Is This All There Is? Page 2

  “Grams, how did you survive having eight children?”

  “Survive? Well, I did have to have a hysterectomy right after I had Tony. But I know that’s not what you mean honey. Can you believe that woman who killed her three children? Did you read about it in the papers? They said she wasn’t taking her medication.”

  “I know. It’s so sad. I can’t imagine ever doing anything to hurt… Jack stop kicking that tray! Grams, just a sec… ”

  I watched helplessly as the high chair tray sailed through the air after a final thrust from Jack’s thick little legs. An earsplitting crash followed. It landed right on top of the trash can, knocking it over and spraying debris on all the pots and pans on the kitchen floor.

  “Hand-me-down piece of shit.”

  “What? What’s going on? What happened Beth?”

  “Hold on a sec.” I sliced a banana onto the tray and snapped it back into place.

  “I’m here, Grams.” Trying not to drop the phone, I bent down and began to return the garbage to its home.

  “You know when my kids were little, I didn’t work, and my mother helped, and the neighbors. Just like I helped your mom and dad. Remember when you were little, how much time you spent with me?”

  “I know. I always wanted to be with you, I love you Grams.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart.”

  “It’s different with us though, Mom works such long... ”

  “She only works three days a week.”

  “Yeah, three grueling twelve-hour shifts.”

  “My friend Allison from church is a nurse too and she says it gives her plenty of time with her grandkids. And their father is never around. Thank the Lord Allison is able to help so much. He’s a lawyer, never home, no time for the family. Just like your uncle Louis. I tell him when he’s on his deathbed, it’s not gonna matter how many cases he won.”

  “But Grams… ”

  “Believe me, your mother wants to be with her grandsons on her days off. She told me you don’t ask her to help much, Beth, remember how you loved to sleep at my house? And your Uncle Tony was like the big brother you never had.”

  An image of Grams in her kitchen, chestnut brown bouffant hair piled high, making turkey sandwiches on soft white bread with gobs of mayonnaise and a lone slice of wilting iceberg for each while my fourteen year old uncle Tony waved his penis in front of my face in his upstairs bedroom.

  “Come on Beth, put it in your mouth. It tastes like cherries, I swear.” But I knew it didn’t taste like cherries because my friend Stephanie’s stepfather made her put his in her mouth and she said it tasted salty. I ran downstairs to the safety of Grams and her turkey sandwiches. After gobbling down three of them and an enormous slice of chocolate cake, I was almost able to forget the sensation of Tony’s penis against my cheek, almost.

  “Yeah, Grams, I know I should let Mom help more, and maybe try to find a baby-sitter, but things are different now. It’s so hard to trust anyone. Anyway, I have to ask you about our family history for one of Sam’s school projects.”

  Jack started writhing and shrieking and I realized he had a Cheerio lodged in his left nostril. I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder and eased the Cheerio out with my pinky finger. He started kicking the tray again so I freed him from the high chair. Then he went back to banging on the pots and pans again, so loud I could barely hear my grandmother. She was saying something about how hard life was for her parents in the old country.

  “Jack, if you don’t stop that right now!” I yelled it with such force that the facial contortions accompanying his shift from glee to terror seemed to occur in slow motion before the wailing began.

  “Oh honey, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just a second, Grams.”

  After apologies and hugs, Jack was still whimpering but also back to beating on the cookware with the spoon. I reached for the phone hoping to finally get the information I needed. Instead I came face to face with Sam. He peered up at me with a look of exasperation. I tightened the belt of my robe and tried to look as if I had everything under control.

  “Morning, Samo! How’s it goin’?” He put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Grams, I’m gonna have to call you back later.”

  He looked down at Jack pounding on the pots and pans and then back up at me.

  “Why are you letting him do that so early in the morning? What, did you have some papers to grade or something?”

  The condescension in his tone sounded more like it should come from a seventy-year-old than a seven-year-old. Still the intensity of my need for his approval made me wonder if maybe he had been a controlling, critical husband in one of my past lives.

