Lost in the Reflecting Pool

by Diane Pomerantz

  “Are you okay?” a tall woman in her thirties, with a short blonde bob, asked as I sat there.

  “We have more people going into this ravine than you would believe. We’re trying to get them to do something about it,” the older woman said.

  “I think I’m okay, just a little disoriented,” I said, as I opened the door and found I was able to move and was beginning to recognize where I was, although I still felt very dazed. The irony of where this accident occurred would come to me only later.

  “I’m Christine, and this is my mom, Katherine,” the younger woman said. “Would you like to come in, sit down, and make a phone call?” She was lovely.

  “I think I can take care of it with my cell phone, but I appreciate it, and if I do need anything, I’ll be sure to knock. Thank you so much. I think I’m okay.”

  “Well, I’ll put a call in to the police,” Christine said, “so they can get over here and get you towed and all. If you need anything, we’ll be in the kitchen.”

  I thanked them as they smiled and walked back to their house. I then stood looking at my car. I had no idea how much damage there was. I now knew where I was, but I had no idea what had happened.

  A police car arrived as I was standing there, and I explained as much as I recalled.

  “Were you speeding?” the officer asked.

  “No,” I responded.

  “Any alcohol or drugs?” he asked.

  “No alcohol. I take some prescription medication for anxiety, but only what is prescribed,” I told him, certain that he was thinking that there was some substance involved in this accident.

  “Well, I’ll call a tow truck, but I think you really ought to call your doctor right away to see what happened.” He seemed to be softening somewhat as he spoke. “Do you know where you want the car towed, and do you have someone to call to pick you up?” he asked.

  “The car can go to Heritage Subaru,” I said, “and I can call someone to pick me up.”

  “Okay, I’ll stay here until both the tow truck and your ride get here. You can sit in the back of the cruiser if you’d like.” He pointed to his car, which was just a couple of feet behind us.

  After sitting down in the cruiser, I tried to call my dad, but he didn’t answer. Interestingly, I didn’t even think about calling Charles. I tried a couple of friends who lived close by, but none of them answered, either. Finally, I called Peg. She was still at her office but was between patients. When she picked up the phone, relief and gratitude surged through me.

  “Hi, Peg, I hate to bother you, but I just had a car accident.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine, but my car isn’t, and I have no way to get the kids or get home. I didn’t know if you were still seeing patients or if you might be done for the day and could help me out.”

  “Di, I have two more patients. I’ll help afterward if you still need help, but you should make Charles take some responsibility. He is much closer to where you are than I am, and he is your husband and the father of your children. He should help you.” I could tell that she was annoyed.

  “I guess I’ve stopped even considering him as someone to ask for anything, but you’re right.”

  “Call him and tell him to get his ass over there and pick you up and then pick the kids up. You’ve always done everything for him. Let him take some responsibility. Listen, I have to go, but call me back if you still need my help.” She hung up.

  I knew Peg was right, and I also felt as if I was taking advantage of my friends, asking too much of them. My rage at Charles began to swell, but I took a deep breath and called him anyway.

  “Charles, I just had an accident. I’m on St. John’s Lane, and my car isn’t drivable. It has to be towed. I need you to pick me up, and then we’re going to need to pick the kids up from school.”

  There was a long pause. Then he said, “Listen, I’m really busy. I don’t think I can get away from the office right now.”

  “Well, what do you suggest I do? Walk to the nearest hospital? You don’t even know whether or not I’m injured. The kids can fend for themselves, right?” That was certainly the mild version of what I was thinking and feeling.

  Charles reconsidered and said, “Okay, I’ll be right over,” but never once did he ask about what had happened or how I was.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I WAS DIAGNOSED WITH A SEIZURE DISORDER. THE DOCTORS were uncertain whether there was a relationship between my high-dose chemotherapy and the development of my seizures, but, after they did a complete workup, the findings were clear: it wasn’t inattention, it wasn’t stress; the anti-anxiety medication I was taking was lowering my seizure threshold. The neurologist took me off that medication and placed me on medication for the seizures.

