Gently, she extracted her arm from under Dylan’s neck, and shifted away as carefully as possible so she wouldn’t wake him. Unfortunately the same couldn’t be done for Jingles, who let out a rebuking “Meow!” when Luna reclaimed her circulation-deprived feet. He jingled his way over to Dylan’s stomach and tucked himself against it.
Luna climbed down the wooden ladder carefully, because her feet and her arm were numb and barely functional, and she was always wobbly pre-caffeination. She hobbled into the hallway, flipped on the switch and limped down the stairs, shaking her arms and kicking her feet like a Rockette to get the blood flowing. Now that she’d woken up a little more, she wanted to hurry. The kids didn’t have to be up for another hour—they had art school today, where they’d made those ceramic turkeys. If she got done with Amex fast she could get some writing in.
Luna thought of early morning as “bonus hours”—-time she could devote to NWaN—Novel Without a Name. It was an ultra-personal endeavor she knew had the potential to be great, if she could just stop weeping as she wrote it. In addition to not having a title, she didn’t have an end for it—which made her nuts. While many writers wrote blindly, she’d always maintained that if one doesn’t have a destination, one will never arrive. Still, she felt compelled to press on through the pages, and the tears. She could never work on it during the “main” day, which was so quickly devoured by paying work, household chores and motherhood.
Her arms and feet were recovering now, tingling with warmth. She hopped across her kitchen tiles to shake out her flow even further. All circulations were go when she reached the phone. She hit speed-dial for Amex (which she normally used once a month, to pay her bill), and asked for a representative. She didn’t want to use the automated system and risk canceling her own card, which she used for everything. While on hold, she jerked her neck from side to side to make it crack. Alas, the pain endured. Luckily she had an appointment with Dr. Gold later.
The representative was pleasant and handled the termination of Nick’s charging abilities quickly and efficiently. If only the marriage could be ended that way. Luna learned that Nick had spent $171.89 at 7-11 the evening prior. Most likely the bulk of it had gone for cigarettes, with perhaps a nitrate-filled hotdog and a red-dye-loaded Gatorade thrown in. It could’ve been worse. Nick might’ve wasted a shitload of money on overpriced groceries, but for the fact that he never could think past polluting his lungs. And gambling, of course. She thanked God he couldn’t charge Lotto tickets.
So Nick was cut off. Luna wanted to revel, but she had little capacity for joy until she had her coffee. She hit the button on her Krups and waited to hear the sounds of brewing coffee—and to smell that wonderful waft.
The Krups sputtered, but no coffee dripped down. After a few moments it started making loud sounds that sounded like the mechanical version of choking. Then smoke billowed out. What the hell? Luna hit the “off” button and checked the water chamber. Empty. She swung open the coffee basket. Full of yesterday’s grounds. Rats! She’d forgotten to set up her coffee last night.
It was so hard measuring and grinding beans when she didn’t have her clarity yet. It took her three tries to count the eight scoops, because she kept losing track. Clearly she wasn’t going to get any work done on NWaN this morning. But instead of kicking herself for a missed opportunity, she elected to be positive. She had Nick out and it was glorious!
You’re so right, said Jiminy. You’re doing great. Keep going!
By the time the coffee was ready Luna had to wake up the kids. She managed to get through her morning routine of dressing Dylan and making breakfast without mishap. Another hour whisked by, the way those early moments do, and it was time to get the kids to art school. Luna looked both ways for Nick as she followed the boys and the jingling cat out the door. It was doubtful that he would be there, since he had to work—but she couldn’t shake the foreboding that he would turn up anyway.
Thank goodness, she was wrong: Nick wasn’t there. They waved goodbye to Jingles, who was pawing dirt next to a shrub to do his business. “Why does he poop on the front lawn, Mommy?” Dylan asked.
“He poops wherever he feels like it, Baby,” Luna answered. “The world is his litter box.”
“It’s good for the plants,” said Ben, who was definitely the resident optimist. “I learned in school that people mix manure into their dirt to make things grow better.”
