Dream Lover: Pam of Babylon Book #3

by Suzanne Jenkins

  Suddenly lighthearted and carefree, the last thing she wanted to do was to talk to her kids about AIDS, but then thought it might be the best time. It would take a lot to get her down. She tried to remember why she went into that damn den in the first place; it was to get paper to write a script. No longer needing the support, she would just come and out and tell them.

  Making herself a cup of coffee, she took it and the phone out to the veranda. She’d call Brent first; he was often the quieter of the two children. He may need more from her than Lisa. Brent answered on the first ring. He was alone; studying for a quiz, chillin’ out.

  “Brent, I want to say something to you, so just hear me out, will you dear? I’ll give you plenty of opportunity to ask questions.”

  “Jeez Mom, are you getting married again?” He asked, with just a hint of teasing in his voice. “Sorry,” he said when she didn’t respond right away.

  “Brent, I was ill a few weeks ago and the tests came back positive for AIDS. It sounds worse than it is. The stigma is the most unfortunate part of it.” She had the slightest tremor to her voice, barely noticeable to anyone but those who knew her well. Her son picked up on it immediately. Brent didn’t say anything. Pam allowed the silence, not knowing what to say to break it.

  “I heard you, Mom. But I’m speechless. I need to think for a minute.” He wanted her to know he was listening, but he had nothing to say because it didn’t mean anything to him. He almost wished he was appalled, that he could start screaming and hang up on her. But that wasn’t where he was being taken. He thought of AIDS and what it meant. Certain death? He’d just lost his father. What would it be like to be an orphan at the age of twenty-two? The first question he had was where did she get AIDS? But he wouldn’t do that to his mother. His lovely, perfect mother. His brain finally clicked into gear.

  “Mom, how awful for you! How can I help you?” Brent asked, head bowed, just hopeful she wasn’t all that sick. Pam had a wave of relief flow over her.

  “Thank you Brent. I’m doing well, better than I thought. Redoubling all my efforts in the fitness and health routine. It seems to be paying off.” She wanted to move on now, call Lisa and get that over with, but she knew he had to have questions that he may not know how to ask. “Do you need any information about AIDS? You can still hug me. I can cook for you when you’re home and you will be safe.” Pam struggled to get those last words out. Would he ever want to come home again?

  “I know about AIDS, Mom. You better be planning Thanksgiving dinner since you are talking about cooking for me!” They laughed. She was relieved he was planning on spending the day with her. “I’m worried about you, though. Are you sure you are okay?” He didn’t add, because my great dad gave you AIDS.

  “I’m fine, Brent. Telling you and Lisa has been my biggest concern. Thank you for being so gracious. If you don’t have any questions for me now, I am going to say goodbye because I have to call Lisa.” I hope she takes it as well as you did, she thought. “I love you, son. Thank you again.” That tremor. They said goodbye and Pam hung up the phone. She was emotionally spent, the lump in her thought making breathing difficult. She put her head down on her arm and started to cry.

  Brent was her talisman, her touchstone all of his life. She’d heard other mothers talking about their sons like they were gods, and although she didn’t quite look at him like that, she understood where they were coming from. Brent had a charm about him that was honest and kind. She believed him when he complimented her. He had no reason to lie to his mother, unlike his father. Pam remembered her own father weeping at the dinner table one night, telling his daughters that their presence on earth validated him as a man. That is what Brent’s birth did for Pam. Confessing her health problems to him was the most grievous thing she could imagine doing to him. What a way to reward her son after all he had given to her. It just made her sick. Her anger at Jack renewed yet again, she wished she could destroy another piece of furniture before she called Lisa. And then she thought of something better, more satisfying. She visualized taking that wonderful sludge hammer to Jack’s beloved Lexus. It brought a smile to her face, seeing the windshield smashed in her mind’s eye, the roof collapsed in, the doors and hoods bashed in. Never one to concentrate on the negative, this meditation was having a powerful effect on her.

