A 21st Century Prescription for Heartbreak
(Repeat as needed)
Find someone unsuitable
An artist preferably
Photographers are ok
A carpenter will do in a pinch but only
If he dreams of living in a log cabin,
Surrounded by handcrafted, three-legged chairs
But, musicians are best
Especially if they’ve quit their day jobs to tour around in a shitty beater of a van
Or if at least they’re still considering it
If they tell you they love you on the second date
And write a song “just for you”
That you find out later was penned for an ex
If you can’t find any kind of artist,
Not even a carpenter
An off-the-lander type will do
Look for long hair and a scruffy beard
Let him roll you up in dreams of homemade preserves
And apples picked from your own backyard
Escape from the city and believe in the power of a man with
An axe
Forget the business types
If you see a tie or, God forbid, a whole suit
Run
Unless it’s meant to be ironic of course
No matter how fabulous this man is
And he probably is fabulous in the take you out for extravagant dinners and
The theatre sort of way
He won’t be able to instill that particular brand of crazy in you
Speaking of the theatre, forget about actors
They’re not as effective as you might think
On the surface, they have the whole tortured artist thing going for them
But they’re usually unattractively femme
And violently self-centred
And they can never handle real emotions
Once you have him
HIM
Fall
In
Love
Breathe him in
Sleep in his shirts
Talk about the future
Kids named Elektra and Snapdragon
Life on the road, love on the road, togetherness in a van
Fuck ‘til it hurts
Have great sex and terrible sex
Laugh about both
If you have long hair, cut it short like a boy or a sheep
If you have a stylish bob, let it grow long and wild
Stop
Or start
Shaving your legs
Become vegetarian or reintroduce meat
Become an expert on cheap beer or esoteric Portuguese wine
Move in together way too soon
Tell your married friends they just don’t get it
And scoff about how boring they’ve become
Fuck some more
Miss a period
Have an abortion
Have a miscarriage
Or get the damn thing a few weeks later
Cry about it
Laugh about
Gain anywhere between five and fifteen pounds
S L O W L Y
You will notice he has stopped calling you beautiful
Stopped complimenting your laugh
Your smile
Stopped sharing his dreams
Stopped even bothering to tell you the details of his days
Watch his eyes follow other women down the street
Become
Irrationally
Jealous
Accuse him of cheating with
The cute deli girl
The cute barista
The underage groupie
Your mom
His sister
Nag him about
Everything
Realize you are being crazy but
Find yourself
Unable to
Stop
Think of ending it
Think of ending it
Find an old song
An old photo
An old jar of preserved
A smelly old sock
Remember how much you love
Him
Remember the first kiss
Your stomach dropping away
Losing your breath
Drowning in
Love
Vow to make things work
Make him
A pie
A cake
His favourite dinner
Decide to serve it naked
When he comes home, leap into his arms, burning with the passion of
Rekindling
Hear him say
I’ve met someone else
Or
I love you but I’m not in love with you
Or
This wasn’t the life I imagined for us
Or
When did you get so fat?
Agree, cry, throw the pie at him, play the martyr
Whatever
Just know, inside, your heart if breaking into a million
Billion
P
I
E
C
E
S
And you will never, ever, feel the same again
Until the next one
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Welcome to the Neighbourhood
Mason hadn’t liked the neighbourhood from the get-go, too close to the rough part of town. If you walked a few blocks, you found yourself surrounded by derelict yards, junked out cars and angry dogs barking on the end of thick chains. But Lorelei had insisted. She’d fallen in love with the house instantly, the bright yellow paint, the flower garden, the window boxes. In the city, they’d have only been able to afford an apartment. Here, there was a whole yard for the kids to lounge in. There was even a basketball hoop over the garage for Carter to practice his lay ups. The previous tenants had started a small vegetable garden and Lorelei fantasized about growing tomatoes, snap peas and carrots there. She pictured the family chowing down on sweet corn from the backyard. In this daydream, Carter and Evie were fresh faced and wholesomely dressed, no holey t-shirts and mini skirts, no heavy makeup, their scowls replaced by smiles. Mason wanted to look around some more, but Lorelei dug in her heels. This was going to be their home. Eventually Mason bought into the fantasy too. He talked about how he could convert the shed into a workshop and put together projects there. Lorelei resisted the urge to tease him about his lack of handyman skills.
The kids were less enthusiastic; a move would mean changing schools. Lorelei promised she would chauffer them in to the city to see their old friends and charmed them with the reminders about the size of their new bedrooms. By the time they piled all their boxes into a noisy U-Haul, even the kids were barely suppressing enthusiasm.
After the first day of school, some of the enthusiasm evaporated. Carter came home wrapped in sulleness, darker and snappier than even his usual teenage moodiness. He looked younger, his freckled arms skinny and pale poking out from his torn black T-shirt. His hair was getting long and it hung down in his eyes, giving him a boyish look. There was an also odor of vulnerability on him that Lorelei had not smelled in a while.
“What’s up peanut?” Lorelei asked, hoping the childhood nickname would make him feel safe. He shrugged. Lorelei poured a tall glass of orange juice and set it in front of Carter. “How was your first day? Did you make any friends?” Carter got up from the table and slammed his chair against it. The glass wobbled violently but didn’t spill.
“I hate this stupid school,” Carter yelled from the doorway. “Friends right, “he continued. “Sure, I’ll just become a wannabe gangster,” Lorelei heard him mutter as he slammed the door to his room. Lorelei stood in the kitchen and traced the snowflakes on the glass of orange juice.
