"Maggie, honey, save your first paycheck. Let me buy it. After all, my parents were supposed to help pay for it," he said.
"Thank you for the offer, Uncle Roy, but I want to do this by myself." No, it was more than a want. I needed to buy Ella's stone.
A loud squeal seized our attention. A delighted Kelsey ran through the sliding glass doors to the patio, being chased by a scrunched low Stephanie. Lumbering along after Steph was Tom, beer in one hand and a tissue-paper-spewing gift bag in the other. The girls continued their game. Tom pulled up a chair next to me and, slightly blushing, thrust the bag toward me. "This is for you. Please open it when I'm not around."
Smiling at his obvious awkwardness, I took the bag and placed it in my lap. "Tom, I'm sure you spent a lot of time arranging the tissue in this bag. I'm never going to open it and mess up your handiwork."
He looked over at Uncle Roy and then back at me. "Shut up, Maggie. Just open it later, okay?"
The day passed quickly. Everyone chuckled as Kelsey entertained us by singing hits such as the ABC song and the theme to The itsy Bitsy Spider. She danced, spinning on her chubby little legs and flapping her arms. Our assorted lipstick colors combined, staining her cheeks bright pink.
Aunt Mildred did not say one obnoxious word to anyone and spent a large amount of time discussing baseball with Amy's dad. Aunt Rose and Aunt Dori became very friendly with Mrs. Livingston, and together they strolled the yard, discussing the flowers and plants. Of course, Steph Superglued herself to Tom. They disappeared for a long period of time. When they returned, I stifled my impulse to ask questions.
Only Julie appeared to be distracted and not into the party. "Julie, what's up?" I asked. "You look out of it. What's wrong?"
She glanced down before replying. "Nothing is wrong, Maggie. I'm just tired. The baby kept me awake for half of the night coughing. He's with my mom, but I can't stop worrying about him."
A half-hour later, her mom called to tell her that little Kyle's fever reached one hundred and two. We hugged and promised to get together soon then she left.
By seven o'clock, only my mom, Ed, Steph, and Tom remained. Uncle Roy and Aunt Dori drove the senior family members back to Ellwood. We all sat around the kitchen table reminiscing about my dad. My mom claimed he knew from the time I was in kindergarten that I was destined to be a lawyer. Family lore had it that a little girl named Kim in my kindergarten class wore a different fancy headband to school every day. Supposedly, I really liked these headbands. One day, I came home with three of her headbands in my little school bag. When questioned, I told my dad I gave her my pink ballet shoes for them. Not pleased about this, my dad marched into the classroom the next day to tell the teacher about the trade. They called Kim and me to the teacher's big desk in front of the blackboard and asked for an explanation of the trade. Before a word was spoken, Kim burst into sobs of fear. Allegedly, I looked at her, shook my head in disgust, and took charge of the situation. I informed them the trade was fair because Kim had a lot of headbands, and I didn't. I had a lot of ballet shoes, and she didn't. So since ballet shoes are bigger than headbands, we decided three headbands were the same as one pair of ballet shoes. I got to keep the headbands and Kim stopped crying when she found out that she could keep the shoes.
Ed relayed amusing stories of their hunting and fishing outings, and Mark complained about my dad's hatred of grass cutting and snow shoveling, which he insisted forced him into child slavery. Mark insisted that at his third birthday party, my dad handed him a big box with a huge bow--his very own junior lawn mower.
Over the course of an hour, the tales became more and more maudlin. Finally, I decided to end it. "Dad would be pissed if he heard us sounding so mushy. Yes, he probably would be proud of me today, and he would have enjoyed the party." I controlled my mouth and didn't say what I was really thinking: He would have been even prouder to know I got help for my moods and was taking a drug that seemed to be effective.
Steph excused herself to walk Tom to his car and never returned. After giving Kelsey good night kisses, my mom and Ed walked together down the driveway to their car, which was parked along the curb. Mark, Amy, and I did some final cleanup, and then it was time for me to say good night. After thanking them profusely, I offered my babysitting services for any weekend. Amy laughed. "Weekend--I want a week and your birthday ticket to Florida for this spread. The hugs ended, and I drove home, enjoying a glow emanating from my heart.
