Like Normal People

by Karen Bender

  Every Thursday for three months, Ella brought Lena to the class. The ladies put on fancy gloves; they walked across the room balancing thin books on their heads. Even when they dropped the books, there was a strange, silent grace to their movements. One day, the gentlemen learned how to hold doors open for the ladies, and they spent the afternoon escorting them in and out of the classroom.

  Ella stood watching, rapt, and allowed herself to imagine events that were unbearably vivid: Lena drinking tea with a friend, Lena walking down the street with good posture, smartly attired in a hat and gloves. The other mothers stood with her. They did not share their fear that all this effort would lead to nothing.

  When Ella came to pick Lena up from the eighth class, Mrs. Brown, Sophia’s mother, hurried toward her, a concerned expression on her face.

  “She’s teaching them how to date!” Mrs. Brown announced. The two of them rushed to the classroom, their heels ringing brightly against the polished corridor floor.

  The gentlemen and ladies were separated into two groups, sitting on opposite sides of the room. Everyone was giggling. Ronald, a dainty man whose mother dressed him in crisp shirts and bow ties and who was often obsessed with finding out the correct time, sat at a desk, gripping the handpiece of a pink toy phone. “Would you like to have dinner, Jane?” he murmured in a flat voice.

  Jane, sitting at a desk in front of him, pressed an identical plastic phone to her ear. She looked perturbed, as though wondering why she did not hear his voice through it. Quickly, she set down the receiver and began dialing. After she had dialed a number, she said, quizzically, “Mother?”

  “Honey, it’s a toy,” said Mrs. Latham. “You’ll see your mother later. Now, what do you say to Ronald? Yes, no, or I have to check my calendar. This is a practice.”

  Jane looked aghast. “I don’t want to go!” she blurted.

  “Now that’s a proper response,” murmured one of the mothers. Hurt, Ronald slammed down the phone.

  Ella felt the back of her neck go cold when it was Lena’s turn. Lena was acting cocky, whispering to the other students how she had already been on a date. It did not seem to matter that the date arranged through the matchmaker had been a disaster.

  “Go,” she said, when she had settled facing her phone.

  As Ronald diligently dialed, Lena sat straight, a half-smile drifting across her face. She closed her eyes briefly and shuddered. When she answered, her voice was honeyed, mature. “Yes, I will go to dinner,” she said.

  Lena brought home an invitation printed on a gold-trimmed card: The Wilshire Charm School Invites You to a Summer Party. Under that it said: Our students would like to show you what they have learned.

  All the parents were invited. The party was to be held on a Saturday evening in May, in the recreation room of the school.

  Ella let herself become excited about the event, and it was a wonderful feeling, bubbly, like champagne. She and Lena visited several stores before they found a dress they agreed on. It was elegant—a sleeveless aqua sheath.

  Ella and Lou dropped Lena off at five so that she could help set up, and they returned as guests at six-fifteen. Frank Sinatra was singing on the record player, his voice creaky and sweet. Many of the other parents were already there, flanking their children like generals guarding dictators of small, important lands.

  The students had done their best to make the room look cheerful. There were streamers and red and blue balloons. A long metal table, covered with a white paper tablecloth, held a glass bowl of red punch and trays of canapés that Mrs. Latham had made: pigs-in-a-blanket, deviled eggs, sweet-and-sour meatballs, carrot sticks.

  “The kids didn’t cook the food, did they?” Lou whispered, eyeing it hungrily.

  “I don’t think so,” Ella whispered back.

  He looked relieved. He’d never met the students and their parents, and his hands fidgeted around his sleeves, his collar; he seemed surprisingly shy.

  When Lena saw Ella and Lou, she headed toward them at a gallop.

  “Lena!” said Mrs. Latham. “Posture!”

  Lena stopped, straightened her dress, and tried to walk with grace toward her parents. But her excitement propelled her, and she almost fell into their arms.

  “Honey,” said Ella, hugging her, “isn’t this a nice event? Doesn’t it all look festive?”

  “I helped with the eggs.”

  “You did? What did you do?”