  Pam took a deep breath and felt like she was ready to make that second, difficult call. She picked up the phone again and dialed Lisa’s number, who was just getting in from her morning run. Lisa launched right in and Pam allowed her to chatter on, her daughter assuming her mother called for a moment by moment description of how she had spent her day. After a few minutes, Lisa asked her mother how she was doing.

  “How’s everything at the beach?” Lisa asked. “What’s the weather like?” She was living on Oahu and her days were always the same; bright, sunny and blue skied, except for fifteen minutes of rain midmorning. They chatted about the weather and finally, Pam got the nerve to get down to business.

  “Lisa, I’m calling today because I have something to tell you,” she began. “This sounds much worse than it is. I found out I have AIDS. I was sick with the flu and the doctor ran some tests.” Pam, out of breath, stopped talking, waiting for a response. She heard a sniffle, but there was no screaming, yet.

  “Oh, God Mother, I don’t even know what to say to you.” Lisa responded. “How do you feel?” She asked, which caught Pam off guard. It wasn’t like her daughter to think about someone else. Maybe she was growing up!

  “Amazingly, I feel great! And I’m not just saying that, Lisa. I redoubled my efforts at fitness and nutrition and think it is paying off. The doctor is certainly happy,” Pam repeated, leaving out the details about decreased viral loads. Some things just didn’t need to be said.

  “I’m so glad!” Lisa said. “I’m still numb, but at least you feel good.” There was a few seconds of silence and Pam decided to get out while the getting was good. They proclaimed their love for each other and said their goodbyes. Pam hung up the phone. She remained sitting on the veranda for the next hour as the sun sank lower in the sky and she was left in the dusk. She sipped her coffee, long grown cold, and looked out over the water, the reflection of the setting sun behind the house throwing a bright orange glow on the water. Soon, the only lights she would see would be the landscaping lights which lead down the wooden path to the beach, and a few lighted boats yet out on the water.

  She imagined fishermen returning home from a day of fishing, the smell of brine, the catch on ice in the holds. And a cruise ship or two, headed toward New York Harbor. She and Jack had never taken a cruise, or even gone on a vacation aside from seeing Brent in California. When he was home for a week or two or three during the summer, he wanted to stay right there. She would fantasize that he wanted to stay with the family because he had missed them so much. But now she wondered if he needed to regroup, his hectic, confusing life getting the best of him and the only way he could manage was to step away from it for a while. It didn’t make any difference to her. She loved her home and when the family was all there, she was never happier. It made no difference to her what he was doing while he was in town, because it didn’t affect her at all. Pam snickered to herself. They were a perfect match, she and Jack. He wanted to play, and she wanted to be left alone. Oh well, she thought. I asked for it. Pushing herself away from the table, she got up to go into the house. She was hungry for a change, and would prepare a real meal. It was the least she could do. She owed it to her children to continue taking care of herself.

  Chapter 32

  Brent

  Well, I just got some shitty news. I don’t even know how to react or what to think. Your life goes in one direction for a while and then suddenly without warning, it swerves in another direction, or out of control.

  My dad died five months ago. He was healthy, vital, and young for his age, and he just up and croaked on me. I barely saw him all year except for the holidays and when he surprised me by coming out to California for m
y birthday. I should have known something was wrong, because he talked to me like he had never talked before, intimately and at times with tears. My dad was the type of guy who didn’t talk about his feelings much. When we were young, he spent every second that he was home from work playing with me and my sister and I always felt like that was evidence enough of his love for us. I never, ever felt like he was ignoring me, or neglecting me. I think Lisa feels the same way.

  Evidently, there had been some issue that I wasn’t aware of, because about three hours ago, my mother called here and told me she has AIDS. I know my mother, and unless she shot up, the only place she could have gotten it was from my father. She says she just found out that she was sick. You have to know my mother to appreciate this contradiction. My mother is perfect. I’m not just saying this because she is mine. Ask anyone. Our friends, the neighbors, the guy who cuts our grass. My mother and AIDS just don’t make sense. It’s not possible.

