The Sportin' Life

by Nancy Frederick

  “I would never expect….”

  “And you think you can make a living, with your high school diploma, with that stupid band you pretend to play in? You think she wants to be your wife at six dollars an hour? Hell, three dollars an hour is more than the two of you are worth. Good luck raising a bastard on that! Kid probably will be born with syphilis anyway.”

  Mick’s hand flew up and for a moment Addie was certain he was going to slap her. She hoped he did because she wanted to slap him back. Her hand balled into a fist, and she was ready for the strike, but instead he pressed his hand tightly against her mouth, crushed her to him, and held her tightly.

  “Please don’t say things you don’t mean—please. Some things you can’t take back. And I will never let you make me hate you. So stop.”

  Her heart was thundering, the rage rising in her throat, and she felt the desire to say something so utterly crushing that he would collapse on the floor before her, broken and limp. But his hand remained firmly over her mouth, and his arms did not loosen their grasp, and eventually she was the one who went limp, and who collapsed against his chest, weeping. And he stood there, tenderly holding her, his hand on the back of her head, his own eyes flooded with tears.

  But she would not let it rest, and her strength returned, and Addie pushed with all her might and separated herself from Mick. “Get out of my house, you useless piece of shit,” she said.

  “You see. Did you see that?” Addie asked Cerise. “He could never have really loved me. He was just out for all he could get.”

  And then she was young again, pregnant with the twins, sitting alone in her bedroom, Lissa off with a nanny. She was muttering to herself, flipping through the pages of a calendar. “I never should have told Artie, never. He never would have known. This was a mistake, a huge mistake.”

  On the desk in front of her was a photo album, and Addie flipped through it. There she stood, towering over her diminutive husband. There he was reaching up to kiss her. There they were with Lissa riding the teacups at Disneyland. Lissa leaned happily into Artie’s embrace; Addie leaned away from both of them.

  “Why did I marry this guy?” Addie mumbled to herself. Everything about him irritated her. Yearning for a distraction from her own life, she reached for a pad and began scribbling, Photo Album Therapy, a new workshop. Confront your reality through reviewing images from your family photo albums….

  “What’s up, little duck?” said Artie cheerfully as he walked into the bedroom.

  Addie immediately tensed. “I’m not poultry!”

  Artie walked to her, and reached out to kiss her cheek. He placed a hand tenderly on her abdomen. “Hello in there,” he said, laughing.

  “Listen, Artie, I’ve been thinking,” said Addie, trying to sound calm. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry but it’s true.”

  Artie took a seat in an adjacent chair, and reached a hand out to hold hers. “Whatever it is, it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

  “We never should have gotten married. I wasn’t ready. I don’t quite know why I said yes. Maybe I was scared.”Addie watched as Artie blanched, but as he remained silent, she continued, “And I really don’t want any more children. I’m busy now with my work, and it’s important to me. It’s what I do best. Changing diapers just isn’t me.”

  “Me, me, me,” he said quietly. “Listen hon, it’s hormones. Pregnant women go a little crazy, you know that. We’ll get you a check up, a prescription, whatever you need. You’re just having jitters.”

  “Don’t tell me what I feel! I’m telling you I never loved you, it was a mistake. I don’t want this baby. I don’t want to be your wife!”

  Artie took her hand in his, remaining spectacularly calm, to Addie’s astonishment. “Look,” he said, “You’re having the baby. That’s that. But if you want a divorce after the baby comes, fine. If you don’t want to touch a diaper, fine. If you want to devote your life to psychobabble, fine. But for now we’re married and you’re having my child. And I’ll take care of you both.”

  “You can’t make me love you—or the baby!”

  Artie looked at her quizzically, and she could see by the look what he was thinking. How could someone not love a baby?

  Barker was thirteen, deep in the middle of teenage rebellion. He had decided it was time for him to drive, so, with his twin in the passenger seat egging him on, he got into Addie’s brand new car, started the ignition, and forgetting to put the gear into reverse, crashed into the nanny’s station wagon, which had been parked in the driveway in front of Addie’s convertible. The station wagon shot forward and smashed into the garage, crumpling the door and half the side wall.

