by John Bloom
Candy listened to Pat’s description of theoretical science with only feigned interest, but she managed on two occasions to direct the conversation toward children (Pat liked them) and animals (Pat was allergic to cats and dogs). They agreed to write, and before they parted Pat kissed her at the door.
Two or three days later, Candy ran into Frances.
“I’ve met the man I’m going to marry,” she said.
“What’s his name?” asked Frances.
“I don’t remember. I think his name is Pete.”
Dear Pat,
It’s lunch time (I’m at work) so I guess I’ll write you, since I said I would. I hope you didn’t over sleep too much this morning. It was nice talking to you even though it was past our bed time. Next time, maybe you should call earlier, huh?…
How are things in Dallas? It rained out here today—you should have been here with your car since you just waxed it. But it’s probably raining in Dallas too, or at least it will soon, just for your car. The next time you’re here, if you drive, I’ll help you wax the poor thing and then we can do a rain-go-away-for-now dance. Okay? Aren’t the responsibilities of ownership terrible? At least the inside of your car is clean.
If you have a few minutes some time, write me and let me know how you are. I like to get letters from people.…
As always,
Candy
Dear Candy,
You have got my card by now and know I fell asleep on the couch last night before I could write you. I didn’t get up and go into bed until 4 A.M.—I hurt all over!…
Did Mother say anything about us being together til 4:30? I don’t think she would. Do you know what she told me Sunday about you? She said she liked everything about you except you smoke! I like everything about you except you smoke. I guess we’re even—what-not for smoking.…
What did your Mom and Dad think of me—you think they think enough of me and you to let you come and visit a weekend? Cause if you can’t come here—I’ll have to come back to El Paso! If you were here we really could go to Six Flags Over Texas, the Zoo, the Southland Life Building to eat dinner, and we could even stay at my place and go swimming and listen to music or watch TV one evening.… Very seriously, have your mom call my mom if you think it would help to get her approval.… There’s only one way we are going to be able to assure ourselves of our feelings toward one another and that’s to see one another as often as possible.
I’ll write tomorrow—but I’ll think about you all tonight.
Love always,
Pat
Dearest Pat,
Well, how are you? Other than far away I mean. I miss you.
I just finished rolling my hair and taking my shower. Now I’m all ready to write you a long letter, but I don’t know where to start. There are so many things I want to let you know about. I wonder if I should start with me or Mom. I guess me first.
I like you an awful lot, but I guess you could tell. Or if you couldn’t, I do. (and I miss you.) Tonight I was telling Mamma about how wonderful you are and she said, on several occasions, that I was going crazy. But she also said that it was nice to see me enthusiastic about someone. She said it had been so long she thought I had forgotten how. And I think it’s nice that I care about someone again. But most of all I think it’s nice that it’s you.
I talked to Mamma about going to Dallas and she said that if your aunt and uncle invited me to stay with them it would be okay but that it wouldn’t be nice of me to run down there out of the blue. Also it’s okay to go if some relative wants to take care of me other than you. Or she stated that if we were engaged or something like that it wouldn’t be so bad. I told you she’d say “no.” Have you come up with any brilliant plans? Mom also said that if you wanted to see me bad enough you’d come here, which is true. Would you come see me? She also said “what would his mother think?” After all I really haven’t known you very long.
It’s Monday now. I just got home from work. I called Mamma today and she asked me if I was still in love. Naturally I told her yes.
Please write soon. I miss you lots. (I’m even not smoking so much.)
Love,
Candy
Dear Candy,
I tried to call tonight about 9:00 your time but you weren’t there so I’ll guess I’ll go ahead and write.…
Now for a bout with the intellect—Candy, I’ve never been one to say much to others about my feelings. I guess its because I’m afraid that others won’t feel the same. But I’ve been thinking and thats bad—its like trying to make others love you rather than just caring for others and being glad that you’ve felt that way about others. (Does this make sense?) So I guess one should just be open about one’s emotions. But I guess there’s always the other extreme—saying things you don’t really feel … if your not sure I guess you should just let your emotion guide your actions rather than your speech and only say what you truly feel when your certain but you should always let your emotions guide your actions. (Is this making sense?)—Candy, that’s why you need to come to Dallas, so we can let our relationship mature and let our emotions become more certain. I certainly don’t want you to think of me as a stranger as you said. Even though you didn’t mean it theres probably some truth in it. I find that hard to believe though—cause I miss you so much. I hope I haven’t rambled too much—I’ll write tomorrow and think of you tonight.
Love Always,
Pat
Dearest Pat,
I’m at my Mom’s now. I got two letters from you today. I was completely and totally thrilled. You can ask my Mom. She keeps telling me I act like an idiot.