Evie came in a few minutes later. Though she was two years younger than Carter, she looked older with her raccoon eyes and her thigh baring skirt. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a high, tight ponytail making her forehead look abnormally high. “How was your day sweetie?” Lorelei asked, offering her Carter’s untouched orange juice. Lorelei shrugged and plopped into a chair, stretching out her gazelle-like legs and resting her pink toes on the chair across from her. She sipped at the orange juice and fiddled with her the oversized gold hoops in her ear. She flipped them up and over her ears so that her ears stuck out comically. Then, she looked straight at Lorelei and, with a completely straight face, asked “Mom, can I get a tattoo?”
Lorelei felt herself do a cartoon gulp. “You’re 13 for God’s sake!” Evie put down the glass.
“Well, how about a just a belly button ring? Lots of girls at my school have them.”
Lorelei tried to be cool but she could feel herself slipping into a classic mom rage. “Are you kidding me?” she spat.
“I knew you would react like this,” Evie said pushing the chair out from under her feet. “You’re so obvious.”
“Right, cause a belly button ring’s so completely the opposite of obvious,” Lorelei replied, feeling control slip further and further away.
Evie sauntered to her room and closed her door with a reserved click that signaled she was too mature to engage in a petty mother daughter blow out. Lorelei picked up the glass or orange juice and, resisting the urge to hurl it at the wall, poured the contents down the sink and slowly, slowly washed the glass.
That night, after the kids were in bed, more than likely texting and listening to their iPods rather than actually sleeping, Lorei and Mason stayed up late discussing the situation. “It’s just transitions,” Mason insisted. “Remember how terrible they were when we first started dating? Or when I moved in? And now, we’re basically one big happy family. Give it time.” Mason smiled reassuringly but Lorelei could tell he was worried too.
“Maybe I should have checked out the school before moving here.”
“Would the school really have changed your mind when it came to this house? Besides, it was summer.”
Lorelei hunched over her cup of tea and clasped its warmth between her hands. “Maybe I should go check it now.”
“And what? Tell off the little thugs? Move again? Give Evie and Carter some credit. They’re good kids. They’ll figure this out.
The next few days passed uneventfully. Evie and Carter came home no more troubled than usual. Lorelei got busy unpacking and started to fill the space with the small treasures that make a home. Mason, in an effort to add to the homey-ness, got up early to make pancakes for everyone before heading to the garage and in the evenings, he got to work converting the shed into a workspace. The start of the day was drenched in the smell of maple syrup while the end of the day was filled with the distant sounds of sawing and hammering. By the timed the weekend rolled around, Lorelei was beginning to think the fantasy could almost be reality.
On Saturday, Lorelei took Evie to the local mall. Evie promptly fell in love with the abundance of cheap tacky outlets. Carter took off on his bike and came back with tales of super cool bike path down by the river. “Its got jumps and everything!” he enthused that night over a plate of tuna casserole. “That’s great hun,” Lorelei said fighting the urge to be worried for his safety.
On Sunday, Lorelei sewed some whimsical carrot print curtains for the kitchen windows and baked a loaf of banana bread and some oatmeal cookies. In the evening, the whole family watched Law and Order together. Between them, Carter and Evie only picked up their phones a half dozen times.
On Monday, Carter came home reeking of pot and Evie came home with a poorly concealed hickey the size of a baseball. Lorelei decided to tackle Evie first. She felt hypocritical talking to Carter. She and Mason still blazed from time to time, not that Carter knew that, she hoped. She told herself that long as his experimentation stopped there she was ok with it. She tapped quietly on the door to Evie’s room. There was some shuffling and squeaking and the door opened. Evie, already in her pajamas, stood in the doorway blocking the entrance to her room. Her face told Lorelei she already knew what was coming. “Let’s cut to the chase Evie, who’s the new boyfriend?” Lorelei asked, trying to sound curious rather than a nauseating combination of angry and scared. Lorelei rolled her eyes exaggeratedly in a move Lorelei recognized from her own adolescence.
“What boyfriend?” Evie asked innocently.
“The one whose been sucking on your neck.”
“How do you know it’s not a girlfriend?”
Lorelei played along despite her irritation.
“Fine, then who’s the new girlfriend?”
Evie sighed.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Just a boy at school.”
“Well he better damn well be your boyfriend if he’s sucking on your neck.”
Evie tried to back into the room so she could close the door but Lorelei followed her.
“I want to meet him. If I don’t meet him you’re grounded.”
“Great mom, way to show how cool you are,” Evie yelled and hurled herself on the bed covering her head with the pillow. In this childish posture and with her pink pajamas she looked so young. Lorelei felt the anger leak out of her. She sat on the bed besides Evie.
“Honey, I’m not mad at you. I guess I’m just scared. At this age, boys move a lot faster than girls and sometimes you can send them the wrong signals. I just don’t want you to feel pressured into anything you don’t want to do.”
Evie turned her head so that she could be heard from under the pillow.
“What makes you think I don’t want to do stuff? How come everyone always thinks its just boys who are, you know, horny and stuff?”
Lorelei felt her fear turn to terror. She thought about kissing Jay, her first boyfriend in the back of his car. The way his hands felt under her shirt. And things moved faster now.
“Well…those feelings are normal. Your body’s going through a lot of changes but sometimes our bodies are ready sooner than our emotions or our minds so it’s important to wait until all the parts synch up.”
Evie sat up.