  Addie heard the crash and came running out the door. “What are you doing!” she screamed, yanking the car open and pulling Barker out by his ear. She marched both boys into the house and sat them down in the den, her eyes glowing with rage.

  “What kind of horrible person are you to do such a thing?” she asked, “What were you thinking? Do you have to spend every waking moment devising new tortures to inflict on me? What is wrong with you?”

  Barker tried to maintain a rakish, devil-may-care look, but his eyes misted over, something Addie was too angry to notice. “Wipe that smirk off your face,” she shouted, “And you too, mister,” she said to Randolph.

  Randolph smiled and said, “Hey don’t worry, you know Barker is a miser. He has every dime he’s ever seen, and he can pay to have it fixed.”

  “Oh, he’s going to pay, all right. And what about you? Think you’re going to get off scott free?”

  “Who’s Scott?” he laughed.

  “Demon spawn,” said Addie, completely out of control. “Evil twins!”

  “You think that’s just so funny, don’t you?” said Randolph, practically screeching at her. “Evil twins. Funny isn’t it?” He began to shout, “It’s not funny, it’s never been funny. Why did you have us anyway; you never should have had us.”

  “Your father made me!” shouted Addie, and she ran from the room.

  Addie stepped out that scene, and returned frustrated and appalled, to her guides. “That boy is just so much like his father. He always knows how to wind me up. I don’t know how I put up with as much as I did.”

  “Maybe we could make a few adjustments,” said Cerise.

  Addie watched as the scene began to play again, but she did not get drawn into her own part. Instead she felt herself strangely being pulled into the self who was Randolph. How odd it felt to be her own son, and to feel all his feelings.

  “Let’s take turns,” said Randolph to Barker, “You can go first. It’s easy to drive. Look at all the morons who do it.”

  She, as Randolph, sat beside Barker as he awkwardly started the auto, then his foot slipped and the car shot forward into the station wagon. “Holy shit!” said Barker.

  “Mom is gonna kill you,” she said, still as Randolph.

  Then she felt herself being dragged into the den, the recipient of her own ire. Addie was yelling at Barker and she, still as Randolph, could see he was about to break down and weep, something she knew Barker was terrified to do in front of his mother. It was easy to distract Addie from Barker. Any smart remark would set her off.

  How many times had Randolph’s heart cringed when Addie had called him evil twin? So many. So many times that the two boys had made a joke of it, and when they were alone, they used it as a term of endearment. “Evil twin, wanna go get some fries at the mall? Evil twin, wanna rent a movie? Evil twin, call the girl, see if she likes me….”

  Addie, as Randolph, decided to call her own bluff, hoping she would snap out of it, and so he said, “Why did you have us anyway, you never should have had us.” Randolph knew what a good mother would say. She would say boys will be boys. She would say I had you because I love you and you’re wonderful, even when you’re bad. Randolph waited and he knew what she should say. It was her chance.

  But she didn’t say that. Addie sat inside Randolph and felt her soul shrivel as
the remark came back from her own mouth. She watched herself walk away. Felt the tears run down the cheeks of both boys as they hastily tried to retreat into their manselves and stem the flood, to recoup their machismo and brush it off.

  “Dad’s worth ten of her,” said Barker. “He’ll understand.”

  Addie remained silent inside Randolph, waiting for the next remark in the script and she was surprised to hear him say, “Oh she loves us all right. She’s just an asshole.”

  “The therapist won’t believe any of this,” Barker said.

  “Sure she will,” answered Randolph, “She’s seen much worse than this.”

  Her boys were in therapy as teens? Addie had never known that. Nobody had told her. She wondered briefly who had worked with them, but like everything else, it didn’t really matter any more.

  “Maybe I was too harsh, too out of control,” said Addie. “I never realized they were so vulnerable.”