  “I put them on the plate.” She squinted at Ella. “You need a deviled egg!”

  Lena rushed off to select one especially for her. Some of the other students were bringing their parents food, gingerly, on white napkins.

  Ella had never before seen the ladies and gentlemen dressed up. It was as though they had walked right out of their parents’ suppressed dreams. Larry’s mother had put him in a smart plaid coat with a green handkerchief in his pocket; he matched his father. Sophia was dressed as though for a fabulous prom, in a bright yellow dress; the straps, studded with rhinestones, clung to her powdered shoulders, and the skirt was a joyous wave of yellow net. Jane kept playing with the zipper on the side of her dress; she left it half-zipped, revealing a slim oval of pink skin. The fathers paled in contrast with the mothers, who had loaded on makeup and glitzy jewelry.

  “Doesn’t Lena look lovely!”

  Mrs. Brown, Sophia’s mother, glided over like a yacht.

  “Doesn’t Sophia,” said Ella carefully.

  “That’s my prom dress,” said Mrs. Brown. “Took it out of storage just for her.” Her voice shook slightly. She was clutching a cup of red punch; gingerly, she took a sip. “You know, Mrs. Latham’s going to expand the course next semester. Job training.”

  “Why?” asked Ella.

  “So they can get jobs,” said Mrs. Brown. She tried to sound as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The punch stained her lips.

  “Who would hire them?” asked Ella.

  “Apparently, some people do. They can be messengers. Some work at Goodwill.” Ella recognized a brute optimism in Mrs. Brown’s voice; it had the quality of a small person pushing an impossible load up a hill. That optimism made Ella feel a sudden tenderness toward her, though she knew nothing about Mrs. Brown other than that she was Sophia’s mother.

  “Do you have plans for the summer?” Ella asked.

  Mrs. Brown’s face lit up—carefully. “Warren and I are hoping to go to Hawaii. Sophia could stay with my sister in Fresno.” She paused. “It’s been ages since we’ve been out of California.”

  “Us too.”

  “The pineapple.” There was real excitement in her voice. “I’ve never tasted pineapple that fresh before.”

  “Neither have I,” Ella said. “You know, this may sound terrible, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Patricia.”

  “Patricia, I’m Ella.”

  They smiled at each other.

  Mrs. Brown looked toward the center of the room and let out a low whistle. “Look at that.”

  Larry and Sophia were dancing. Larry pressed his hand to Sophia’s back, firmly, and her right hand was lifted in his. They were not sure how to move together, but they were trying. Their feet shuffled from side to side, their mouths were slightly open, and their faces were sharp with concentration.

  The other students began to follow their example. Ronald carefully put his arms around Camelia; his palms hovered just over her back, as though he was warming himself on her. Lena walked around the dance floor, looking at everyone. The gentlemen had been instructed not to dance too long with one lady, and Lena stood near Larry until he put his other arm on her shoulder. Now, she, Larry, and Camelia were swaying together. Soon, all the students flowed into the dance area, and, together, moved to the music. They danced in enthusiastic and unusual ways—running under raised arms, standing in one place and then lunging forward like skiers, gripping each other’s waists. They made a formless community under the drooping streamers and shining balloons.

  Mrs
. Brown set down her punch cup; then picked it up; then set it down. “Sophia said she couldn’t wait to dance,” she murmured.

  Ella stood and watched. She did not know the rules for hope. 1. Allow yourself boundless hope. Was that correct? Was hope a bright feeling to nurture within herself, to turn to for comfort or help? 2. Do not let yourself be fooled by incorrect hope. Was it this, a sly joke, able to fool and mislead her, a feeling that could only lead to disappointment, grief? She did not know if it was best to keep this feeling, or relinquish it, if it would save her or do her harm. The world of hope was wild and lawless. She and Lou and Mrs. Brown and the others were standing in the rec room, a quiet audience while their children danced. Her hope was leaping out of her like a big and ravenous dog.