  After just waking up, not a single straight golden strand of hair was out of place. The rays of sun streaming through the kitchen window made his sapphire eyes sparkle. Somehow he was dealt the winning hand of our family’s gene pool, far outshining us all. He was constantly turning heads, which made him miserable.

  “I was trying to make a quick call to your great grandmother to ask her the questions for your project.”

  He nodded with a hint of gratitude.

  “Well, it’s just… you never let me do anything like that. Why is Jack always allowed to do things I don’t get to do?”

  “Do you want to bang on pots and pans?”

  He looked at me with suspicion.

  “Can I make a concoction? I’ll clean it all up after. I promise.”

  “Just don’t use more than two eggs, okay? I still have to make breakfast.”

  I stood there staring at my two bundles of boundless energy. Sam had hopped on a stool to fill a pot with water and Jack was using the lids of two pots as cymbals. There they were playing, laughing, with no thoughts of yesterday or tomorrow. Just being. For a split second I remembered what that felt like. I considered sitting next to Jack and making music with the pots along side him. But the thought passed and I realized it was a chance to get away, maybe just for a minute, maybe ten if I was lucky.

  “Can you keep an eye on Jack for a minute while I get ready, Sam?”

  Chapter 3

  In the bathroom, I leaned in close to the mirror and ran my fingers along the faint wrinkles on my light olive skin. And I knew if I just cut back on the chocolate, I could say goodbye to the two zits residing on my forehead before they relocated to my nose or my chin, as they always seemed to do. I missed the compliments from amorous young men - whispers about my striking green eyes or my sexy curves. I thought about how I’d be so much less invisible if I could just drop ten or fifteen pounds. Pressing my hair down hard with my palms, I wished big curly hairstyles would make a comeback. Sure, people still told me how jealous they were of my long natural waves, but you couldn’t fool me, it was always the girls with sleek straight locks that got all the attention. Pulling back a little from the mirror though, I had to admit to myself, I didn’t look so bad… for a woman my age.

  Feeling barely presentable enough for the trip to Sam’s school, I started my mindless daily pancake and scrambled egg preparation. I let the boys watch Sponge Bob Square Pants while they ate and slipped away to the closet-sized room that served as my office. I scanned my emails and opened the one from Shelly.

  “Are we still on for tonight, hon? You better not flake!”

  “Of course we’re still on. I can’t wait! See you at six.”

  We rarely saw each other. She only lived twenty miles away, but it may as well have been a thousand. It was four months earlier when we last stood together in her kitchen, shoveling down the Cheese Doodles and Oreos supposedly set out for the kids while they played and fought at our feet. I told Shelly how much I loved our talks, how the playdates were more for me than for the kids. I hated that whenever we started to share our secrets one of the kids would call out for more food or drink or to announce that somebody was being mean. It was like almost reaching orgasm and then being pulled away into someone else’s need that was so huge it made you forget you were about to climax, made you for
get you were even feeling anything in your own body at all.

  It was on that day that Shelly extended an invitation that would change the course of my life.

  “We should go out to dinner alone, just you and me. We’ll have some wine and talk about anything we want with no interruptions. And I know just the place, my favorite Italian restaurant in Santa Monica.”

  “You know I’d love to, Shelly, but I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “Well, Rick only watches the kids when I’m teaching, you know, earning money. I can’t ask him to... ”

  “That’s crap, Beth. You don’t ask him. You tell him. That’s what I do with Max. I swear Beth, sometimes I think you want to be miserable.”

  “I’m not miserable, Shelly. I love my kids.”

  “I never said you don’t love your kids. I’m saying you need to be a little selfish once in a while. How can you take good care of your family if you’re not taking good care of yourself?”

  “I got a manicure and pedicure a week ago.”

  “Right, with that gift certificate from your mother in law. After she asked you five times if you used it yet.”

  “Okay, Shelly, I get the point. I’m trying to learn from you but it’s hard for me.”

  “Rick does it all the time. Doesn’t he go golfing every Sunday with his brother-in-law, the cop? What’s his name? Tom, right? Beth? You still there? We’re going to dinner in Santa Monica. I’m not backing down.”