You were right about your letter rattling on. (the one from Tuesday) But everything you said was true. I mean about emotions guiding, with your mind controlling (this is what you were saying isn’t it) and not saying what you feel when you feel it for it may not be what you’ll feel later when you’ve had a chance to think about. Yes I do know what you mean, Pat, ’cause I’m the same way. I’m always on the defensive and as a result no one really knows me. And it’s so frustrating not to be able to say what you feel, but there’s always the possibility that if you get involved with emotions you could end up getting hurt. And it’s only human nature to avoid pain (physical or mental). And it is nice to have others love you but sometimes it’s hard to love unless you are loved. I mean if you care about people for real it’s easy for them to care back. Caring is rather simplified by generalities but loving is more complex. Even though its easy to love on a low level (like love at first sight or whatever) it’s not as substantial as loving on a higher level. And since the higher level is not quite as tangible as the lower level it isn’t always recognized or it is confused with an infatuating kind of love. I agree that in order to form a more substantial relationship we must know each other more thoroughly. But I say now that I love you and thats a good start for loving you. Now are you totally confused? But even though I agree that we should be completely sure of ourselves, I’m very impatient. I want to know what is real and what’s not right now. But then I always ask for too much. And if life were so simple it wouldn’t be a challenge and then it wouldn’t be worth living.…
Well, I have to go. My Mom is calling me to come visit with them in the den. She asked if I was still writing my true love. Take care of yourself, Pat, and I miss you a whole lot. Please be good.
Love you,
Candy
Darling Candy,
… I’ve got my tape deck playing mood music that I recorded. It would make a great seduction tape—wanta be seduced? It’s nice just to sit and listen and think of you and write. (The chess playing seduction scene music from the movie Thomas Crown Affair with Steve McQueen is playing.) Wanta play chess???
When I come to El Paso next let’s just be together—oblivious to the world around us and let’s just stare into one anothers eyes and smile and giggle and enjoy our love. I miss you so—I’ll write tomorrow and think of you every moment til then.
Love always,
Pat
After Jack’s funeral, Pat had taken Candy to meet his grandmother in the hospital. “Mama Mac,” as everyone called Grandmother McElyea, had been bedridden for some time and, at eighty-eight, was not expected to live much longer. Ironically, the reason Jack died alone was that the rest of the family was at the hospital with Mama Mac. Candy regarded the hospital trip as confirmation of her suspicions: a proposal of marriage was not far off. She had already decided to accept. Unlike Fred and Dave, Pat had earning power, a good education, and a nice family—and he was so gentle and kind.
Finally Pat called to say he was coming back to El Paso just to visit her, and he ended the conversation with the vague mention of a “gift” he was bringing with him. Candy alerted Frances that the engagement ring was on its way.
But it was nothing of the sort. Instead, Pat ceremoniously presented her with a book called The Life, History, and Magic of the Dog, a gift that in future years she would refer to simply as “that damned book.” So instead of celebrating their engagement, Candy further cemented their relationship by leading Pat into her bedroom one night. This time she was the aggressor, even though both of them were nervous and awkward. She would later describe it as “a nice, gentle coupling—still no fireworks, but I was more certain then that I wanted to marry him. He seemed so sensitive, considerate, and gentle.”
For Pat, it was the weekend that almost broke him, since the rest of the summer was consumed by lengthy long-distance phone calls and two-day weekend trips by plane between Dallas and El Paso.
Mama Mac died at the end of August, and her body was brought back to her hometown of Jacksonville, about 150 miles east of Dallas, for burial. At the funeral Pat’s father asked about Candy.
“I’ve bought her a ring,” Pat said.
“Are you sure? What if she says no?”
“This is just the way I want to do it.”
Pat’s father shouldn’t have worried. When Pat flew to El Paso with the diamond, Candy was hysterical with delight. It was only their fourth weekend together, and a scant two months after they had first met, but they quickly agreed that the earliest possible wedding date was the only acceptable one.
They briefly considered immediate elopement, but Candy decided it would be unfair to her parents, so they finally settled on a small ceremony at Trinity Presbyterian Church for parents and close relatives only. By this time Pat’s financial resources were severely limited. He had enough for a small U-Haul and a honeymoon night in a motel on the outskirts of El Paso.
Darling Candy,
Next Tuesday seems like always and yet tomorrow. I’ll be forever happy on that day. We’ll be together for as long as we both shall live. And what we make of the rest of our lives will depend on the magnitude of our love for one another and the product of our love. I can think of nothing more worthy of my life than spending it with you. I’ve often wondered what an all consuming love such as ours would be like. It’s a never ending anxiety. An all consuming emotion. An awareness of everything beautiful. And you are beautiful in countless ways. I hope I’ll always make you happy. I know that you’ve already made me overly joyous. I love you.
I’m looking forward to being the father of your babies and teaching them what we both believe to be right. I’d like for us to be the best parents any child would ever desire.
I long for you to be at my side on a cold winter morning so that we might warm one anothers bodies and souls. I want you at my side on warm summer nights so I can love you in a manner so that when I’m gone that you’ll always remember. Candace—I love you.
All of my love, forever
Pat
One day after the long drive to Dallas, they were settled into an apartment next to an enormous shopping center and Pat was back at work in the Texas Instruments antenna lab. Like most newlyweds, Candy and Pat had unexpected tensions at first. Pat was accustomed to sleeping late in the morning, wandering into the lab about eleven, and sometimes going back to the office late at night when he could have the computers all to himself. Candy, at her best in the morning, found Pat’s habits enormously frustrating. The Dallas weather that year was awful, Candy had trouble making friends at the apartment complex, and she couldn’t stand being left alone. When she started talking about children right away, Pat suspected that she wasn’t as committed to his Ph.D. as he was.