  Back to my father. I wonder if he knew and told her and she didn’t want to disrupt our lives further by telling us about it too close to his death. Ha! I can imagine my sister. We haven’t talked yet. She did try to call me, but I didn’t answer. I have to straighten out my own screwed up feelings before I can address hers. My mother said not to worry, that she was healthy. Again, you have to know my mother. She’s never missed a day at the gym except for when my dad died. She had her gall bladder out not too long ago and went back to the gym the next day, just to walk on the treadmill, she said. She could have very well walked on the beach, but there was something about the momentum of getting there daily that was important to her. I drove her because she wasn’t supposed to drive yet. I never begrudged doing anything for my parents.

  Healthy eating is a big issue with my mother. My aunt had anorexia; yeah, us kids weren’t supposed to know, but neither Lisa nor I are stupid. We could see her not eating and getting thinner and thinner and then one weekend, she didn’t come for her visit. My mother has always been a stickler about nutrition, especially for us kids. She would eat like a bird, but it was healthy stuff. We never had fast food when we were small. I remember crying for a chicken nugget when I was about five. She tried making them for us, but it wasn’t the same.

  Some of my earliest memories are of my mother, running behind our stroller. She had one that both of us kids could ride in. She’d run across town from the west side to the east and back. She was attractive and always commanded a lot of looks. My dad didn’t hide the fact that her looks were a big selling point with him. “I noticed your mom the first time I laid eyes on her,” he said. “I knew I would try to get to know her better.” Or, “I’m lucky your mom would look my way,” he’d say. Her response was always the same; a laugh and “Oh yeah, right.” She thought he was being smart, but he meant it. He always told Lisa and I how much he loved our mother. Do all fathers do that? Now I wonder if he wasn’t trying to convince us of it, afraid maybe we saw something that would lead us to believe otherwise.

  I grew up never worried, never forced to hear or see things that would make me wonder how safe I was. I know other kids didn’t have that luxury; I remember hearing stories from my friends and I would think how can they sleep at night? One kid’s dad got hauled off by the police to jail, and another had a mother who drank too much. On one of the rare nights that I slept at a friend’s house, his parents got into a fight while I was there, screaming at each other with the children all crying. I got so scared I called my mom and she came right over to get me. I never asked to sleep over again and she wouldn’t have allowed it anyway.

  She wasn’t overprotective, either. Lisa and I were allowed to do a lot of things that other kids couldn’t do because my mother said she wanted us to have that experience. My parents didn’t bat an eye when I told them I wanted to go to UCLA and then Lisa wanted to go Oahu. My mother was a little concerned about getting us home from so far away if we ever got sick but as it turned out, in four years I have never had to leave school because I didn’t feel well. With Lisa, so far so good.

  Every year, my parents rented a house in San Diego during Thanksgiving and they and Lisa met me. It was the only time I have ever known my parents to leave New York. Why the hell am I doing this to myself? During the summer, my mother mentioned coming here for the holidays, but now I am sure that idea is kaput. She is sick and alone in Babylon without her husband or kids and I’m whining about having to go home so she can cook a turkey for me. I don’t allow myself to think about my dad too much; trying to hold back the tears never works and I share a room with three other guys. Now there is the real possibility that I could lose my mother, as well. That is truly the only issue I have; the loss of my mother. I am not ready to be an orphan! I don’t want her to die. I’m sure that later on, the question of my father’s contribution to this will be something I am going to have to deal with, but right now, I don’t care. I’m going to go on believing I had the two best parents a kid could have and nothing they can ever do will change the way I feel about them.

  Chapter 33

  Lisa

  Oh God! I don’t know if I want to talk about this yet! How can this be happening to my family? First my dad, now my mother? No friggin way! I can’t lose her. There is no one in my family who could ever take her place, even as a stand in. I can’t believe that there is the remotest possibility that she won’t always be at the beach, waiting for me and Brent. It was horrible learning that my dad had died. It’s only been five months since he’s been gone. I’m not used to it yet by a long shot. I just told her during the Fourth of July vacation that I didn’t want to come home so often, that it was too difficult with dad not being there! How could I have said that to her! I apologized today when she called and she immediately said it was no problem, she hadn’t given it a thought. It was her usual, gracious way of handling any slight Brent and I have passed her way; complete forgiveness. She has been such an unbelievable role model, but I could never live up to her standard.

