Mackenna on the Edge

by Djuna Shellam

  Eve nodded. She noted Mackenna’s gait was a little off when she first arrived at the mansion, and now she understood why.

  “I just hate doing it sometimes… it’s like it never goes away—the boring daily regimen of physical therapy—but I know if I don’t I’ll get to a point where I won’t ever get rid of the limp once it shows up.” Mackenna shrugged. “So I rebel every so often until I get just to the point of no return. Given I don’t like even the idea of being a gimp, I’m pretty careful about going over the red line.”

  Mackenna’s voice trailed momentarily before she continued, but from a more distant place. “My first therapist used to threaten me with something called the Trendelenberg limp. Everyday it was, ‘You don’t vant a Trendelenberg limp, do you Miss Marteeeen? Do you? Nyah, nyah, nyah,’ in this intense German accent.” Again, for a moment, Mackenna was elsewhere, lost in time. Finally, she smiled directly at Eve. “He was such a Nazi.”

  Eve laughed.

  Mackenna quickly added, “Not that all Germans are Nazis… I just meant…” She smiled weakly.

  “Absolutely not,” Eve said with mock seriousness.

  “Ah,” Mackenna sighed, “political correctness… you gotta love it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Anyway…”

  “Well… I just have to tell you, Mackenna, I think what you’ve accomplished is amazing. You know, we all feared you were going to lose your leg… and then, after all the surgeries, wondering whether you’d even ever walk again.” Eve heaved a heavy sigh, suddenly awash in her own horrible memories. “I mean…”

  “I know.” Mackenna was right there with her and gulped back a sudden surge of emotion. “I got lucky. I didn’t think so at first, I mean, I really fought it, but now… I’m so thankful I had people in my life pushing me so hard, refusing to let me give up. I sure hated them at the time, but without them, I fully intended to give up. I actually did, after… well, everything, y’know… So yeah, I’m doing okay.”

  The conversation lagged momentarily until Eve again broached another potentially delicate subject. “So when did you stop using Em and decide to use Mackenna instead?”

  “Oh.” Mackenna faltered slightly as she scoured her memory. “Uh, let’s see… Well, actually, you know my first name is Mary-Mackenna?”

  “Right.”

  Well, I got the nickname Em at um… Goodfellow, actually,” Mackenna offered with hesitance, purposefully omitting it was Alice who christened her. “When I first went into the Air Force, they noticed my initials were M-M.M. So… um… they called me Em and it stuck like glue, and… I liked it okay.”

  “Emmy, too, right?” Eve asked.

  Mackenna’s insides jumped. That was Alice’s pet name for her. Emmy. She quickly shook off the memories. “Anyway, as soon as I began writing professionally I just changed it. I don’t know, I guess I wanted a change. I needed a change,” she added softly.

  “Why Mackenna and not Em?” Eve inquired. “Or even just plain old Mary Martín?”

  “Well, Em is just a nickname… and I think ‘just plain old’ rather sums up why I don’t use ‘Mary,’ don’t you?”

  They laughed.

  “Besides,” Mackenna continued, “I never liked the name Mary all by itself. Anytime anyone calls me ‘plain old’ Mary, well, I don’t know… it feels incomplete. Weird, right?”

  “I tried to do the initial thing, you know, M-M. Martín, but even though it looked kind of cool on paper, it was a bit awkward using it in my everyday life, as you might guess. I needed a drastic change in my life… so here I am.” Mackenna suddenly laughed. “Of course, you might have noticed, or you will soon enough, everyone around here still calls me Mary-Mackenna.”

  Eve smiled knowingly and nodded.

  “It kind of bugs me, just a little sometimes, as if I don’t get any respect,” Mackenna admitted. “But I know they love me and it’s just that it’s familiar to them. And it’s not like I hate my given name or anything, though it’s a good thing I don’t, because boy do they insist on using it.” She laughed again, then shrugged. “When they call me Mary-Mackenna, I just try to look at it as them giving me a sense of grounding. You know, keeping me from losing myself—if that makes any sense to you. No one really calls me Em… anymore,” she added.

  “Yeah… Well, actually, I think M-M. Mackenna is a great name, especially for a writer. J.D. Salinger, T.S. Eliot, um… Forster, Lawrence—that’s some pretty good company. But… I know what you mean. Mackenna Martín is cool, too.” She pondered for a moment, squinting as if to see the name in her mind. “Yeah, it works for me. I like it,” Eve decided.

  Mackenna laughed. “Thanks, I’m glad.”

  “I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” Eve replied, stretching.

  “So… are you and Deirdre still friendly at all?” Eve innocently asked, not realizing she had entered yet another emotional mine field.

  “Oh, uh…” Mackenna was momentarily at a loss for words as her emotions snapped to attention.

  Seeing the obvious inner turmoil she had prompted in Mackenna, Eve would have given anything at that moment to go back in time and take back that particular question. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

  “No, no, it’s okay, Eve. Don’t apologize. You just caught me off-guard, that’s all. Deirdre and I are…” she paused, searching for an apt description of what she and Deirdre were to each other.

  “Really, Em —” God! She slipped again! “I mean, Mackenna… It’s no big deal, I just —”

  “We’re not friends. Not anymore. It wasn’t… a pretty breakup. Things happened that… I…” Mackenna’s mind went reeling into the past, briefly reliving snippets of their last confrontation and still wondering why it was over. She knew why, Deirdre cheated on her, but why did she cheat? How did their relationship get there? Eve waited uncomfortably for Mackenna to mentally work through her still obviously raw feelings.