“God mom, did you read that in the parents’ manual? You sound like a guidance counselor.”
Lorelei laughed.
“You’re right. I do. These things aren’t always easy to talk about but I want you to know if you ever have any questions you can come to me.”
“Mom, where do babies come from?”
Lorelei paused, trying to think of the best way to answer the question. She didn’t want to get into too many details in case it gave Evie the wrong idea. Evie picked up her pillow and threw it at Lorelei.
“Jeez mom, relax, it was a joke. We had this conversation when I was six.”
Not quite this conversation, Lorelei thought.
Lorelei and Mason stayed up talking again that night. It was still warm, summer just starting to fade from the air, so they sat on the porch and watched the evening slip into night. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to field that one,” Mason said, referring to Evie’s hickey.
“I can’t help but wonder how I would have reacted if Carter had the hickey. I always thought I wouldn’t fall into these, you know, gender stereotypes but ack she’s only thirteen. And we forget, I mean I had forgotten, what it’s like at that age. She was right you know, it’s not just boys who are horny but we give them so much more freedom, permission even, not just like it’s ok but hey this is what you should be doing.”
“Yeah, but so far guys can’t get pregnant.”
“Right, so girls have to be so much more careful and responsible. Well guys should be too. For all we know, Carter could have knocked some girl up but he can just walk away from it all. Should I be having another safe sex talk with them or is that just promoting sex?”
“I think they know that stuff already. Besides, where Carter’s concerned, sounds more like we should be having the just say no to drugs talk.”
“I’d almost rather him be smoking a bit of weed than drinking though. It’s not like he’s smoking crack. At least I don’t think he is. God, maybe I should have the talk. I don’t even know what kind of shit they have out there now. It seems like things were simpler when we were younger. A bit of acid, some mushrooms maybe but nothing like what is it, crystal meth?”
“I’m sure our parents thought the same thing.”
“Yeah and they were right about that too. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow. Let him know I’m not mad, that a bit of pot is ok but it stops there and within reason, you know, he keeps his grades up, goes back to basketball, that kind of thing.”
Mason put his arm around Lorelei. “Do you want me to do it? You know, mano e mano?” he asked. Lorelei sunk into his solid frame.
“It’s tempting, let you do the dirty work, but I feel like he might take it better coming from me. You can be a bit scary,” Lorelei said squeezing his beefy arm.
Mason scratched his beard. “Well, I try.”
They curled into each other in silence for a moment. Mason cleared his throat. “This is probably weird timing,” he said “but I’ve been thinking lately that I would like to be a father. I mean, I know I am, I consider Evie and Carter my own, but,” Mason paused and stroked Lorelei’s wild hair, “I can’t help but think what a beautiful baby we would have together.”
Lorelei laughed. “Yeah a perfect kid, no pot or hickeys.”
Mason pulled away. “Lorelei, I’m serious. I’d like to be there from the beginning for someone. Change the diapers, rock them to sleep. I know you’ve already been there but not with me.”
Lorelei looked at the solid man before her and was overcome with love. She kissed him softly on the lips. He put his hands in her curly hair and pulled her close and for a moment they made out like two horny teenagers. Finally, Lorelei pulled away. “If you promise to change the diapers and rock them to sleep then Mason Bryers, I will have a thousand babies with you,” Lorelei said. They kissed again and then, giggling quietly, they headed to their bedroom.
The next day, Lorelei was on pins and needles waiting for Carter to get home. She had planned exactly what she would say and was confident her talk with him would go better than her talk with Evie. But Carter didn’t come home. Evie came home and then Mason but still Carter was nowhere to be seen. At first, Lorelei assumed he was out having fun with new friends, smoking pot by the river probably, but by the time the pasta sauce was simmering on the stove, she was worried. She called his cell, hating that he was forcing her to be the over concerned parent, but he didn’t answer. “The little shit’s going to be in so much trouble when he gets home,” Lorelei muttered to Mason. Evie overheard and started to laugh. “Set the table,” Lorelei said, swatting Evie with a dish towel.
They ate dinner in near silence, each attempt at conversation fumbled. As Lorelei was clearing the plates off the table, her body tight with frustration, they heard the sound of a bike scrabbling up the path, the whir of wheels and chain and the sounds of voices shouting and grumbling. Then, heavy footsteps up the front stairs and the door burst open and Carter stumbled in. He was bleeding from a cut over his eye and his face was swollen and smeared with tears and snot. Lorelei dropped the plates she was holding and clattered noisily on the table. She ran to Carter and held him against her shoulder as he began to sob.
“What is it baby? What happened?” she asked still holding him. Carter was taller than her and heavier but she managed to support his weight. Buried in her shoulder, Carter answered in a muffled gasp. Lorelei could only make out half the words. “Guys followed … jumped…phone…iPod…hit me… rock … outside…” he gasped. Out of the corner of her eye, Lorelei saw Mason get up from his chair and rifle through a kitchen. He grabbed a rolling pin and headed for the door.
“What are you doing?” Lorelei cried as he smacked the heavy ceramic pin against his open palm. He looked at Lorelei with eyes hardened in cold determination. She had only seen his eyes like that once before, when he’d had to kill a deer he’d hit on the road. But that time, there had been a tinge of sadness in his eyes that time. Now Lorelei only read anger.
“I’m gonna teach those punks a lesson. Let them pick on someone their own size. You don’t mess with my family,” Mason grunted as he slammed the door open. Lorelei had this uncontrollable urge to giggle. He looked like some comic book villain, hulking rolling pin man.