“What’s manure?” Dylan asked.
“Poop,” said Ben.
“Ewww,” said Dylan. “Grownups are gross.”
“They can be,” Luna said. “Some more than others.”
They arrived at The Creative Place, and Luna scoped the area. Nick wasn’t there. Phew! He could’ve made a real scene if he’d wanted to be a prick. He was either thinking of the kids, or he couldn’t get out of work (it was probably the latter.)
A dozen or so smocked students of varied ages were visible through the storefront windows, already at work on their projects. The boys were a little late, but it wouldn’t matter. One great thing about this school was that everyone worked at their own pace. The teachers hopped from kid to kid, offering help as needed, but the kids followed their own visions.
Luna put the car in Park & hit Unlock. The kids unbuckled themselves and hopped out. “Have fun, guys! See you in a few hours! Love you!” Luna called to them. They waved and headed off. Until recently, Luna used to get out and hug them—until Ben had informed her that she was being embarrassing.
Luna watched her sons head into the studio, side by side. Ben walked with an assured and even gait—he was that sort of balanced kid. Half Ben’s height, Dylan usually had pep in his step because he loved going to art school and seeing his friends. Today he kind of trudged, falling behind Ben—who stopped and put out his hand. Dylan accepted it, and the two scurried inside together, joining the other kids already seated at tables and working.
Luna stared at the door closing behind her sons. She was proud of how she was raising them, yet always afraid she’d teeter and fall right off that tightrope called motherhood. And today was a particularly shaky day. You’re a good mother, Luna, said Jiminy. Now you need to learn how to be good to yourself.
Back home, it was time to sit down and revise her novel under contract. She only had an hour before her chiropractor appointment. Unusually she could focus, shut everything out except her task. But today her mind spun with real-life details, like calling her lawyer (an old high-school friend who years ago had offered to represent her any time she wanted) and changing the locks. Oh, and dealing with Nick’s stuff. But it was Saturday—not the time to reach a lawyer. The locks could wait, since Nick didn’t have a way in, anyway. And Nick’s stuff would still be there after she got some work done.
Luna took a deep breath and exhaled. Dr. Gold had instilled deep breathing into her, promising it to be more effective than any drugs or therapy. She couldn’t argue with its price, either. Allowing her mind to exhale proved to be the harder task. But there was no need to be on high-alert for Nick. He worked until four.
Her dad popped into her head. Shit! She had to call her mother and check on him. The phone rang five times before Loreena answered. “I was wondering when you were going to call,” she said, in lieu of “hello.”
“Sorry. I have a lot going on, Mom.”
Loreena let out her signature Hhhmmmpppffff. “As usual, I’m left alone to deal with everything.”
“That’s…” Luna started to say it wasn’t true, but she stopped herself. Her mother was baiting her, and she wasn’t going to start down that twisting road which either had no end, or a dead end. Luna would say that she’s there for her, but she does have a family to take care of. Loreena would say that she gave up her opera career to raise Luna, as though Luna had asked to be born. Then Luna’s residual resentment and hurt would kick in, and she’d bring up the fact that Loreena had left her alone every night, scrounging for whatever supper she could find. Then Loreena would snap, “I had to work, did
n’t I?” And Luna would return loudly—because defensiveness and anger always manifested in her voice—“You got off work at five and didn’t come home ‘til ten or later!” And Loreena would say Luna was out of her mind and that wasn’t true, and even though Luna knew it was true she couldn’t prove it and that would make her madder—etc, etc. There was no point in going there. Besides, wasn’t everyone alone? She remembered listening to a Buddhist cassette Aunt Zelda sometimes played while they were working. The deep male voice had said: “We are all of us alone.”
“We are all of us alone,” Luna told her mother.
“What kind of a thing is that to say to your own mother? After all I sacrificed for you through the years, you’d think you could show some gratitude.”