  “Changing points of view is a useful tool, isn’t it?” asked Cerise gently. “Role playing—isn’t that what you call it at work?”

  Addie nodded. “Now you’re using my expertise against me?”

  Cerise laughed. “You’re silly!”

  The scene changed and now in front of her were Lissa and Charlie, her son-in-law, and Charlie was distraught. “No,” he said, “No, I won’t allow it.”

  “It’s not your decision to make,” said Lissa, “It’s my body, my pregnancy, I won’t do it.”

  “But we want this baby. We want a baby so much.”

  “No more,” said Lissa as though in a trance, “Do you think I want to pass along my warped genes? Do you think the world needs another member of my family? After what my mother did? Get real.”

  “So what if she killed herself,” said Charlie, “People die, we can’t stop living because other people die.”

  “She killed herself, practically tortured my brothers to death, treated me like shit. Maybe I’m just as bad. Bad genes. Her mother was bad. She was bad. I’ll be bad. I can’t do that to a baby.”

  Lissa was going to have an abortion. Because of her? After having told her how much she wanted a baby? “But wait,” said Addie, “Did this happen? Not all that other stuff actually happened.”

  “Possible future,” said Dancer.

  “Send her some love,” suggested Cerise, “Let her see that you care.”

  “Like a candy gram from the great beyond?” asked Addie, perplexed.

  Cerise laughed, and her giggles bubbled over. “Just imagine her in your arms.”

  Addie closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself embracing her grown daughter. She managed a tepid hug before the image lost its power and detached from her.

  Then she saw Lissa lying on a gurney, in a hospital, being wheeled along a corridor. Charlie was beside Lissa, holding her hand.

  “Look,” said Addie, “It worked. They’re going to deliver the baby—little Stella—at last I’m seeing something good.”

  A nurse reached out to place a mask over Lissa’s face and then the doctor entered the room. Addie gasped as she saw the instruments on the table beside her daughter.

  “No,” she insisted, “No!” It wasn’t a delivery—it was the abortion. Addie moved swiftly and injected herself into the scene, between the doctor and her slumbering daughter. “No,” she shouted, “No! Wake up!” She pushed the doctor back, pulled Lissa to a sitting position, shouted, “Wake up!”

  But the doctor walked right through her, Lissa continued to slumber, and Addie was powerless to make a difference.

  “This isn’t like high school,” mumbled Addie, “I made her do it then, but this could be her last chance. And she seemed to love that baby so much, so much more than….”

  Snapping out of the scene, Addie placed her hand on her chest, feeling for her heart, and she felt something open. Something inside her was a little different. What was that feeling? She didn’t know.

  “Go with it,” said Cerise.

  “I could have been kinder,” said Addie. Then gasping, “It wasn’t just that they didn’t love me. I didn’t love them, not enough.”

  Addie began to sob, and she felt the sorrow ricochet through her. Everyone had let her down. And she had let them down too. She had been so proud of herself—acing her way through school, honors in every class. She was a success, someone who did her best and was rewarded for it.

  But had she genuinely done her best? She had suffered. People had caused her so much anguish. But she had inflicted sorrow in equal measure. Her children had suffered. At least in life, no matter what, children should be loved, shouldn’t they? She should have tried harder with the kids, then maybe they wouldn’t have hated her so much.

  What if this were like a class? What if she were being graded? This wouldn’t be A work. It would be a terrible grade. She had failed! They were judging her, like at school, and her grade would be bad! It was unthinkable. Addie looked at the kindly faces of her guides, waiting for them to turn stormy, waiting for the disappointment, the disenchantment to surface, and then of course the penance would be levied. Soon they would despise her, for clearly this was some sort of partnership, spirit-human enterprise, this thing that once was her life, and she was the weak link. Addie was frightened to look in their eyes.

  “Oh my God,” she said, truly appalled, “I’m sorry. I’ve let you down. I’ve done a poor job. A bad job. I’m sorry.” What would they say? What would they do to her? Maybe she would be consigned to hell. Maybe she would suffer more in the future than she ever had in life. Terrified, knowing there was little hope if any, she asked, “Can you forgive me?”

