by Joan Shott
“My dear, it’s natural to second guess our decisions after the fact, especially a big step like marriage. But you’re a strong woman. It’ll all work out.” She leaned across the table and reached for my hand. “So tell me, Matthew’s become hard to read and you’re worried?”
“I mentioned I was going to lunch with you for your birthday, and he almost fell off his chair. He said he’d almost forgotten someone’s birthday. A woman’s. God, Lilly, what if he’s involved with someone else?”
She squeezed my hand too tightly and then seemed to realize what she’d done and let go. “From what you’ve told me he seems taken by you. Why don’t you just ask him what’s wrong?”
“I can’t ask such a personal thing. And if I did, I would be admitting how much I care for him.”
“Diane, I…” she hesitated and closed her eyes as if she were in pain.
“What is it, Lilly?”
“Nothing at all.”
Outside the window of the restaurant we watched a flock of pigeons take flight. They settled on the phone lines across the street.
“What would you do if you had a problem understanding why the birds in your yard were behaving strangely?” she asked. “I’m sure when you first started watching them you saw unusual behaviors you came to understand.”
“I guess I’d watch and wait and the answer would come to me sooner or later. It usually does. Sort of like when I saw the red-shafted flickers rolling on the ground. I’d never seen a bird rolling like that.”
Lilly laughed. “Why were they rolling on the ground?”
“It took a while for me to learn they were rolling in ants. Ants give off a chemical that acts like an insecticide or maybe a fungicide. Scientists aren’t sure. They do the rolling as part of their preening. I found it in a book while I was researching something else.” I sighed, not realizing I had spouted out my answer without stopping to take a breath. “When I learned why they had been rolling on the ground, it all made so much sense I couldn’t believe I’d been puzzled.”
“Then I think that’s what you should do. Wait and see. Let nature take its course,” she said.
Lilly was sure things would work out, because she had the practice of being a mother. And a mother’s advice was usually right, or so I had been told. If she thought Matthew and I would be together, we probably would. There was no trace of worry on her face. She found peace in helping me, and I loved the attention and the care she showed, the thought she put into my problems when her own were so pervasive.
“I guess you’re right, but it’s still scary.” I squeezed her thin hand, the bones lightweight, like a bird’s. I wanted to salvage the day, so I forced out a smile to let her think I was as smart and as good as she believed.
Lilly reached over and ran her fingers through a strand of my hair and pushed it back from my face. She touched the edge of my new blouse at my shoulder, fingering the lacy trim. “It’s scary to fall in love, but don’t let that stop you. Even if things don’t turn out the way you want them to, savor the relationships that come into your life. It’s what makes you rich. Money is nothing. People you love are worth everything.”
I nodded in agreement, but stumbled against her advice to not let my fears stop me from falling in love. That’s not what my head told my heart. But this was her day, and I had to protect the fragile relationship between us that I held in my unsteady hands. “Instead of going out to dinner at a restaurant, could we go to my house for my birthday?”
“On the island?” she asked, seeming surprised.
“Yes. Would you like that?”
“That would be very nice. I’d like to see your garden.”
“I invited Matthew to the island on the Fourth of July,” I said. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to talk about what happened.”
Her eyes grew wide with worry. “Please tell me.”
“My father stopped by, and it wasn’t the nicest of introductions. He lit into Matthew about the antiwar movement. He as much as called him a coward for not going to Vietnam.” After I said it, I realized my father hadn’t used the word coward. It had been Matthew’s father, but he had meant the same thing.
Lilly rubbed her hands together as if she could feel the sting of my father’s attack in her bones. “This is distressing, but not surprising. The war has torn families apart. It’s tearing the country apart.”
“I wouldn’t say the war is tearing my father and me apart, but I think after what my father said, Matthew might be having second thoughts about me,” I said.
“Of course, I misspoke. Not your family, my dear. Not yours.” Her eyes seemed to search the room for something I couldn’t see. “And as for Matthew, he must be used to invectives from war supporters by now. Give it some time. Don’t let it alter your course, Diane.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t let this stop you from what has to be done. Your trip to Chicago. I’m counting on you to make a difference.”
I didn’t know what she expected us to do to effect such a big change, but she seemed to understand how life worked better than I did. I needed the guidance of someone experienced who could help me to make sense of so many things. Someone, well, like a mother.
But Lilly was fragile, and I didn’t want to send her in a downwards spiral, back where I imagined she’d struggled to come from, if I pushed too hard. I’d take it very carefully. Sometimes love is like a delicate little bird in the garden — you have to be patient and it’ll come. And when nature, or a mother, shows you the way, it is a perfect day.
Chapter Eleven
The trip to Chicago and the Democratic National Convention rolled along like a boulder bouncing down a mountainside, too big and powerful to stop, and finally landed in my lap. I was so nervous I couldn’t eat breakfast. Just yesterday I’d half-heartedly tried to convince Matthew he would be better off taking the trip alone. But he wouldn’t hear of leaving me behind. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to speak in front of important people. I was worried I’d be too timid to find my way around in such a big and scary place. I was worried my father would find out where I’d gone and never speak to me again. But mostly, I was worried about changes that might come if I survived the flights there and back and everything in between. Would I recognize the Diane who stepped off the plane in Seattle?