  “Shelly, you have to understand, our situations are different - you don’t work and you’re not nursing anymore and… ”

  “Come on, if anything, the fact that you work and contribute to your family’s income means you deserve a night out once in a while. And Jack is almost a year old for God’s sake. He’ll survive the separation from your breasts for a little longer than usual with no permanent emotional scarring, I assure you.”

  I was defeated. But the battle I lost was the one I waged against myself. She was on my side.

  After she sent three emails spread out over several weeks pressuring me to pin down a date, I knew I couldn’t avoid the situation any longer. I waited until the kids were asleep. I sat down several feet away from him on the worn L shaped tan couch and noticed a new purplish stain on one of its pillows, blueberries, or maybe grape juice.

  “Rick, I need to ask you something.” He nodded but didn’t look away from the TV.

  “Shelly invited me to dinner, just the two of us. She wants to go to some restaurant all the way out in Santa Monica. I told her it would probably be too difficult, but she keeps pestering me about it.”

  I held my breath, ready for objections. I waited for him to tell me how it’s hard enough for him to leave work early to watch the kids on the two afternoons I teach. How Jack can’t get to sleep at night without nursing. How Sam throws a fit if I don’t read him a Mr. Moose book before bed.

  “When does she want to go?”

  “Well, she wants to on a Friday sometime soon, but I… ”

  “That’s fine, Fridays are good. At least I don’t have to get up for work the next day.”

  “But what about Jack? How would you get him to sleep?” His eyes were still glued to the TV.

  “I’ll lay down with him and sing him a song. He likes that.”

  “Do you really think you can handle dinner, dishes, baths, tooth brushing, bedtime stories and backrubs without me?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “But with the long drive there and back and the traffic, I’d be home really late. I’ll just tell Shelly I can’t do it.”

  “I can handle it. It’s not brain surgery. You should go. Then maybe I won’t have to feel so guilty every time I play golf or go out for a beer with the guys from work.”

  The temperature of the flesh on my face must have increased by about twenty degrees as I crossed my arms in front of me.

  “So you’re saying I make you feel guilty because you go out all the time and I never do?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just think it would be good for you to go out to dinner with Shelly.”

  “Okay fine. I’ll go. But you better call me if Jack or Sam starts to cry for me. I’ll come right home.”

  “Fine, but I’m sure we’ll all survive. Whew, I’m tired. I’m gonna hit the sack. You comin’?” He stretched his arms up over his head and turned off the TV.

  “No, I have to finish the dishes.”

  I stared at the strange little face next to the message “your mail has been sent” for a while before heading for the kitchen to pack up Sam’s lunch. I stopped in front of the refrigerator for a moment, studying the mess of crooked photographs adorning it. Sam, in his bright green and black soccer uniform, holding a strained fake smile. Jack, in a cone shaped hat with a big red number one on it, his face smeared with chocolate frosting. But what stopped me in my tracks was one I hadn’t seen before. Rick must have put it up that morning. He stood atop Mount Whitney with a triumphant fist in the air. Flanked by his best friend Mitch and his sister’s husband, Tom, he looked fit and strong and happy. I thought about the day he left, just weeks before.

  “Do you want me to cancel the trip?”

  I glanced down at his top of the line ultralight backpack. It was still unzipped with a titanium cook set, trekking pole, and freeze-dried meals peeking out.

  “No, you’ve had this planned for months. Go. We’ll be fine.”

  He pressed the inside of his wrist against Jack’s forehead.

  “He’s burning up. Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

  “It’s okay, Rick. I’ll call my mom if he gets worse.”

  I never did call my mom. Instead I spent the weekend alone with a cranky, neglected Sam and a coughing, projectile vomiting Jack. But I told him to go. I couldn’t be mad because I told him to go.

  On a separate corner of the refrigerator, was a tiny tattered print. It was me, nine years earlier, trim and glistening as I crossed the finish line of the Los Angeles Marathon. I peered into the living room and saw that the boys were still in a Sponge Bob induced stupor so I searched the cupboards. My salvation would be swift and sweet. I grabbed the package of a dozen powdered mini donuts and tore it open with my teeth. I hunched over the furthest counter from the living room so the boys wouldn’t see me. The first blast of the powdery sweet confectioner’s sugar on my taste buds dulled the rest of my senses. After inhaling two more, I momentarily considered putting the package away. I couldn’t taste them anymore after the sixth and I got queasy when I polished off the tenth.