  The medication did help, and my inexplicable falls and car accidents stopped for quite some time. I didn’t mention anything about it to Charles.

  Dad went with me to look at cars, and I got a used minivan. Sammy and I picked Elli up from school in it, and he asked, “What do you think, Elli? Do you like it?”

  “Hey, this is cool. I like the color. . . . It would be even nicer, though, if we could watch movies in it,” Elli said, as she looked everything over.

  “That’s what I said, too, but that would have been too expensive. Mom said she’ll get us a DVD player for trips,” Sammy added.

  “Oh, that’ll be good . . . thanks, Mom.”

  As was the custom when we had tacos for dinner, we all worked together to prepare the meal. The kids chopped up vegetables and all the toppings and set up everything in bowls on the dinner table while I got the meat ready. It was a meal that we always enjoyed.

  As we ate, I reminded them about the house we’d be moving to after their dad I separated. “Would you like to drive over there this evening?” I asked.

  “Yes,” they said.

  “Can I bring my new clock to put in my room?” Sammy asked.

  “Of course, if you’d like to.” The words were hardly out of my mouth when Sammy was upstairs, retrieving his clock.

  So, that evening, with our new vehicle, the kids and I drove over to see the new house. They had both gotten funny alarm clocks for their new rooms, and they had shown them to Charles. That’s how he’d found out that they knew about the separation. He had been furious with me that I had told them without discussing it with him. He had wanted us to tell them together. As if we did anything together. I wasn’t doing it the way the experts said to do it, even though I happened to be one of those experts to whom parents turned to for advice about such matters. My advice to parents was never that black and white. There was always a context in which all decisions had to be made. Charles, on the other hand, always knew the “right” way to do everything.

  He had distanced me so completely, I was nonexistent in his world. With that, I was beginning to function as if he didn’t exist in my world. As much as I knew the “correct” way to handle telling the children, I also had a new understanding that in reality, life and theory weren’t always the same. Decisions in life could not be black and white. It would be counterproductive to have a universal principle upon which someone always made a decision.

  I hadn’t really even planned to tell them when I did. It had just occurred in the natural course of my life with my children, with whom I spent every day. I had made that decision based upon their needs and our needs in our life. I was beginning to trust my own judgment again.

  There certainly would be many times afterward when I would be encased in a knot of doubt, but the obsessive ruminating that followed had more to do with my unrelenting and unrealistic wish for Charles to approve of me and to love me.

  “You call yourself a child psychologist?” Charles sneered at me in disgust after he learned that I had told the children about the separation and the move. He seemed to like that phrase—it had become a common refrain.

  “I do, Charles. I also call myself a mother, and I also refuse to be the target of your sad
ism anymore.”

  He turned and walked away. At least now I could defend myself without raging. My insides, though, still felt as if a vise had a stranglehold around them.

  The days were longer now, and so when the kids and I pulled up in front of our new townhouse that evening, it was still light and the courtyard was a kaleidoscope of colors and a cacophony of kid noises. Laughter, the sound of balls hitting pavement, and squeals of both delight and frustration echoed in the air.

  “Wow, do all these kids live here?” Sam’s eyes were wide with excitement, his head out of the car window, as I pulled into what would be our parking space.

  “I think they probably live somewhere nearby. I told you there would be a lot of kids to play with.” I could tell they were nervously excited. “Let’s go inside so you can see your rooms and the rest of the house, and then maybe you’ll want to come out and meet some of the kids.”

  Before we could even open the doors of the van, children began to surround us.

  A slim, dark-haired girl of about fourteen smiled as she walked over. “Are you the new people who are moving in? My name is Carol.”

  “I’m Sam, and this is my sister, Elli.” He was already out of the car and ready to play. His sister stood by, taking it all in.