  A balloon came loose and fell from the ceiling. The students screeched as it bounced on their heads. Without speaking, Ella and Mrs. Brown moved toward their children. That was what they knew to do. Ronald jumped up and ripped another balloon off the ceiling; then all the balloons came down, buoyant blue, floating to many different pairs of hands.

  Ten

  SHELLEY AND LENA were starting their new life together in the dank, shadowed space beneath the pier. The space was both wonderful and poor—wonderful with the light pouring into the blue shadows, the frothy sea rushing up on the shore; poor because the area was strewn with straw wrappers and cans. Lena and Shelley crawled around, tossing the litter on the beach outside, but the sour beer and trash odors remained.

  Shelley wasn’t sure what time it was. By the rich gold of the sun on the water, she estimated that the day had slipped into afternoon. She was a little bit hungry, and this sensation alarmed her. Lena had generously given her five Lifesavers, and Shelley had eaten them slowly, trying to ration them and savor the sweet cherry taste. She’d finished the last one a long time ago.

  They sat here, beneath the wet brown bottom of the pier, trying to behave as though it were their shelter. But there was a restlessness in the air. Lena said that Bob was coming to see them today, and Shelley knew this could not be true. The girl moved from boulder to boulder, but none was better than the others; none soothed her. It was as though her heart wanted desperately to speak a word that it could not pronounce. She was afraid to look too closely at Lena, because Lena’s comment had made her into a stranger from a bad dream.

  Lena was restless, too. She removed the stolen items from her pocket, lined them up, admired them, put them back. She kept trying to catch Shelley’s eye; she had so much to talk about. Lena was bursting with ideas for their new life.

  “We’ll buy groceries,” she announced, “in big markets with lots of food. We can get many frozen dinners. They’re easy to heat.”

  Shelley, watching the water, said, “Uh-huh.”

  “You can go to school,” Lena said, “and I can pick you up. When I see you come out, I’ll jump up and run to you so you’ll know I’m there.”

  She looked at Shelley, eyebrows lifted, waiting for approval.

  “What school would I go to?”

  “I don’t know. A school school.”

  “But where?”

  Lena shrugged. “I can pick you up. I went with Vivien one time and I saw her do it.” She paused. “Bob can come, too.”

  Shelley pictured Bob walking toward them, full of accusations, his clothes filthy and torn, his face a small walnut of fury. This image made her sick and her feet seem raw and icy; she wanted to run away. But she and Lena were already running away. She jumped off her boulder and stood in the water, hoping it would make her feet feel normal. Then she glanced at Lena. Her aunt was sitting cross-legged on the sand, her knees poking huge and horribly childish out of her housedress. Shelley could not look at her.

  “Lena, what do you remember about his funeral?”

  She remembered little of it herself, except for the absurd green of the cemetery grass, the cold gray of the sky. There had been a mist over them all. Her parents had both held her closely as though she were a sick person. She remembered that her grandmother had gripped Lena’s arm the whole time; the two of them looked like a mismatched plastic pair on a wedding cake. Her aunt was confused, crying when the others did, tugging at her black dress. Mostly, Lena peered anxiously around her, at the pale fog flowing through the limbs of the trees.

  “It was a chilly day,” Lena said.

  Shelley’s heart wanted to explode into a million angry words. She kicked the water and walked up to Lena sternly, hands on her hips. “Let me ask you,” she demanded. “How are you going to buy us groceries?”

  “You know how,” said Lena, haughtily. “I showed you.”

  “But you can’t do that every day.”

  Lena ducked her head. “You’re supposed to do what a daughter does,” she said. “Live with me and Bob in our house. Say you’ll go to school. I will buy groceries. You’ll have a boyfriend come visit you sometimes. I can tell you what I think of him. You’ll say I have good ideas.”

  They did not understand each other anymore. This was a secret Shelley could not share. She shivered. It occurred to her that they were many miles from anyone they knew.

  She stepped into the surf again, feeling it curl around her feet. Now she had another secret thought, and it was awful: she was the only grownup here. “Remember,” Shelley said, snapping around, “this is a beach. You have to be careful. Don’t—don’t talk to strangers.”

  Lena looked at her curiously.

