just then, Peter entered the kitchen through the breezeway and in a moment of panic, Marjory grabbed the bread knife from the counter and smooshed the butterflies into the white frosting in an attempt to lose the evidence. “The evidence of what, exactly?” Sheila would ask her later, as she and her sister-in-law attempted to space the twenty-three sparklers Marjory had insisted on instead of candles this year.
Marjory didn’t have time to answer because the fire-alarm system had started its deafening song. She saw Michael’s lips moving but all she made out was ‘something, something, didn’t you something off?’. “Oh pooh,” she muttered, “Now we can’t sing Happy Birthday.”
Of course, no one heard her. And Marjory didn’t think to sacrifice the cake to the kitchen sink. She was still standing there, at the dining room entrance, when the sprinkler system rained down on them all.
Just then, Peter entered the kitchen through the breezeway and in a moment of panic, Marjory grabbed the bread knife from the counter and smooshed the butterflies into the white frosting in an attempt to lose the evidence. “The evidence of what, exactly?” Sheila would ask her later, as she and her sister-in-law attempted to space the twenty-three sparklers Marjory had insisted on instead of candles this year.
Marjory didn’t have time to answer because the fire-alarm system had started its deafening song. She saw Michael’s lips moving but all she made out was ‘something, something, didn’t you something off?’. “Oh pooh,” she muttered, “Now we can’t sing Happy Birthday.”
Of course, no one heard her. And Marjory didn’t think to sacrifice the cake to the kitchen sink. She was still standing there, at the dining room entrance, when the sprinkler system rained down on them all.
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Marjory
part i:
Marjory didn’t understand why everyone was making such a fuss over her choice of birthday cake. She was certain Peter would love it. But his dad and his dad’s sister were all abuzz about what they called the implications of having a cake decorated with iced pastel butterflies. “Now he’s come out and shared his...lifestyle with us, and well--”
“Marjory, I don’t recall Pete having any attachment to butterflies.”
“I just thought it was...pretty. That’s all. Besides, Michael, the only other cake they had at the Safeway bakery had a big ole’ football sitting on top.”
“Marjory,” Michael replied, “Peter played high-school football, remember? So now we know he’s uh...he’s homo-sex-ual, well it’s no reason to go completely crazy and start buying butterfly cakes, is it?”
Sheila leant against the counter rubbing her forehead while she watched beads of sweat accumulate on her sibling’s face and neck after hearing himself say ‘homosexual’, perhaps for the first time. Poor Michael, he’s trying so hard, she thought to herself.
Marjory didn’t understand why everyone was making such a fuss over her choice of birthday cake. She was certain Peter would love it. But his dad and his dad’s sister were all abuzz about what they called the implications of having a cake decorated with iced pastel butterflies. “Now he’s come out and shared his...lifestyle with us, and well--”
“Marjory, I don’t recall Pete having any attachment to butterflies.”
“I just thought it was...pretty. That’s all. Besides, Michael, the only other cake they had at the Safeway bakery had a big ole’ football sitting on top.”
“Marjory,” Michael replied, “Peter played high-school football, remember? So now we know he’s uh...he’s homo-sex-ual, well it’s no reason to go completely crazy and start buying butterfly cakes, is it?”
Sheila leant against the counter rubbing her forehead while she watched beads of sweat accumulate on her sibling’s face and neck after hearing himself say ‘homosexual’, perhaps for the first time. Poor Michael, he’s trying so hard, she thought to herself.
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