I opened my apartment door to find Steph and Tom cuddled on my sofa, wrapped in my favorite blanket, watching an old Indiana Jones movie. When I walked in, Steph, eyes never leaving the screen, thrust out my large plastic bowl. "Popcorn?"
"I didn't mean to interrupt your movie. Just ignore me. Pretend I don't live here," I said with a dramatic flail of my arms and my best humble bow. "I'll just sit alone on my bed. Maybe there will be an interesting spam message in my inbox I can read. Please don't worry about me and help yourself to my kitchen."
"Maggie, either sit down and watch the movie or talk to yourself in the other room," Steph replied, eyes remaining glued to the TV and the bowl still dangling from her out-stretched arm.
"I don't think I like Drama Queen Maggie," Tom then interjected. "Can you please pop some more popcorn while you're standing there?"
I grabbed the bowl from her hand and walked to the kitchen, wondering if this cousin dating my good friend was going to work out for me. The bell on the microwave rang, and I contemplated dumping the stuff on the lovebirds, but then I remembered they were sitting on my sofa, and I would have to clean it up. I put it on the table in front of them and waited for a thank you.
"You're welcome," I said as I walked down the hallway to the bathroom.
I crawled under the covers and flipped open my computer, planning to scan the news and then find a video to watch. Automatically, I opened my email, and there it was again--that name boldly lit up on the screen. I could feel my face heat up and a flopping sensation in my stomach, but I was pleased to find his name didn't totally paralyze me this time.
Hi, Maggie,
I can't believe you wrote back. I thought for sure you had forgotten me. I pictured you hitting the delete button before even reading the message. At least, we can honestly acknowledge that we haven't forgotten each other. How was the graduation party? According to Steph, it was great, and it looks like she is in love, yet again.
Believe it or not, I did go to medical school, Penn, and actually graduated--shocking, huh? Now I am finishing my first year of residency. I love this doctor stuff. Dr. Nick :) Sounds like a soap opera name.
Seriously, I am specializing in orthopedic surgery. I considered ear, nose, and throat, but dropped that idea after I had to go fishing up the nostrils of a four-year-old to remove a goldfish he tried to hide from his mom. I'm not talking about the cute little crackers.
Well, it was really nice to hear from you. -- Nick
Chuckling, I re-read the note. Soap opera, huh. I could hear the nurses, "Oh, Dr. Nick, I slipped in that comatose patient's room and twisted my ankle. Can you look at it, please?"
"Dr. Nick, it's my hip. It hurts every time I get on the treadmill at the gym. Can you help me?"
God was probably wondering why all the women in Philadelphia were praying to break bones. I started typing.
Nick,
How could I ever forget you? Some people you just don't forget, and you're one of them. I think you will be perfect in orthopedics, and if by chance, you screw up a knee or hip, feel free to hire me as your defense.
The party was great. My sister-in-law is a professional chef so, of course, the food was amazing. None of my crazy relatives did anything outlandish. Scratch that last sentence, Stephanie hooking up with my best law school friend is rather bizarre. Actually, they are currently snuggled up on my sofa, and I've been banished to my room. If she hurts him, I will kill her. My brief vacation will end tomorrow night, and cramming for the bar begins Monday morning.
How's Philadelph
ia these days? -- Maggie
***
The road to Ellwood forked near a little regional airport. Today was the day I promised to take Aunt Rose to visit Uncle Willy. I veered toward the right side of the fork and was treated to the view of a Cessna landing.
The bucolic landscape along Ellwood-Zelienople appeared to have been crafted by a cinematographer--lush rolling hills, a winding creek, mature trees, and the occasional quaint red barn. Time along this road didn't track by the minute. It prefered the dramatic. Colors defined time. Pink magnolias and white dogwood blooms announced spring. By the middle of the summer, the maple and oak leaves formed elegant emerald hats over long stretches of the road. Autumn ended in fireworks, as an explosion of yellows, oranges, and reds fluttered down to the earth.