Sacrifice and gratitude were the themes Loreena had been slapping Luna in the face with for years. In high school, when Luna had to read King Lear, Loreena had handed her a copy with the line “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is. To have a thankless child!” highlighted, and, in case there was any doubt at whom this was directed, “Luna” was scrawled in the margin.
Luna took a breath in and exhaled. Again. And again. She would not engage today. In fact, Luna was grateful: that she was no longer a child, living under Loreena’s roof and subject to her brand of life. If she could only stop being so angry with her. She sucked in another long breath and slowly exhaled.
“Hello?” Loreena’s voice cut in. Sharper than a serpent’s tooth was Loreena’s tongue.
“So, how’s dad?” Luna asked, hoping her mother would go with the shift.
Loreena sighed. “He’s awake.”
“Great! Is he talking?”
“He’s spewing vulgarities.”
That was a surprise. Luna had never heard Lenny go any further than “fathead.”
“Why?”
“The doctor says curses are stored in another part of the brain—a part that was unaffected. Cursing may be Lenny’s only way of expressing himself.”
“Ever?”
Loreena sighed again. “We have to wait and see.”
There was nothing more to say, and Luna really wanted to get off the phone. She told Loreena to call her if anything changed and hung up before the guilt parade took up its march again. Then she thought about calling Aunt Zelda, to counteract Loreena’s effects. But Luna never bothered Zelda on the weekends, when there were concerts on the barge. Right now, Zelda was probably tackling the seating chart. She hand-wrote slips for all the ticket-holders and put them on their chairs.
Okay… to work…
Finally, Luna could enter the pages of her novel again. A bang at the front door jarred her from them.
NINE
She looked up and saw Nick’s receding hairline through the window at the top of the door. Crap!
“Luna, let me in,” Nick growled, a la the Big Bad Wolf. Only she doubted he had the lung capacity to blow her house down.
“Go away, I’m writing,” she shouted back from her table.
“I’m not leaving without my toothbrush and clean underwear,” he declared. “I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
What’s wrong with you is that you put up with him at all, said Jiminy.
Luna stared Nick’s thinning hair. He does have a right to his stuff. And I want it out of here. Now that Nick was there, she felt better. Stronger. The dreading was gone. Soon Nick and his belongings would be gone, too. And the kids weren’t home to see this. Perfect! She scraped her chair back and headed to the door to face him.
If looks could kill she’d be a goner, because Nick’s eyes were shooting daggers at her. “You are such an asshole.”
“Come in,” she said, ignoring the comment. “Get your stuff and go. We’ll sort out everything else later.” She didn’t know where all this nerve was coming from (maybe her many viewings of The Wizard of Oz through the years were paying off?) but she was sure embracing it.
Luna sat back down at the table. Nick wavered by the stairs, obviously wanting to say something, but not sure what. “I’m on a delivery, so I don’t have long,” he said.
“Then you’d better hurry,” she said, eyes on her screen.
He sighed and headed up the stairs. The stink of tobacco hovered in his wake.
Of course there was no working while he was up there. She couldn’t stop picturing him pawing through her drawers and purloining things. But what would he take, anyway? It wasn’t like she had any money lying around, and what little jewelry she owned was stashed in the back of her underwear drawer. He didn’t know it was there, and he sure didn’t care about her panties. Still, he might tear the room apart, or something. She almost went up there, but she didn’t want him to know how much he was distracting her. She sat there, fingers on the keyboard, waiting for his descent.
Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom! His footsteps bounded down the stairs, accompanied by her favorite suitcase. She glanced up at him. “I want my luggage back when you’re done.”
“What the hell am I going to do with a purple suitcase, anyway?” he growled.
“I didn’t realize you were so bound to gender clichés.”
He glared for a moment. Then he said, “I’ll be back later.”
“Must you?”
“I want to see the kids.”
“Fine. You can take them out to eat.”
“How generous of you.”
“Thanks. I think so too,” she said. She was quaking inside, but she’d never let him know.
“By the way, you need to call American Express. My gym called a little while ago and said my monthly payment didn’t go through.”