  I stopped for a second to catch my breath. “Take it all the way, Beth. It’s the least you can do for yourself when you spend your days taking care of everyone else.”

  After stuffing the empty package deep into the trash can, I covered it up with a wad of scrunched up paper towels. Even after gorging myself with donuts, a trace of the hunger was still there. I went into the living room and set my eyes on the leftover scrambled eggs with cheese sitting on Sam’s plate. They called to me. “Come on Beth, you need something cheesy and salty after all that sugar.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat some more of those eggs, Samo?”

  “No way, I’m full. You made too much again, Mom.”

  He glanced at the clock.

  “It’s not time to go yet. Can we watch the rest of this episode?”

  “Sure.”

  “Mom, watch with us, this one is so funny. Spongebob hypnotized Patrick to think he’s a shark and now he’s gonna to try to eat Squidward.”

  Jack squealed and kicked his legs, mimicking his brother’s excitement, as if he actually understood.

  “That sounds pretty funny. You sure you don’t want these eggs?”

  They were gone before he could even answer the question.

  Chapter 4

  All I could think about was how many hours were left until my dinner with Shelly as I sang “The Wheels on the Bus.” Jack tried to escape but I reeled him back in to serve out the rest of his c
ircle time sentence. Our teacher Mandy was too alert and too skinny to be the mother of four, as she claimed. Someone once told me that her husband was a Hollywood film producer so I figured she must have a nanny for each child. Her bony hands danced above her head as she sang “The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout,” and I wondered how much she paid for the eye surgery that gave her that permanently astonished look.

  “So what questions do you have for me this week?” she asked when we finished singing.

  Several hands shot up.

  “Well, Tyler had this weird red spot on his left earlobe so of course we rushed him to the ER and they said… ” I debated whether two glasses of wine with dinner would be enough or if I’d have to order a third. Yeah, three. Definitely three. I’ll need that much to relax and open up.

  Mandy called on the mom with fake boobs who drove the white Lexus SUV and was always replenishing the stack of business cards they allowed her to leave on the front counter. I never bothered to read one of them, needing no confirmation that the word “realtor” would undoubtedly appear beneath her name. Her question had something to do with how long it’s acceptable to leave your baby in a playpen while you work out, shower and talk to clients on the phone.

  I jiggled a big ring of fake yellow and blue keys in front of Jack’s face to keep him from trying to flee again. It seemed unfair, with all that tempting gymnastic equipment just inches away. Like all of us, Jack just wanted more free-play time, time to roam and explore without restrictions. I tried to tune into the next question. “When I need Hunter to skip his nap so he’ll go to bed early, I put a little of my espresso in his bottle but then… ” I wondered how often Shelly and Max were having sex. We could never talk about that with the kids around. I hoped I’d find an appropriate opening in the conversation to ask her, but reminding myself that the wine would be flowing, I figured I’d probably just blurt it out in the middle of some unrelated subject.

  Little Isabella’s onyx eyes smiled at me from the other side of the circle. I put my hands over my face and slowly peeled them away as I mouthed peek-a-boo. She let out a petite squeak of laughter but no one noticed because they were engrossed in a conversation about where to get trendy strollers at discount prices. I waved to her and whispered, “Hi Isabella.” She tucked her chin into her shoulder, trying to be coy but with a big grin and I was reminded of how different boys and girls are, even at such an early age. I made a mental note to tuck this example away for an upcoming lecture on gender differences in communication. She peeked out from her bashful pose to make sure she still had my attention and again I whispered, “Hi Isabella.” I was proud of myself for remembering her name. I knew most of the kids’ names actually. It was the mothers’ names I could never seem to hang on to. The big lavender daisy on the front of her dress and white patent leather shoes she wore took me back to a teary conversation with my mother the day I found out Jack was going to be a boy.