  “There are so many kids around here,” Sam said, as a boy smaller than he came over and introduced himself.

  “Hi, I’m Bubba. I live in the end house over there. I’m six. I have three brothers and two sisters. That girl over there with the long ponytail is my sister Kaitlin—she’s eleven—and that girl in the blue T-shirt, drinking from the water bottle, she’s my sister Jenna. She’s nine. My big brothers aren’t here right now.”

  Pleased at this unexpected chance to meet the neighborhood kids, I walked over to the house, unlocked the door, and went into the kitchen, leaving Elli and Sam outside with an ever-increasing circle of new friends around them. Elli followed me in a few moments later.

  “Oh, I like the kitchen,” she said, as she walked through the first floor, opening doors and walking out onto the deck. “There’s even a fireplace.” She smiled. I followed her as she climbed the stairs to see the bedrooms.

  “This will be my room.” I pointed to the room on the left as we reached the top step.

  “I like all the windows, and it’s big. It doesn’t look this big from outside. Where’s my room?”

  We walked past the hallway bathroom. “You and Sam will share this bathroom,” I said, as we approached the two rooms at the end of the hallway. Elli walked into each room, carefully assessing them. The windows faced the courtyard, and she walked over and looked out.

  “Sammy, come on in so we can choose bedrooms.” He looked up and laughed when he saw his sister in the window.

  “I’ll be right back,” Sam called to the kids he was talking to, as he ran toward the door.

  “Hey, this is cool,” I heard him say as he ran around the first floor and then up the stairs. “Momma, there are so many kids here,” he added when he appeared. “This is great!”

  “I want this room,” Elli declared, standing in the room that was somewhat larger.

  “I wanted that room.” Sam glared at Elli.

  I intervened to prevent them from arguing: “First, everyone can choose the color they want their room to be.”

  “Green, dark green,” Elli continued. “I know exactly the color I want.”

  “I want blue, definitely blue,” Sam said.

  Deciding who would get the larger room was going to be more of an issue. I knew Elli really wanted the larger room and that she was also struggling more with her place in the world than Sammy was. Honestly, I didn’t have the energy to deal with one of her moods.

  “Okay, let’s figure this out. Sam, you’ve been wanting bunk beds, right?”

  “Oh, yes!” His face shone with delight.

  “Sam, if you take this room”—I pointed to the smaller room—“we can paint it a great blue and put bunk beds on this wall. How would that be?” I asked, knowing that I had been a bit manipulative in getting the choices made in the least problematic way. I knew that Sam was much easier in these ways; he would love his bunk bed and his blue walls. I also knew I had avoided one of Elli’s meltdowns.

  “Great, Momma!” Sam shouted, as he ran downstairs to see the basement.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Elli hugged me and smiled, and then we followed Sam down to the basement. “Is Poppy going to live with us?” she asked.

  “Yup, we’re going to make the basement into his own space. But there will still be room for you guys to use the basement, too. We’ll have the air-hockey table down there. How do you feel about Poppy living with us and about the move?”

  Elli shrugged her shoulders. “It’s just so many changes. I guess it will be okay,” she said, as she started to explore the basement.

  The doorbell rang, and the kids ran up to see who it was. I followed behind. There stood Carol, Bubba, and several others.

  “We’re going to play Capture the Flag. Want to play?” Carol asked, looking first at my kids and then at me.

  “Can we?” they asked at once.

  “Sure, have fun,” I said, and they were out the door before I could say anything else. I smiled as I walked back inside and went out onto the back deck, just listening to the sounds of the evening air and the children’s play on the other side of the house. Maybe this would work out. Maybe this would be a community for all of us.

  There had been several women sitting in the courtyard as we drove in, and they had waved. I decided I’d go out and meet them. Becky ran into her house to get another glass and poured me some wine, and this group of women immediately welcomed me. Amy, Laura, Becky, and Ann were all divorced, professional women with kids who were the same ages as my kids. A new world of neighborly support was beginning.