“Mason, don’t,” she called out “we’ll call the police. Let them deal with it.” But he was already out the door and down the steps and a sobbing Carter was in her arms. “Oh baby,” Lorelei said as she brushed Carter’s sticky bangs off his forehead, to get a better look at the cut.
Evie, who had been hovering over the table, sprang into action. “Should I get some ice? Maybe the antiseptic stuff from the bathroom?”
“Yeah, honey. That would be great and if you can pass me the phone, I’ll call somebody.”
Evie passed Lorelie the phone and bustled into the bathroom in search of supplies. She looks so at ease in the role of nurse, Lorelei thought as she dialed 911. An obnoxiously calm voice answered the phone. “Nine one one. What is your emergency?”
“Well, um I’m not sure it’s an emergency but I guess police.”
Outside there was a sound like a car backfiring only tighter, more like a pop, and then a second and a third. Lorei dropped the phone. Carter lifted his head from her shoulder and looked toward the open door. There was the sound of footsteps running away. Lorelei pushed Carter off her and ran outside. She saw three figures dashing down the street and a larger figure crumpled on the front walkway. She ran down the steps and towards the crumpled figure. Even from the porch, she knew it was Mason.
It seemed like she was running forever, as if their walkway was the longest walkway in the world, before she reached Mason. He was on his back, feet sprawled out, rolling pin just out of reach of his right hand. There was blood everywhere. Reddish brown, sticky, blood. Blood like she’d never seen before. Blood that just flowed and spread through his shirt. Blood that looked like paint, like a prop stolen from a B grade slasher flick.
Lorelei knelt in front of Mason, putting her hands on the spots where the blooms started, but the front of his shirt was just a slippery mess. His eyes were open. The cold determination was gone. She looked into them hoping for a flicker of recognition. “Mason, Mason honey, I’m here. It will be alright.” She hoped, with his head looking up at the sky, he couldn’t see all the blood running between her fingers, staining her forearms. She didn’t need to worry. His eyes didn’t even see her.
She looked back at the house. Evie and Carter stood on the porch clutching the phone between them. “Do something. Fucking do something,” Lorelei screamed. They ran back into the house. Maybe to look for towels maybe just scared, Lorelei didn’t know. The door slammed behind them and Lorelei looked back down at the man she loved. “I’m so sorry Mason,” she said “I am so fucking sorry.” She heard the front door open again and she looked back up at the bright yellow house with the whimsical carrot print curtains.
The kids were less enthusiastic; a move would mean changing schools. Lorelei promised she would chauffer them in to the city to see their old friends and charmed them with the reminders about the size of their new bedrooms. By the time they piled all their boxes into a noisy U-Haul, even the kids were barely suppressing enthusiasm.
After the first day of school, some of the enthusiasm evaporated. Carter came home wrapped in sulleness, darker and snappier than even his usual teenage moodiness. He looked younger, his freckled arms skinny and pale poking out from his torn black T-shirt. His hair was getting long and it hung down in his eyes, giving him a boyish look. There was an also odor of vulnerability on him that Lorelei had not smelled in a while.
“What’s up peanut?” Lorelei asked, hoping the childhood nickname would make him feel safe. He shrugged. Lorelei poured a tall glass of orange juice and set it in front of Carter. “How was your first day? Did you make any friends?” Carter got up from the table and slammed his chair against it. The glass wobbled violently but didn’t spill.
“I hate this stupid school,” Carter yelled from the doorway. “Friends right, “he continued. “Sure, I’ll just become a wannabe gangster,” Lorelei heard him mutter as he slammed the door to his room. Lorelei stood in the kitchen and traced the snowflakes on the glass of orange juice.
Evie came in a few minutes later. Though she was two years younger than Carter, she looked older with her raccoon eyes and her thigh baring skirt. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a high, tight ponytail making her forehead look abnormally high. “How was your day sweetie?” Lorelei asked, offering her Carter’s untouched orange juice. Lorelei shrugged and plopped into a chair, stretching out her gazelle-like legs and resting her pink toes on the chair across from her. She sipped at the orange juice and fiddled with her the oversized gold hoops in her ear. She flipped them up and over her ears so that her ears stuck out comically. Then, she looked straight at Lorelei and, with a completely straight face, asked “Mom, can I get a tattoo?”
Lorelei felt herself do a cartoon gulp. “You’re 13 for God’s sake!” Evie put down the glass.
“Well, how about a just a belly button ring? Lots of girls at my school have them.”
Lorelei tried to be cool but she could feel herself slipping into a classic mom rage. “Are you kidding me?” she spat.
“I knew you would react like this,” Evie said pushing the chair out from under her feet. “You’re so obvious.”
“Right, cause a belly button ring’s so completely the opposite of obvious,” Lorelei replied, feeling control slip further and further away.
Evie sauntered to her room and closed her door with a reserved click that signaled she was too mature to engage in a petty mother daughter blow out. Lorelei picked up the glass or orange juice and, resisting the urge to hurl it at the wall, poured the contents down the sink and slowly, slowly washed the glass.
That night, after the kids were in bed, more than likely texting and listening to their iPods rather than actually sleeping, Lorei and Mason stayed up late discussing the situation. “It’s just transitions,” Mason insisted. “Remember how terrible they were when we first started dating? Or when I moved in? And now, we’re basically one big happy family. Give it time.” Mason smiled reassuringly but Lorelei could tell he was worried too.