But after that first troubled year, Pat got a leave of absence to finish his degree at the University of Colorado, and they loaded up another U-Haul for the move to Boulder. Unfortunately Pat loaded it the wrong way and, scared that the trailer wouldn’t hold up, told Candy they wouldn’t be able to stop in El Paso as planned. Even though she had just seen her parents two months before, Candy was so upset that she cried all the way to Colorado. It was an augury of things to come.
Candy decided that the only thing worse than that apartment in Dallas was their new quadplex in Boulder. She hated the cold weather, the altitudes gave her nosebleed, and she was forced to take a part-time job working for a life insurance agent. Pat, despite the poverty, loved it. Besides working on his Ph.D., he worked for the National Bureau of Standards and served as a research assistant. Still, the three salaries combined came to only $300 a month, an amount further reduced by the arrival of a baby daughter in September 1972. Candy joked about it being her “foam-failure baby,” but actually the arrival of Jenny made her much happier than she had been during the first two years of the marriage.
Pat’s dissertation, considered groundbreaking at the time, was called “Electromagnetic Boundary-Value Problems Based Upon a Modification of Residue Calculus and Function Theoretic Techniques,” and about twelve people in the world could understand it. By 1973, they were able to move back to the Dallas suburb of Richardson, where Pat started working on Texas Instruments’ top-secret military radar projects. A year after that they had saved enough money for their first house, a few miles farther north in the bedroom community of Plano. Their second child, named Ian, was born there in October 1974, and Candy, happy to have one of each sex, promptly decided to have her tubes tied. They also started visiting churches for the first time. Though self-described agnostics, they agreed they should do it for the children.
Like most marriages, theirs had settled into a routine. The excited playful exchanges of 1970 had become joke birthday cards and occasional flowers on anniversaries. But Pat would never again think so fondly of a time as he did that summer he met Candy Wheeler.
Dear Pat,
This is the very last time I’ll ever write you. ’Cause pretty soon you’ll be with me forever & always.
I just wanted to put this little note in your letter to tell you that I truly love you & I will continue to do so till I die. And even though I don’t see how it could be possible, I’m sure I’ll love you even more when we’re old and grey. I do love you so much, Pat.
Always yours,
Candy
3 Superhumans
Ian talked excitedly of Star Wars, but Candy Montgomery scarcely listened. She and the kids sat in the expansive parking lot of Texas Instruments, windows of the station wagon rolled down to alleviate the stifling heat, waiting for Pat’s conference to break up. It was a little after 4:30, plenty of time for them to drive into Dallas, get the tickets, find a place to eat, and make it to the 7:30 screening of The Empire Strikes Back. Ian would probably be full of Star Wars games all weekend. Pat would want to get down on the floor of the den and do his Darth Vader imitation. Sometimes she thought Pat got a bigger kick out of that game than Ian did. Where was he, though? Pat was late. That was not like Pat.
The name came out of nowhere: “Bethany.”
Candy didn’t know what the kids were discussing—probably something about brothers and sisters—but she heard Alisa say the name, and suddenly her body tensed all over. The sense of dread rushed back. With it came the strong aroma of something soft and clean and antiseptic; it tickled the nose and infused the sinuses. There was no escaping it.
Allan will be ho
me soon. It will be okay. How long has it been now? Five hours? Six?
This time, though, all the rationalizations fell short. There was an eleven-month-old baby in the house on Dogwood.
She could see Pat walking toward them across the parking lot. He came around to her window and suggested they take the Volkswagen Rabbit instead of the big car. Everything was starting to happen in slow motion again.
Allan will be home soon.
Candy shepherded the kids into the back of the Rabbit, and they continued to talk excitedly all the way to Dallas. As they drove down North Central Expressway, which on Friday nights is the most crowded thoroughfare in all Texas, she searched for diversions. They discussed the dinner plans.
“Remember,” she said, keeping her voice down so the kids couldn’t hear, “Alisa is a picky eater. We’d better stick with fast food.”
Pat nodded and repeated his plans to go get the tickets first in case the movie was sold out. Then Candy fell silent.
That damned smell, why won’t it stop?
A little after five the Rabbit pulled into the parking lot of the fashionable NorthPark Shopping Center. Candy and the kids waited in the Rabbit while Pat went to buy the tickets. But just a few minutes later he came back to the car.
“The 5:15 hasn’t started yet and there are still a few tickets left,” he said. “Why don’t we go in now and then eat later?”
That was fine with Candy and more than fine with the kids, so they bought the tickets. Due to the large crowd and the need to get five seats together, they ended up sitting just a few feet from the largest indoor movie screen in Dallas. The kids thought being close to the jumbo screen was great fun, but Candy and Pat had to tilt their heads much higher than they considered comfortable.