Once I reached Ellwood, I crossed the bridge connecting the two sides of the town and drove up the hillside to Orchard Avenue. Aunt Rose sat on Mildred's front porch waiting for me. She looked so cute in her blue jeans, sneakers, and straw hat. She also appeared to be prepared with a big, old-fashioned tin watering can, garden tools, and gloves at her side. Jumping out of the car, I waved. "Are you ready to go, Aunt Rose?"
"Good Morning, Maggie." She waved and then bent over to gather her gardening supplies.
I sprinted up the steps. "No, Aunt Rose, let me carry those."
"Maggie," she huffed. "I'm old, not dead. I'll carry the tools, and you can carry the can. Do you think we could find a store in this town that sells geraniums or some other hardy flower I can put on Willy's grave?"
I closed the trunk of the car. "I can think of a couple of shops that may carry potted plants."
We made two stops before we located the geraniums. It turned out the woman behind the counter had some type of connection to Aunt Rose's childhood friend, and they chatted for fifteen minutes. I pretended to be engrossed in the herbs. At last, Aunt Rose indicated their conversation was over, and it was time for me to help carry the flowers to the car--two geraniums for Willy and white petunias for my dad.
She eased into the passenger side of the car, while I tried to figure out how to load the plants on the floor of the backseat so that they wouldn't topple over. Satisfied, that they were relatively secure, I wiped the dirt from my hands on my jeans and closed the trunk.
As I reached for the car door handle, I saw them walking toward the greenhouse from the other side of the parking lot, smiling. The pretty Asian girl held the door open, and Sam's mom walked into the shop.
In the instant that it took to process the site of them, I sucked in a mouthful of air, jumped into my car, and shut the door. Clenching the wheel, I prayed Sam's mom hadn't seen me.
"Is something wrong, Maggie?" Aunt Rose inquired.
"No, no," I replied. "Everything is fine. Let's go. There are quite a few dead people waiting for us." I put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking spot.
"You really do resemble your father when you fib. Your eyebrows flair."
"I'm sorry, Aunt Rose. I just saw two women, I never wanted to see together, walk into the greenhouse. The shock punched me in the stomach."
"Why would you not want to see these particular women together?"
I tried to calm my twisted-up insides by adjusting my rear-view mirror. "It was my ex-fiancé's mother, and the woman I believe he is currently seeing."
She sat silently for the briefest of moments, and then she leaned forward and patted my hand, the one that was not steering the car. "Would it be safe to say that you are still in love with him?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"I don't mean to pry, Maggie. I knew you were engaged to be married and then a few months later, my sister told me the marriage was off. She didn't offer an explanation."
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn't decide if it was just my normal thinking-about-Sam tears or because of the compassion saturating her voice. I had become so used to everyone telling me to forget Sam that relief flooded through me as I realized that she was willing to listen. "He left me because of my moods, which I now understand are not really moods, but bipolar disorder."
"Oh, Maggie. You, too?"
"Yeah, me too. I'm not as bad as Justin, though. My diagnosis is Bipolar 2, and my current drug combo is helping a lot. I want Sam back so badly, Aunt Rose, but he ran from my 'moods.' He would be freaked-out if he knew they were caused by a bona fide mental disease. He's an accountant, very organized, black and white, straight-line type of guy. He definitely won't want me now. Justin said it best, we're defective."
Aunt Rose's face flushed, and her eyebrows furled. It was an unfamiliar expression.
"Maggie Louise Hovis, you are not defective. Do you hear, me young lady? I never want to hear that word pass by your lips again, ever. Mildred always called George and Ella defective. The only reason she wouldn't say it about your grandma was because your grandma had the two beautiful boys. If Mildred called my sister Grace defective, Grace would have lashed back at her. Your grandma, my sister, rest her soul, was the sweetest, kindest sister anyone could ask for, but she knew how to put Mildred in her place. If you really love this young man, do not let some stupid disease stand in your way. Maybe if Mildred hadn't harped on Ella's 'defectiveness,' she would have been fine living outside of that hospital. I know that George wouldn't have run off to Cleveland."
She stopped talking, and an uneasy silence hung over the car. Rose dropped her eyes to her lap.