“Maybe I should have checked out the school before moving here.”
“Would the school really have changed your mind when it came to this house? Besides, it was summer.”
Lorelei hunched over her cup of tea and clasped its warmth between her hands. “Maybe I should go check it now.”
“And what? Tell off the little thugs? Move again? Give Evie and Carter some credit. They’re good kids. They’ll figure this out.
The next few days passed uneventfully. Evie and Carter came home no more troubled than usual. Lorelei got busy unpacking and started to fill the space with the small treasures that make a home. Mason, in an effort to add to the homey-ness, got up early to make pancakes for everyone before heading to the garage and in the evenings, he got to work converting the shed into a workspace. The start of the day was drenched in the smell of maple syrup while the end of the day was filled with the distant sounds of sawing and hammering. By the timed the weekend rolled around, Lorelei was beginning to think the fantasy could almost be reality.
On Saturday, Lorelei took Evie to the local mall. Evie promptly fell in love with the abundance of cheap tacky outlets. Carter took off on his bike and came back with tales of super cool bike path down by the river. “Its got jumps and everything!” he enthused that night over a plate of tuna casserole. “That’s great hun,” Lorelei said fighting the urge to be worried for his safety.
On Sunday, Lorelei sewed some whimsical carrot print curtains for the kitchen windows and baked a loaf of banana bread and some oatmeal cookies. In the evening, the whole family watched Law and Order together. Between them, Carter and Evie only picked up their phones a half dozen times.
On Monday, Carter came home reeking of pot and Evie came home with a poorly concealed hickey the size of a baseball. Lorelei decided to tackle Evie first. She felt hypocritical talking to Carter. She and Mason still blazed from time to time, not that Carter knew that, she hoped. She told herself that long as his experimentation stopped there she was ok with it. She tapped quietly on the door to Evie’s room. There was some shuffling and squeaking and the door opened. Evie, already in her pajamas, stood in the doorway blocking the entrance to her room. Her face told Lorelei she already knew what was coming. “Let’s cut to the chase Evie, who’s the new boyfriend?” Lorelei asked, trying to sound curious rather than a nauseating combination of angry and scared. Lorelei rolled her eyes exaggeratedly in a move Lorelei recognized from her own adolescence.
“What boyfriend?” Evie asked innocently.
“The one whose been sucking on your neck.”
“How do you know it’s not a girlfriend?”
Lorelei played along despite her irritation.
“Fine, then who’s the new girlfriend?”
Evie sighed.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Just a boy at school.”
“Well he better damn well be your boyfriend if he’s sucking on your neck.”
Evie tried to back into the room so she could close the door but Lorelei followed her.
“I want to meet him. If I don’t meet him you’re grounded.”
“Great mom, way to show how cool you are,” Evie yelled and hurled herself on the bed covering her head with the pillow. In this childish posture and with her pink pajamas she looked so young. Lorelei felt the anger leak out of her. She sat on the bed besides Evie.
“Honey, I’m not mad at you. I guess I’m just scared. At this age, boys move a lot faster than girls and sometimes you can send them the wrong signals. I just don’t want you to feel pressured into anything you don’t want to do.”
Evie turned her head so that she could be heard from under the pillow.
“What makes you think I don’t want to do stuff? How come everyone always thinks its just boys who are, you know, horny and stuff?”
Lorelei felt her fear turn to terror. She thought about kissing Jay, her first boyfriend in the back of his car. The way his hands felt under her shirt. And things moved faster now.
“Well…those feelings are normal. Your body’s going through a lot of changes but sometimes our bodies are ready sooner than our emotions or our minds so it’s important to wait until all the parts synch up.”
Evie sat up.
“God mom, did you read that in the parents’ manual? You sound like a guidance counselor.”
Lorelei laughed.
“You’re right. I do. These things aren’t always easy to talk about but I want you to know if you ever have any questions you can come to me.”
“Mom, where do babies come from?”
Lorelei paused, trying to think of the best way to answer the question. She didn’t want to get into too many details in case it gave Evie the wrong idea. Evie picked up her pillow and threw it at Lorelei.
“Jeez mom, relax, it was a joke. We had this conversation when I was six.”
Not quite this conversation, Lorelei thought.
Lorelei and Mason stayed up talking again that night. It was still warm, summer just starting to fade from the air, so they sat on the porch and watched the evening slip into night. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to field that one,” Mason said, referring to Evie’s hickey.
“I can’t help but wonder how I would have reacted if Carter had the hickey. I always thought I wouldn’t fall into these, you know, gender stereotypes but ack she’s only thirteen. And we forget, I mean I had forgotten, what it’s like at that age. She was right you know, it’s not just boys who are horny but we give them so much more freedom, permission even, not just like it’s ok but hey this is what you should be doing.”
“Yeah, but so far guys can’t get pregnant.”
“Right, so girls have to be so much more careful and responsible. Well guys should be too. For all we know, Carter could have knocked some girl up but he can just walk away from it all. Should I be having another safe sex talk with them or is that just promoting sex?”
“I think they know that stuff already. Besides, where Carter’s concerned, sounds more like we should be having the just say no to drugs talk.”
“I’d almost rather him be smoking a bit of weed than drinking though. It’s not like he’s smoking crack. At least I don’t think he is. God, maybe I should have the talk. I don’t even know what kind of shit they have out there now. It seems like things were simpler when we were younger. A bit of acid, some mushrooms maybe but nothing like what is it, crystal meth?”