I feared the airplane trip, feared the crowds of people we would face, feared having to navigate a place as foreign to me as the depths of Africa, but as I lay in bed the night before the trip, I made a mental list of the good things. This trip was my chance to face my fears. I knew I was stronger than I gave myself credit for, and this was my opportunity to prove it. Matthew and I would be together for four days and have a million chances to become closer. I could touch his hand as I passed a note about an important phone call to him. I’d watch him push his hair back from his eyes when he got excited by an idea like I’d seen him do a hundred times. I wanted only small bits of happiness, but those moments might be molded and kneaded and expanded like a child’s balloon into the shape of the rest of my life.
I drifted towards sleep, comforted by the familiar sound of midnight rain. The unknown details of our trip filled my head. Would our rooms at the big hotel be as glamorous as something out of a movie? Would Matthew stop by my room and catch me in some intimate gesture like brushing my hair or fastening that last button on my blouse? Would he notice the clothes I’d spent hours packing and repacking, planning just the right thing to wear? Would he appreciate the short, white skirt I’d ironed and folded so carefully, the blue blouse I’d bought with only him in mind?
I woke within the remnant of a dream of us making love in the center of a strange room, in an unrecognizable city, on sheets so clean and white they smelled of rain. My body ached with the emptiness of waking alone, my head dizzy with the realization of how far I could fall. The fingers of dawn poked under the thin curtains, and I stumbled from bed, shook off the dust of my girlish dreams.
He pulled into our narr
ow brick driveway at seven o’clock. Nancy, usually asleep at that hour on a Saturday, was not only awake, but seated at our little kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. She was as calm as a cat when Matthew came in for my bag, never asked a single personal or embarrassing question in his presence. I scraped my uneaten toast into the garbage can and washed my plate. She grinned at me as Matthew walked out the door carrying my old suitcase.
“You two have a good time, and I expect to see you kissing him on television. Watch for the cameras.”
“What? Nancy, be quiet. He might hear you,” I hissed.
“He doesn’t need me to put ideas in his head. He has them already,” she said. “Come on, Diane. You’re as uptight as my mother. Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re twenty-one or eighty-one. Loosen up and enjoy your trip. A chance like this doesn’t come along every day.”
I wondered how she could be so sure. Did she see something in me — or something in him — to shore up her bets? “Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going on a business trip for a serious cause.”
“Oh, I think he’s serious, Diane. Don’t break his heart. Have a good time.”
“Tell me something,” I said, as I stood by the back door.
“What?”
“Why are you so determined to see us together when you won’t date a man more than once?”
“I’ll tell you this,” she pointed her manicured finger at me. “If I ever meet a guy who needs me the way that guy needs you, I might let him stick around for a while.” She followed me to the door, leaned out, and said, “Take good care of her, Matt.” She let the screen door slam behind her.
I turned around as Matthew closed the trunk of his car.
“What’d she say?’ he asked.
“Nancy? Oh, nothing, I think she said to have fun, but I told her this was all business.” What she had said echoed in my head: like that guy needs you.
“Well, we should enjoy ourselves. It’s a great city if you don’t let the politics scare you.” He seemed puzzled as he walked towards the passenger side of the car. “Is everything okay? You look a little scared.” He opened the door for me, and I slid into the seat.
I had meant to tell him when we’d been at the house on the island. I’d been on the verge of my big confession, but after my father’s tirade, I never found the right time to bring up the subject again. “I guess I am a little scared. This will be my first time on an airplane.” I wanted to continue with my list of worries: the big city, the crowds, the noise, was he moving away from me, had he ever been close to me? I left it at a simple fear of flying.
“You’re kidding?” His eyes swept across me as he turned to back out of the driveway.
“Well, I see all the places you fly to for your job, but I’m not in the habit of crisscrossing the country on a moment’s notice. Sorry for being so…so unsophisticated.” I knew I was coming off as defensive, but another one of my fears to add to the growing list, right behind flying through the air in a shell made of metal, was to seem like a country bumpkin in the midst of a big city. How should I act in a fancy hotel? How would I use the subway or the buses across miles and miles of streets with names I’d never heard before? I wanted to impress him, but I was afraid I’d be nothing more than a nuisance.
“Being sophisticated has nothing to do with flying in an airplane,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve very sophisticated. I mean, you know how to grow the best tomatoes I ever had in my life.” He put on his serious expression and kept his eyes on the road, although I knew he was waiting for the reaction he knew would come.
“Oh, stop, Matthew. You’re teasing me. You know, I’m not like you.” I slapped him playfully on the arm, touching the polished broadcloth of his blue shirt. My fingers held the warmth from the skin beneath the fabric even after I moved my hand back into my lap.
“No, you’re not like me.” He hesitated. “Don’t worry. Once you’re airborne, there’s no turning back, so… oh, Christ, I forgot.”
“Forgot what?” I asked.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll be next to you the whole time. And I have faith we’ll make it.”