  It was nine o’clock when we walked through the door of our old house. Charles was already home. Elli said “Hi” to him and walked up the stairs to her room. Sam, upon seeing Charles, ran to him, climbing onto him, with tales of his new friendships.

  “There are so many kids.” Sam’s face exploded with excitement; then he added, “And everyone plays together. It was like a hundred kids were there. Right, Momma?”

  Charles smiled and seemed to listen attentively to him, without saying anything. His eyes were glazed, and my own tightening chest and suddenly foggy brain let me know that he was not pleased. It wasn’t anything he said; it was the almost imperceptible tightening of the muscles in his jaw, the twitch in the corner of his mouth, and the slight stiffening of his shoulders that told me, without words, that his inner pressure was building. These non-verbal signs had for years kept me gingerly and unconsciously walking on eggshells. Now, at least I recognized what my body was telling me.

  “Sounds like it was a busy evening.” Charles spoke in slow and measured words. “I think it’s pretty late, a lot later than you should have been out, so let’s get up to bed.” He put his arm around Sam, shot me that tight, forced smile again, and walked toward the stairs.

  “Momma, are you going to come up and read to us?” Sam craned his neck under Charles’s arm to look back at me.

  “I’ll be up in a few minutes, sweetie.” I smiled at him. “Maybe Daddy wants to read to you tonight.”

  “I do,” Charles quickly responded.

  “Oh, good. Momma, maybe you can sit with us while Daddy reads,” Sam said, with a tinge of hopefulness in his voice.

  “Why don’t you have some special time with Daddy? I’ll come in for hugs and kisses before you fall asleep,” I said.

  I walked into Elli’s room, hoping we would have a chance to talk about what she thought of the new house and new neighborhood. “Elli,” I started to say, and realized that the visit to the house must have really drained her. The light was on; Vivaldi’s Four Seasons was playing on her tape player. She had clearly started to get out of her clothes and into her pajamas, but there she lay, asleep, clothes half-on. Her still-cherubic face
was surrounded by her blond curls; her old stuffed dog, Ak, was against her cheek, a bit of worn but remaining fur moving in a self-soothing way between her two fingers. I stood in the doorway, watching her, before walking over to the bed. I pulled the comforter over her and gently placed a kiss on her cheek. Eyes still closed, she smiled and whispered, “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you, too.” I hugged her again, letting myself hold her for a bit as she fell back to sleep. I shut the light off, leaving on Vivaldi. I stood in the doorway, feeling gratitude for my beautiful children.

  I walked into Sam’s room, where I found Sam and Charles all sprawled out on the bed. Charles, half sitting, with his back against the footboard, was also asleep, holding Harry Potter open on his chest. I pulled a cover over Sam and kissed him. Then, before leaving the room, I looked at the two of them, so peaceful as they slept. I turned on the night-light, shut off the lamp, and left the room, but I had a desire to hug them both and to lie together with them—something that would never be again.

  The next day, in distant and formal tones, Charles told me that he was going to find a place for himself.

  “Sounds like a good idea,” I said, in my neutral therapist voice. I was just beginning to, sometimes, be able to stay disengaged. It was easier to do that when Charles was distant and formal with me. It was harder when he spoke to me in the intimately casual conversations of everyday life. At those times, I could still be drawn in. When I was drawn in, I always said too much, revealed my inner thoughts and feelings, only to then be surprised anew by the ugly words he wrote about me in his journal or in his e-mails to Victoria. Nevertheless, even though I still behaved in ways that were futile efforts to connect with Charles, and even though I was still knocking my head against a wall, the patterns were becoming clearer. Everything Charles did was planned and calculated. He always had an ulterior motive. I was thankful that I would soon be away from the critical and judgmental toxins that surrounded me.

  I was scrambling eggs for breakfast when Charles walked into the kitchen.