This was the big moment. He was not going to like losing her credit. She stared at the last sentence she’d written, before his loud knock. Over and over she read it, a calming mantra, until she found the courage to tell him. “There’s no problem.”
“What do you mean?” Nick’s voice rose. “I just said, the card didn’t work.”
Don’t look at him, don’t look at him… “I canceled it.”
“Excuse me?” He bellowed now. “You canceled my credit card?”
Tap, tap, tap. She hit the keys without knowing what they were. The only things that mattered were the act, and the sound. “You must’ve known this would happen. You charged all that stuff at 7-11.”
“I only did that so I would feel like I had something, even if it was just cigarettes. You took everything else.”
Oh, God. Now it was time for the pathetic pity party. Poor, victimized Nick. Tap, tap, tap. Braver with every keystroke, she spoke. “It’s my credit card, even though your name’s on it. I can’t pay for you to run around playing anymore.” She looked up from the screen and told him, “Grow up.”
Nick paced and ranted. “How could you do this to me?”
Pretending to ignore him, Luna kept pseudo-writing. Her heart raced. She just wanted him gone.
From the far corner, there were sobs.
She kept typing.
Crash!
She sighed and looked. Nick had collapsed to the floor. Face-down in Jingles’ bowl.
At least it was dry cat food.
Bite-sized morsels were scattered everywhere. Would Nick’s cheeks have heart-shaped imprints? “Get up, Nick. You’re taking too long on your delivery, and I have to go to my chiropractor.”
“You and your chiropractor,” Nick snarled, standing and brushing cat food off.
His face was as unmarked by the Purina as by shame.
“What about us?”
“Ever since you’ve been seeing him, you’ve changed.”
It was true. Dr. Gold had helped her way more than any shrink. “So?”
“So, I think you’re doing him.”
“No, Nick. Dr. Gold has adjusted me, but sex has not been on the table. Only you equate everything with fucking—except our marriage, of course.”
Nick made the unintelligible rumbly sound that was his stand-by when he had no comeback in an argument. He gripped the purple suitcase’s han
dle and rolled towards the door. The wheels clicked each time they went over a cement line bordering tiles.
Finally he was in the doorway. She was so pleased that he was going that she forgot not to look him in the eye. Damn! It was sad how a person who’d pledged to love and cherish you forever could shoot metaphysical daggers through their pupils at you. With one foot out the door, Nick asked, “Who’s going to do your Christmas decorations?”
This swelled her up with panic, because the holidays overwhelmed Luna—especially decorating. There was so much! She stared at Nick, paralyzed by his words. Then Jiminy piped in, Never mind that—decking your inner halls is what counts.
“Right,” Luna said, accidentally speaking to Jiminy out loud.
“Right what?” Nick asked.
“Never mind,” Luna told him. She forced herself to give him a steely look. She wasn’t capable of conjuring a murderous one like his, but apparently it was ferocious enough to do the trick, because he looked away. Ha! “You’re letting the cold air in, Nick. Buh-bye.”
She looked back at her computer screen, and a moment later the door slammed. It was a relief, but also jolting—and she jumped a little in her chair.
“Why did I ever go out with him?”
Because a psychic told you to, said Jiminy.
“Oh, yeah.” Funny the things you pushed to the back of your mind…
And not even a psychic you paid to go see. No, this was a psychic you just happened to pump gas for!
“Right.” Now, it all came back. “God, I was so young and naïve!”
A lot has changed, said Jiminy. Now, you’re not as young.
Seventeen years ago
Luna was twenty-one, an English major senior commuting to NYU from Long Island. To make some cash, she’d started pumping gas. It was a drab job which really sucked in the rain, and the inside of the station smelled of gas, even though it was nowhere near the pumps. But she brought in her literary anthologies—fortunately, her shift partner, Billy, enjoyed being read aloud to—and she could pay her car insurance, so the employment met her needs. Too bad there was no discount on fuel.
Luna Rising Page 6