“I’m sure our parents thought the same thing.”
“Yeah and they were right about that too. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow. Let him know I’m not mad, that a bit of pot is ok but it stops there and within reason, you know, he keeps his grades up, goes back to basketball, that kind of thing.”
Mason put his arm around Lorelei. “Do you want me to do it? You know, mano e mano?” he asked. Lorelei sunk into his solid frame.
“It’s tempting, let you do the dirty work, but I feel like he might take it better coming from me. You can be a bit scary,” Lorelei said squeezing his beefy arm.
Mason scratched his beard. “Well, I try.”
They curled into each other in silence for a moment. Mason cleared his throat. “This is probably weird timing,” he said “but I’ve been thinking lately that I would like to be a father. I mean, I know I am, I consider Evie and Carter my own, but,” Mason paused and stroked Lorelei’s wild hair, “I can’t help but think what a beautiful baby we would have together.”
Lorelei laughed. “Yeah a perfect kid, no pot or hickeys.”
Mason pulled away. “Lorelei, I’m serious. I’d like to be there from the beginning for someone. Change the diapers, rock them to sleep. I know you’ve already been there but not with me.”
Lorelei looked at the solid man before her and was overcome with love. She kissed him softly on the lips. He put his hands in her curly hair and pulled her close and for a moment they made out like two horny teenagers. Finally, Lorelei pulled away. “If you promise to change the diapers and rock them to sleep then Mason Bryers, I will have a thousand babies with you,” Lorelei said. They kissed again and then, giggling quietly, they headed to their bedroom.
The next day, Lorelei was on pins and needles waiting for Carter to get home. She had planned exactly what she would say and was confident her talk with him would go better than her talk with Evie. But Carter didn’t come home. Evie came home and then Mason but still Carter was nowhere to be seen. At first, Lorelei assumed he was out having fun with new friends, smoking pot by the river probably, but by the time the pasta sauce was simmering on the stove, she was worried. She called his cell, hating that he was forcing her to be the over concerned parent, but he didn’t answer. “The little shit’s going to be in so much trouble when he gets home,” Lorelei muttered to Mason. Evie overheard and started to laugh. “Set the table,” Lorelei said, swatting Evie with a dish towel.
They ate dinner in near silence, each attempt at conversation fumbled. As Lorelei was clearing the plates off the table, her body tight with frustration, they heard the sound of a bike scrabbling up the path, the whir of wheels and chain and the sounds of voices shouting and grumbling. Then, heavy footsteps up the front stairs and the door burst open and Carter stumbled in. He was bleeding from a cut over his eye and his face was swollen and smeared with tears and snot. Lorelei dropped the plates she was holding and clattered noisily on the table. She ran to Carter and held him against her shoulder as he began to sob.
“What is it baby? What happened?” she asked still holding him. Carter was taller than her and heavier but she managed to support his weight. Buried in her shoulder, Carter answered in a muffled gasp. Lorelei could only make out half the words. “Guys followed … jumped…phone…iPod…hit me… rock … outside…” he gasped. Out of the corner of her eye, Lorelei saw Mason get up from his chair and rifle through a kitchen. He grabbed a rolling pin and headed for the door.
“What are you doing?” Lorelei cried as he smacked the heavy ceramic pin against his open palm. He looked at Lorelei with eyes hardened in cold determination. She had only seen his eyes like that once before, when he’d had to kill a deer he’d hit on the road. But that time, there had been a tinge of sadness in his eyes that time. Now Lorelei only read anger.
“I’m gonna teach those punks a lesson. Let them pick on someone their own size. You don’t mess with my family,” Mason grunted as he slammed the door open. Lorelei had this uncontrollable urge to giggle. He looked like some comic book villain, hulking rolling pin man.
“Mason, don’t,” she called out “we’ll call the police. Let them deal with it.” But he was already out the door and down the steps and a sobbing Carter was in her arms. “Oh baby,” Lorelei said as she brushed Carter’s sticky bangs off his forehead, to get a better look at the cut.
Evie, who had been hovering over the table, sprang into action. “Should I get some ice? Maybe the antiseptic stuff from the bathroom?”
“Yeah, honey. That would be great and if you can pass me the phone, I’ll call somebody.”
Evie passed Lorelie the phone and bustled into the bathroom in search of supplies. She looks so at ease in the role of nurse, Lorelei thought as she dialed 911. An obnoxiously calm voice answered the phone. “Nine one one. What is your emergency?”
“Well, um I’m not sure it’s an emergency but I guess police.”
Outside there was a sound like a car backfiring only tighter, more like a pop, and then a second and a third. Lorei dropped the phone. Carter lifted his head from her shoulder and looked toward the open door. There was the sound of footsteps running away. Lorelei pushed Carter off her and ran outside. She saw three figures dashing down the street and a larger figure crumpled on the front walkway. She ran down the steps and towards the crumpled figure. Even from the porch, she knew it was Mason.
It seemed like she was running forever, as if their walkway was the longest walkway in the world, before she reached Mason. He was on his back, feet sprawled out, rolling pin just out of reach of his right hand. There was blood everywhere. Reddish brown, sticky, blood. Blood like she’d never seen before. Blood that just flowed and spread through his shirt. Blood that looked like paint, like a prop stolen from a B grade slasher flick.