  She and I have a great relationship. Even when I was a teenager in high school, I knew that my mom would always hear me out about any topic. A big one in my house was who I could date. My mom liked keeping that to a small circle of boys she knew from my school. They had to be in my grade, from Babylon, going to Babylon High. If she was feeling really generous, she’d let me go out with someone from Saint Benedicts. But only if the kid lived in the neighborhood and only if he was in the same grade. I wasn’t allowed to date anyone older, not even if he was still in high school.

  My mom is about as perfect as you can get for a parent. She must have never slept at night to accomplish all she did every day, the way she took care of us kids and my dad. My mom served a home cooked meal every single night of my life, with a set table and fresh flowers in the center. She used to laugh when we asked what was for dinner; her reply was always the same. She’d say, “a starch, a protein, a vegetable, and a dessert.” And it was! My mother never served hot dogs for dinner unless they were done on the grill with a bakery bun. And then she would have homemade potato salad and baked beans.

  I know my mom dotes on me. My friends were all jealous of the treatment I got at home. Since I was a little girl, my mother helped me with my bath, washing my hair, massaging my feet, giving me facials and pedicures. It’s what we did. Beauty night, she called it. My mom talked to me about growing up, menstruation and that sort of thing, when I was just eight. She was so worried I wouldn’t be prepared. I had my own stash of personal products, too. Everything I would ever need I had, and then some. I saw my mom spend extra time on my clothes, making sure I had plenty of underwear and socks, and when I started to develop, I was the first one in my class to have a wardrobe of bras. Overindulged? Probably. I knew that it was from her own childhood; she told me once that when she was about six, her mother had complained that she smelled in front of her grandmother, and the adults laughed at her. She went to her room and changed her underwear, not aware that she should have been doing it daily because no one had taught her. After that,
she made it her business to know everything there was to know about hygiene and to put into practice the measures she used all of her life; continuous bathing, primping, caring for herself. I am not quite as bad as Mom, but almost. My brother is the quintessential metrosexual….trust me when I say he is Pam Junior, but in a nice way.

  This is why I cannot believe that my mother has AIDS. It just can’t be. In the first place, I refuse to believe that my father, someone who was always referred to teasingly as Mr. Perfect, would ever, ever have something so disgusting. Where did she get it? I can almost imagine, but I am not ready to go there. I don’t see my mother being unfaithful to my dad. In the first place, she wouldn’t have had time! She was too busy running around taking care of everyone. I have two aunts and two grandmothers and my mother alone prepared every holiday meal I have eaten in my recollection. As a matter of fact, I have never been to my aunt’s homes or eaten a meal they prepared. Everyone wanted to come to the beach, even in the winter. And my mom never complained. I have never heard her say she was tired, or that she dreaded a holiday. She would start preparing for Thanksgiving in September, decorating the house and yard right after Labor Day. On Black Friday, she would get the handyman in to get the Christmas decorations down from the rafters in the garage. He’s string the lights all over the outside of the house. My mom never forgot anyone on Christmas. People didn’t just come to our house to eat; she bought gifts for everyone too, thoughtful gifts, not just token presents. She sent cards, and this past year, we reached a new all-time high of cards received; over one thousand. My dad teased her unmercifully, said he would cut off her postage allowance if she sent out a thousand cards in return. She winked at me; I think she had surpassed that years ago. The extended family spent all three summer holidays at the beach. The Memorial Day Party was an annual event from the first year they moved to Babylon. My parents didn’t spare any expense, getting a lavish fireworks display out over the ocean, renting out the entire bed and breakfast down the beach from our house, and my mother preparing everything that would be served. My grandmother Nelda made potato salad. That was the sole contribution to a spread for a hundred people.