He didn’t want to mention the fact that Bobby had died in an airplane crash, but the subject loomed over our heads as if it were one of the thick clouds blanketing the morning sky. The strongest wind couldn’t push the reality of my past far enough away to ease the burden my heart had carried day in and day out for longer than I could remember. I was tired of thinking about it; tired of a life which felt as if it were ending instead of just beginning. I wanted another chance.
The conversation waned and we drove along shepherded by of the sound of the radio. I searched the stations, and the upbeat rhythm of Brown Eyed Girl bounced through the speakers.
“You know, that song’s about you,” Matthew laughed, reaching over the steering wheel and tapping his hands on the dashboard. “You have the prettiest brown eyes. He wrote it about you. Fess up, Diane. Miss Unsophisticated is very much admired by Van Morrison.”
“You’re relentless,” I said, and turned the dial, stopping in the middle of a refrain from Let’s Spend the Night Together. I snapped the radio off; afraid he might think I was hinting at that very idea.
“Don’t like that song?” he asked, as he moved the car in and out of the light traffic.
“It’s okay. I suppose we should be listening to something relaxing. You know, to ease my jitters…about the flight. Something slow and calm.”
“I think the Stones would take your mind off the flight, but it’s your choice. What would you like? Classical?”
“No. That would put me to sleep.”
“Jazz?”
“No thanks. Not my style.”
“Old stuff?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You know. The music our parents listened to. Like Tony Bennett and Johnny Mathis. Love songs.”
“Yes.” I clapped my hands together as if I’d won a carnival prize. “My mother had dozens of record albums stored under the bed. After she died I’d found them. I played those records every day for months, went to sleep at night listening to them. I still play them when I get a chance, even though my roommates try to hide them.” I was confessing to being a fuddy-duddy. Sometimes I’d rather listen to Tony Bennett than The Beatles. A fuddy-duddy, unsophisticated, country bumpkin, afraid of everything. I pulled a mirror out of my purse and looked at my reflection. Was I really all those things? Yes, I supposed I was.
“See, you’re an old fashioned girl,” he said.
And old-fashioned, too? “I am not. I’m as hip as the next woman,” I said, shoving the mirror back into my purse.
“I mean you have old-fashioned values. Like the sentiments of those love songs. It’s one of the things I, ah, like about you.”
“You do?” He found something I thought of as kooky to be sweet: my mother’s music was my music. It was the one thing of hers my father hadn’t managed to throw away, and when I’d listened to those songs all alone in my room, I’d pretended my mother was teaching me about life and love and what the world had in store for me. When no one else had been there to talk to, those old records had helped raise me. She had tried to show me how to dance to her favorite song one day, bending down after it had ended and whispering something to me. Something I should have remembered. What had she said? Diane, dancing…
“What’s your favorite?” he asked.
His question brought me back from the old living room of chintz slipcovers and faded wallpaper. I had forgotten we were traveling at sixty miles an hour. “I’m sorry. Did you ask me something about a favorite?”
“What’s your favorite song?” he asked again. “If the songs were so important, you must have had a favorite.”
“My Funny Valentine,” I said without hesitation. “I used to think it was about me, that I was a little different but someone would love me even so.” Yes, I was all those things I’d seen in the mirror and there was nothing wrong with it. “One da
y my mother showed me how to dance to that song, although all I did was stand on her feet as she moved around the room.”
“That’s a neat memory. I hope you didn’t mind me calling you old-fashioned.” Matthew said.
I shook my head. I didn’t mind. I may have been an old-fashioned girl in some ways, but I understood what Mick Jagger sang about, too. I turned the radio back on and listened to the end of the Rolling Stones, pretending it was just another song.
*****
When the plane lifted off from the runway I folded my fingers in prayer and begged for a safe passage to Chicago. I must have believed the trip would change my life, or I’d never have gone through with the whole thing, terror quaking in the pit of my stomach, black stars dancing at the corner of my consciousness. I knew the pilot wanted to live, and he was very good at his job, wasn’t he? People did this everyday and then did it again. I peeked at others in the airplane as they looked at magazines or chatted. Was I the only one who thought I might never get out of this thing alive? One of the stewardesses walked down the aisle, and the nervous sweep of my eyes caught her attention.
“Would you like a pillow?” she asked.
I shook my head no. If we were going to crash, I wanted to be awake to see all those moments of my life flash before my eyes. I wondered if Bobby had a chance to think about anything before he died, wondered if he’d thought about me.
I leaned my forehead against the small window as the clouds passed below us. I went over and over the dance with my mother in my mind, trying to get past her first words, Diane, dancing is like…but I couldn’t push any further. I closed my eyes and let the monotonous sound of the jet engines lull me to someplace close to the edge of sleep where dreams refused to come.
There were permanent fingernail gouges in the armrests of my seat by the time we taxied to the terminal at O’Hare. I’d held onto them for dear life when what I wanted to do was take Matthew’s hand. He’d napped for most of the flight with his head dangerously close to my shoulder, waking up just when the plane touched down.