Lorelei knelt in front of Mason, putting her hands on the spots where the blooms started, but the front of his shirt was just a slippery mess. His eyes were open. The cold determination was gone. She looked into them hoping for a flicker of recognition. “Mason, Mason honey, I’m here. It will be alright.” She hoped, with his head looking up at the sky, he couldn’t see all the blood running between her fingers, staining her forearms. She didn’t need to worry. His eyes didn’t even see her.
She looked back at the house. Evie and Carter stood on the porch clutching the phone between them. “Do something. Fucking do something,” Lorelei screamed. They ran back into the house. Maybe to look for towels maybe just scared, Lorelei didn’t know. The door slammed behind them and Lorelei looked back down at the man she loved. “I’m so sorry Mason,” she said “I am so fucking sorry.” She heard the front door open again and she looked back up at the bright yellow house with the whimsical carrot print curtains.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Nice Girls Don't
I held the white box, which was about the size of a record only deeper, with trembling hands. It was covered in gold leaves, hastily stamped on by my mother in an effort to disguise her dislike of the holiday season. I lifted and lowered it, listening for a clink, feeling for the shift of something sharp. The contents remained silent and motionless. It had to be the coveted jeans. I examined the knot in the twine. It was loose. A sharp tug would untie the knot, leaving the box naked, ready to yield its contents. I bit my lip in anticipation.
I had been begging for the jeans ever since I watched my brother fall out of a tree. He had broken his collar bone and scratched himself up pretty badly but his jeans had remained intact. To a girl who was constantly being scolded for catching her dresses on fence posts, for dragging her skirts through the dirt, even when she was only going to the gate to fetch the mail as she had been asked, these jeans looked like freedom. All summer, I watched my brother run through the woods around our house. I wasn’t supposed to join him. Nice girls didn’t run in the woods. Nice girls sat on the porch and worked on their sewing. Nice girls kept their nice dresses nice and neat. But I wasn’t a nice girl and after a few hours I would inevitably throw down my needlework and find my brother amongst the trees. Usually my disobedience, spelled out clearly in the forest debris that clung to my outfits or in the tears in my skirt, was met with a slap or at least an exasperated sigh. These reproaches hurt but they also gave me ammunition in my quest for jeans. “Think mother,” I would say “if I had jeans you would never have to mend them and they don’t show dirt the same way so you would only have to wash them half as often.” My mother’s reply was always the same, some variation on “nice girls don’t wear jeans,” But now, looking at her placid face lit by the candles on the tree, I felt sure I’d worn her down. Either she had accepted the jeans or the fact that no matter what she did, I would never be a nice girl.
My brother Daniel’s voice sliced through my covetous daze. “Open it already” he cried nearly bouncing out of his seat. He checked himself and settled calmly back into the sofa. He was almost as eager to open the rectangular box that lay on his gangly knees but was trying hard to appear as unenthusiastic as the adults. He knew it had to be the rifle. His almost stubbly cheeks, the width of his shoulders and the recently acquired gap between his pant legs and his socks all suggested that he was old enough for one, even if he was still young enough to be excited by it.
I shook my head. I wanted to be the last person to open a gift. Flavoured with anticipation, the cider would taste sweeter, the candles would glow brighter and the carols on the record player would sound cheerier. Even my mothers’ impatience would be momentarily dampened.
My mother sighed, indicating that we’d better hurry up or forget the whole thing. The sooner we opened our gifts, the sooner she could sweep up the pine needles, smooth out the wrapping paper and tuck Christmas safely back in the closet until next year.
I hated to be rushed but I also knew if I pushed too far my mother might just grab the box off my lap and throw the whole thing in the fire. I yanked on the string. The lid slid off with surprising ease, as if the contents were greasing the way to their freedom. The bottom half of the box landed in my lap, sending a denim pant leg onto my lap. A purple denim pant leg. My mother smiled at me expectantly, the veil of her annoyance lifting for one brief second. I forced a smile and pulled the jeans out, praying I would not find any more flaws. Unfolded, the jeans yielded a bouquet of straps, bows and buttons. I willed myself not to cry. There was a scratchy silence. Everyone was waiting for me to say something but I knew that even the shortest word would unleash a choked sob followed by the hot sting of tears.
“Well?” my father asked. I grinned with a clenched jaw, my gritted teeth holding back my disappointment.
My mother sighed. “Go put them on,” she said deflated. I had squashed the tiny bubble of eagerness she had allowed herself to feel. I had a flash of guilt but I was too busy dealing with the crater sized hole in my own dream. I dashed for the bedroom, glad for an excuse to nurse my hurt privately.
Inside the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed, wracked by spasmic sobs. Disappointment burned in my throat and my belly. Through the walls I could hear my parents. “What’s wrong with her?” my mother asked. “She’s bloody impossible to please. So ungrateful.” My father murmured something soothing.
I stayed in the room for a few minutes, trying to force my disappointment into a manageable size so that I could swallow it easily, but it stayed tough and stretchy, choking me at each breath. “If you don’t come out with the jeans on in the next minute, I’m going to throw them in the fire,” my mother yelled from the living room. Good, do it, I thought but then I heard my brother’s voice.
“Please Lucy,” he begged. There was something soft and vulnerable in his tone. He was still holding on to his eagerness. I pictured the box with the rifle on his lap. As hideous as the jeans were, I couldn’t’ ruin his moment. I stilled myself, rolling the anger into pellets, filling my belly with the heavy drops of disappointment. The sobs receded and I was able to sit up. As cold and calm as a statue, I put on the denim restraints.