  “Don’t go off alone with anyone.”

  “Like who?” Lena asked.

  “I don’t know. Anyone who asks.”

  “I don’t like all these don’ts.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Shelley. “Do breathe in the fresh beach air.” She drew in a huge breath; Lena copied her.

  “When I say something,” Lena said, “listen! Don’t say no.”

  Shelley said, “Mmm. Well, you also have to listen to me.”

  Lena folded her arms in her lap and regarded Shelley. “Everyone has different rules,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had a rule that I couldn’t put my hands in my pants.”

  Shelley laughed. “When?”

  “When I was a little girl. Vivien didn’t have that rule. She had a rule that she had to be great at all times.”

  “She did?”

  “But she was great every time anyway.”

  “What about Ella? Did she have any rules?”

  Lena chortled. “Mother had the rule that she always had to be right.” She rolled her eyes. “I had more rules than anybody. I think Mother was scared about me.”

  Lena rubbed her palms against her knees. “What do you mean?” Shelley asked.

  “She was scared I couldn’t do things,” said Lena. “I know she was.”

  The thought seemed like an open hand, reaching to shake another in her own chest, for Shelley understood this completely; she believed her mother felt the same way about her. “Huh,” she said, hoping to convey some sympathy. But her aunt was watching the waves wash up against the rocks.

  “Did you have any rules that you broke?” asked Shelley.

  Lena squinted, thinking, then sat up very straight. “I got married!” she said. “Everyone was surprised.” She twisted her hand with her wedding finger lovingly around her cheek and kissed her thumb. “I dreamed about it many times, and then it happened to me.”

  Eleven

  BOB HAD first called on an April day in 1963. Ella picked up the phone and heard a male voice whisper, almost plead, “Lena. Lena. Lena there?”

  It was a question she rarely heard. “Who may I say is calling?” Ella asked.

  “Bob. Goodwill. I drive trucks—Bob . . .”

  She knocked on Lena’s door. “Lena. There’s a—Bob on the phone for you.”

  Lena burst out of her room with naked joy on her face. “Tell him to wait!” she exclaimed.

  She was wearing a little rouge and perfume when, five minutes later, she deigned to pick up the phone. At first,
Ella couldn’t figure out why her daughter smelled familiar. Then she realized that Lena had put on some of her Chanel; Lena smelled like her.

  Lena had been working at the Van Nuys Goodwill for some time. She sat at a long cafeteria table and sorted socks and blouses that no one else wanted to own. Ella called Dolores, the coordinator of Goodwill’s disabled employees, to check out Bob.

  “Bob. Bob,” muttered Dolores. “Why?”

  “A Bob called Lena on the phone.”

  “This is so nice!” said Dolores. “We have five Bobs. Bob Winters is considerate but a drooler. Bob Lanard you wouldn’t let in your house, not if you care about your china surviving the night.” She paused. “Are you sure it’s not Rob? We have a Rob who’s—well—a former convict, but I think he’s very nice, too.”

  “It was Bob. He said he drove trucks.”

  “Trucks,” muttered Dolores. “Oh, Bob Silver.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “A sweetie. Short, quiet, gray hair, good driver.”

  Ella tried to feel relieved but didn’t, honestly, know what she felt. Bob Silver. It was just a name, but it seemed ferocious as a comet hurtling toward her home to do some new damage.

  Bob called again that night. “Is Lena there?”

  “Lena who?” Ella asked.

  She was sorry the moment she’d said it; she could actually hear the clutch of terror in his breath. “Lena Rose.”

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  “Bob.”

  “Why?”

  Now he was dying. She heard his breath, everything slow on his end as he struggled not to tell her why he was calling.

  “I just want to talk to her,” he said.

  Bob was half an hour early for their first date. He pulled up in an old, candy-apple red Ford that gleamed, dully, in the afternoon. While Lena sprayed her hair upstairs, Ella and Lou huddled in the sheer-curtained window by the door and watched him come toward them. Bob rushed up the walkway, his hands plunged deep in his pockets, head down as though he was walking against a wind.