  Cerise reached out, and Addie quivered. This was it. She was going to be dematerialized. She wasn’t good enough to continue even in the afterlife. She would be destroyed. Then she really would be dead and nothing more would be left! Addie shrunk from Cerise, certain her punishment was imminent.

  Cerise spoke calmly. “Your debt is not to us. For you we have nothing but love. Your debt is to the universe, to other souls.”

  Debt. She owed a debt. She was in collections even after death. Cerise reached out then and surrounded Addie with love, and Addie didn’t resist. She sank into Cerise and let go. Whatever would happen, would happen. Addie couldn’t control it.

  But she didn’t dematerialize. She was still there. “So what do we do now?” Addie asked.

  “Work to understand why you made those choices, and find ways to forgive and be forgiven,” said Cerise.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The voice came out of nowhere, a shattering, disembodied shriek, like the shrill whistle of a siren passing by too closely. “You stole my life!” The sound was a bitter wind, chilling and assaulting her. The words were easily understood, but it was the harpy shriek that put Addie on edge and she pressed her hands tightly to her ears. It did no good. She could hear with her ears covered, could see with her eyes closed. She needed only to think of apple pie, and the air, or whatever it was that surrounded her, was filled with an aroma more intense and pungent than any she’d experienced on earth.

  “You stole my life,” the voice repeated, and Addie craned her neck to spot the source of that ungodly whine.

  “What is that?” she asked Cerise, who remained silent.

  Someone laughed, a disturbed, demented giggle, and then Addie felt a trickle of warm air cross her neck, followed by a chilling blast of cold. Suddenly, the formerly empty space before her was occupied by a withered woman, her hair frizzed out all around her head, jagged shards of crackling electricity vibrating out beyond the gray hairs. Addie looked closely, wondering was this someone’s patient. She wore a strait jacket, but her arms were free. Now and then the woman would raise her arms and flap her hands at Addie.

  “This must be a mistake,” said Addie, calmly and with confidence. “I never treated the very disturbed.”

  Laughter filled the air, and the woman snarled at Addie, “I wasn’t disturbed until you stole my life.” Addie flinched then jumped back as the wom
an inexplicably morphed into a rabid dog. Foam oozed across the monstrous yellow teeth and down her snarling jaws. She lunged demonically toward Addie, her fangs open and ready to tear out Addie’s throat.

  Wordlessly, the Indian Long Feather stepped between Addie and the dog, and he reached his hands out toward the creature, who morphed back into the woman, then panted with exhaustion and collapsed against the tall Indian. He held her tightly, smoothing her hair and brushing away the shards of electricity emanating from her.

  “She doesn’t know me. She’ll never admit she stole my life. She’s too good with the bullshit. But wait ‘til the next time we meet—I’ll steal your life then,” she said, laughing hollowly, then in a plaintive whine, “I’ll never love you again.” The woman jerked a ragged claw toward Addie and snarled at the air, being unable to get close enough to touch her, then disappeared entirely.

  “I don’t know her, or who she is,” said Addie confidently, “This is a mistake. She must be here to torment someone else. What a scary old witch. Thank goodness you didn’t let her near me.”

  “We here to protect you,” said Long Feather.

  Addie was drawn forward, into a scene from long ago. She walked behind her college mentor, Esther Schlumberger, a glass of wine in her hand, so proud to be the only student the professor had ever invited home for dinner. Esther appeared unconcerned about being attractive in her fifties; plump, gray and unretouched by any salon, she was no fashionista, but her eyes sparkled, and her intelligence was pristine and uncompromising. She was known as a terror at school, and all the grad students were petrified of her, but she had taken Addie, a blasé junior without the slightest degree of awe, as her assistant. “Teddy,” called Esther rather loudly, “Come meet the prize pupil.” And then Addie found herself face to face for the first time with Uno, Dr. Theodore Schlumberger, the famous child psychiatrist who would ultimately become her first husband.