"I don't know if you've ever heard this, Maggie, but there is a saying that the eyes are windows to the soul. I only believe this is true because I spent many years watching Ella's soul suffer. She lived in this world, but was never really part of it. Her body ate, slept, and breathed in the same house as me, but her soul was stuck in some horrible nightmare of a place.
"Don't get me wrong, Maggie, there were days that her soul visited the family. She smiled, drew pictures, and once, I remember hearing her singing on the back porch. I could always tell when she was with us, her movement became ethereal. To this day, I can't watch ballet. The airy steps of the dancers remind me too much of Ella. But mostly, she cried in her bed or sat motionless in a rocking chair next to the fireplace.
"Mildred always said that grief over our mother's death put Ella in that hospital, but the truth is we put her there because people in the neighborhood were talking about her and this embarrassed Mildred. Your grandma and I were against it, but we were young and couldn't fight against Mildred. George just walked away."
By this time, my car had passed through the huge gothic wrought-iron gate that divided the living from the dead. I parked the car, but didn't move to get out. I wanted her to keep talking.
"Ella's caretaker at the hospital, Millicent, said that Ella had many good days. Millicent loved Ella like a daughter, and Ella loved her. I think that knowing Ella was safe with Millicent is what prevented your grandma and me from dying of guilt.
"Back in about 1968, there was a huge family battle because your grandma said that she was going to bring Ella home and take care of her. By this time, Mildred was married to Max and positioned herself as something of a socialite in town. She was president of this club and vice president of this charity and, of course, she had her country club membership. The thought of having her mentally ill sister seen on Lawrence Avenue mortified her.
"Your grandfather, Arthur, sided with Mildred, not because he didn't want Ella in his house. He would have taken her in. But he was always worried about my sister's health. Your dad and Roy were a handful. So Ella stayed at the hospital. She died of cancer. I sat next to her during the last days. She knew the end was near. Grace and I asked her if she wanted to spend the rest of her days at home. She said, 'What home?' She was right, having a home implied living. She spent her time on earth caged.
"Do you understand what I am saying, Maggie? Our time made us believe Ella was defective. Now, I know the truth. Ella was a beautiful angel with an injured wing. Instead of trying to help to heal the wound, we cut off her wing. She had many gifts. If they ha
d been nurtured, who knows? Maybe she would have become a famous artist or a beautiful ballerina. Heal your wound, Maggie. Don't cut off your own wing. Be happy and share your talents and love with the world."
Tears streamed down both of our faces. I leaned over and wrapped my arms gently around her. "I love you, Aunt Rose."
"Oh, Maggie, I loved you even before you were born." Then she reached into her straw bag and pulled out a faded, pansy-embroidered handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
"Come on, let's plant some flowers and talk to some dead people," I said. "Aunt Rose, just so you know, as soon as I get my first paycheck, I'm buying a tombstone for Ella."
"And I will fly to Ellwood on the day of its unveiling."
Once we reached the graves, our mood had lightened, but the streak of honesty continued. She talked about Willy and his girlfriends. She knew everyone gossiped about his cheating, but marriage was a life of commitment, and she really did love him very much. We discussed her fear of Barbara being alone after Aunt Rose was gone. In a shocking statement, she said, "Really, I don't care if Barbara finds a man or a woman. I just want her to have someone to love. Life is so empty without it. That's why you have to follow your heart, in regard to Sam. If you think he is worth it, fight for him."
She dug the holes for the plants while I toted the watering can back and forth between the grave and the only water spigot. When the planting was finished, we walked the rows of graves. Growing up, I had always hated the fact that I knew everyone in town and was related to at least half of them. That day, Aunt Rose taught me the same phenomenon applied to the cemetery. She pointed out the graves of old neighbors, school friends, and a few former boyfriends, which she referred to as beaus. At some graves, she would stop for a moment to relay a memory. At others, she stared silently. When we reached her parent's grave, she bent down on her knees to say a prayer. I kneeled next to her and faced the empty grave. I wasn't praying, but my heart apologized to Ella and promised her a marker.
Defective Page 18