The jeans were even worse on me. They rode up into my crotch and pinched my waist. The straps were too long and hung awkwardly across my back, making them look like reins. The number of buckles and straps gave the whole thing the appearance of a straight jacket. It didn’t matter.
I walked back into the living room and sat in my purple shroud. My parents barely acknowledged my presence, except to give Daniel the nod that he could now open his gift. His grin was everything I had hoped for.
Christmas day was the first and last time I ever wore the jeans. The next day, I snuck into the shed and buried them behind a moldy box of gardening tools. From time to time, my mother would ask me about the jeans. I got used to telling her what she wanted to hear. “You were right mother, nice girls don’t wear jeans.”
I had been begging for the jeans ever since I watched my brother fall out of a tree. He had broken his collar bone and scratched himself up pretty badly but his jeans had remained intact. To a girl who was constantly being scolded for catching her dresses on fence posts, for dragging her skirts through the dirt, even when she was only going to the gate to fetch the mail as she had been asked, these jeans looked like freedom. All summer, I watched my brother run through the woods around our house. I wasn’t supposed to join him. Nice girls didn’t run in the woods. Nice girls sat on the porch and worked on their sewing. Nice girls kept their nice dresses nice and neat. But I wasn’t a nice girl and after a few hours I would inevitably throw down my needlework and find my brother amongst the trees. Usually my disobedience, spelled out clearly in the forest debris that clung to my outfits or in the tears in my skirt, was met with a slap or at least an exasperated sigh. These reproaches hurt but they also gave me ammunition in my quest for jeans. “Think mother,” I would say “if I had jeans you would never have to mend them and they don’t show dirt the same way so you would only have to wash them half as often.” My mother’s reply was always the same, some variation on “nice girls don’t wear jeans,” But now, looking at her placid face lit by the candles on the tree, I felt sure I’d worn her down. Either she had accepted the jeans or the fact that no matter what she did, I would never be a nice girl.
My brother Daniel’s voice sliced through my covetous daze. “Open it already” he cried nearly bouncing out of his seat. He checked himself and settled calmly back into the sofa. He was almost as eager to open the rectangular box that lay on his gangly knees but was trying hard to appear as unenthusiastic as the adults. He knew it had to be the rifle. His almost stubbly cheeks, the width of his shoulders and the recently acquired gap between his pant legs and his socks all suggested that he was old enough for one, even if he was still young enough to be excited by it.
I shook my head. I wanted to be the last person to open a gift. Flavoured with anticipation, the cider would taste sweeter, the candles would glow brighter and the carols on the record player would sound cheerier. Even my mothers’ impatience would be momentarily dampened.
My mother sighed, indicating that we’d better hurry up or forget the whole thing. The sooner we opened our gifts, the sooner she could sweep up the pine needles, smooth out the wrapping paper and tuck Christmas safely back in the closet until next year.
I hated to be rushed but I also knew if I pushed too far my mother might just grab the box off my lap and throw the whole thing in the fire. I yanked on the string. The lid slid off with surprising ease, as if the contents were greasing the way to their freedom. The bottom half of the box landed in my lap, sending a denim pant leg onto my lap. A purple denim pant leg. My mother smiled at me expectantly, the veil of her annoyance lifting for one brief second. I forced a smile and pulled the jeans out, praying I would not find any more flaws. Unfolded, the jeans yielded a bouquet of straps, bows and buttons. I willed myself not to cry. There was a scratchy silence. Everyone was waiting for me to say something but I knew that even the shortest word would unleash a choked sob followed by the hot sting of tears.
“Well?” my father asked. I grinned with a clenched jaw, my gritted teeth holding back my disappointment.
My mother sighed. “Go put them on,” she said deflated. I had squashed the tiny bubble of eagerness she had allowed herself to feel. I had a flash of guilt but I was too busy dealing with the crater sized hole in my own dream. I dashed for the bedroom, glad for an excuse to nurse my hurt privately.
Inside the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed, wracked by spasmic sobs. Disappointment burned in my throat and my belly. Through the walls I could hear my parents. “What’s wrong with her?” my mother asked. “She’s bloody impossible to please. So ungrateful.” My father murmured something soothing.
I stayed in the room for a few minutes, trying to force my disappointment into a manageable size so that I could swallow it easily, but it stayed tough and stretchy, choking me at each breath. “If you don’t come out with the jeans on in the next minute, I’m going to throw them in the fire,” my mother yelled from the living room. Good, do it, I thought but then I heard my brother’s voice.
“Please Lucy,” he begged. There was something soft and vulnerable in his tone. He was still holding on to his eagerness. I pictured the box with the rifle on his lap. As hideous as the jeans were, I couldn’t’ ruin his moment. I stilled myself, rolling the anger into pellets, filling my belly with the heavy drops of disappointment. The sobs receded and I was able to sit up. As cold and calm as a statue, I put on the denim restraints.
The jeans were even worse on me. They rode up into my crotch and pinched my waist. The straps were too long and hung awkwardly across my back, making them look like reins. The number of buckles and straps gave the whole thing the appearance of a straight jacket. It didn’t matter.
I walked back into the living room and sat in my purple shroud. My parents barely acknowledged my presence, except to give Daniel the nod that he could now open his gift. His grin was everything I had hoped for.
Christmas day was the first and last time I ever wore the jeans. The next day, I snuck into the shed and buried them behind a moldy box of gardening tools. From time to time, my mother would ask me about the jeans. I got used to telling her what she wanted to hear. “You were right mother, nice girls don’t wear jeans.”
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