  On a certain level, Mackenna yearned for the ability to share her pain with Eve—with anyone—but she couldn’t. Deirdre’s devastating departure was still too fresh—barely six months old— and to revisit even a minute aspect of it would be simply overwhelming. Mackenna quickly closed the flood gates to the memories and simply waved her hand and said, “It’s just over. We’re nothing.” She shrugged. “No big deal.”

  But Eve could see it was a very big deal. She had heard through the grapevine that Deirdre had developed a serious cocaine addiction and wondered if that was the cause of their demise. But those were unsubstantiated rumors and nothing on which to base an opinion.

  “Besides,” Mackenna added, “she isn’t the same person anymore. I don’t even know who she is, so…”

  “Are the rumors true? You know… About the coke?” Eve asked gingerly.

  Mackenna sighed. She never ever mentioned Deirdre’s drug use to anyone—she didn’t want to feed the rumor mill no matter how much she herself had been hurt—but this was Eve asking. “Well, yes,” Mackenna hesitated. “She… I didn’t even know she was using until right around the time she left. She hid it from me and I didn’t even know.” She shook her head at the realization—a realization that never failed to shock and sadden her all at once. “A lot made sense to me once I found out, but after… well, it was just pretty bad. But… I don’t really want to…”

  “Don’t.”

  Suddenly the room filled with the musical sound of clock chimes as the large grandfather clock struck three times.

  “Oh, cripes,” Eve exclaimed, “is it really that late?” She confirmed the clock’s pealing declaration by quickly glancing at the vintage Rolex watch on her wrist. “Damn, it is—it doesn’t seem that late at all.” Eve slowly stood up, straightening her pants which were hopelessly bunched up from sitting.

  “I know what you mean,” Mackenna concurred and stretched her arms toward the ceiling as she slowly rose from her chair. “It even doesn’t seem like it’s midnight, let alone three.”

  “D
oes that thing go off like that every hour?”

  Mackenna shrugged. “Yes. It’s supposed to, anyway.”

  “Wow, it’s loud,” Eve said more to herself than Mackenna. “I’m surprised we didn’t hear it before now.” She shrugged. “Well… I’d better get to bed—before the sun comes up, anyway.”

  “Yeah, me too—I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow,” Mackenna said as she stifled a yawn, which did not go undetected by Eve.

  Eve put her cup on the tea tray and bent to pick it up with the intention of taking it to the kitchen.

  “No, don’t, Eve,” Mackenna said, stopping Eve in her tracks. “Izzy’ll have it taken care of tomorrow. If I let you do it, I’ll never hear the end of it.” Mackenna smiled.

  “Oh, okay,” Eve replied, struck by Mackenna’s concern for Izzy’s feelings, while at the same time half-thinking she really needed to work on getting a housekeeper some day. She immediately decided against the idea—it would be just too weird.

  Mackenna came up alongside Eve and put her arm through hers, directing her toward the door. “C’mon, I’ll walk up with you.”

  “Great,” Eve said as they moved toward the front of the mansion and the large foyer.

  Mackenna wrapped her arm around Eve’s waist as they began to slowly climb the grand marbled staircase that led upstairs to the numerous bedroom suites. “You should have everything you need—can I get you anything else? More blankets? Pillows?”

  “Oh, please, my dear!” Eve put her arm around Mackenna’s shoulders, and pulled her close. “Could I really need more than this?” She waved her free arm to indicate the opulent surroundings. “All this… and you?” she added mischievously, squeezing Mackenna with genuine affection.

  They reached the top of the stairs without a reply from Mackenna who was jarred to her foundation by Eve’s flirtation. She’s so much like Alice—god I miss her. She blinked back a threatening tear and attempted to ignore the trembling in her stomach while trying to analyze the situation. I hope I haven’t made a mistake inviting her here. Truth is, I love having her here, but can I survive this on top of everything else? Am I reading too much into what she just said— should I say anything about it? Should I…

  Eve interrupted Mackenna’s thoughts realizing she may have said something improper. “Really, I’m more than comfortable here, Mackenna.” She wasn’t sure, but she felt incredibly awkward at Mackenna’s silence, and was almost positive she detected a flinch at her obviously failed attempt at playful intimacy. She continued with a nearly apologetic tone. “My suite is spectacular, Mackenna, and I really, really, really appreciate your hospitality—you’re amazing. And very sweet. You saved my life.” She gave Mackenna’s hand a gentle squeeze that sent shivers down Mackenna’s spine.

  “Nonsense, Eve. It’s great to have you here.” Mackenna blushed and quickly changed the subject. “Okay, I’m right down the hall—down there,” Mackenna indicated in the opposite direction. “Seventh door on the right—if you need me for anything.”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks. And,” Eve pulled Mackenna to her and hugged her tightly and said in a hushed voice, “It’s so great to see you again—it’s been too long.” She kissed Mackenna on the cheek, allowing her soft lips to linger momentarily. “I’ll see you in the morning—well, maybe not ’til sometime after noon, anyway. Ni’ night.” She released Mackenna, turned and walked toward her suite leaving Mackenna watching the familiar build walk slowly down the hall.

  “G’night.” Mackenna said inaudibly.

  She remained at the top of the stairs after Eve disappeared into the darkness of the hall—darkness that was immediately replaced by a thin sliver of soft light escaping from the bottom of Eve’s door. Mackenna put her hands to her face, slowly and methodically wiping her suddenly wet eyes. She pulled her fingers across to her temples and then up and over the skin of her face with moderate pressure, massaging as if the manipulation itself would succeed in driving the memories away. But what would rid her of this ache in her heart that seemed to be growing in intensity by the hour? She stood waiting until the sliver vanished and then turned and walked with a tired, irregular gait to her own rooms and the blessed sanctuary of sleep—seemingly her only respite from the painful, memory laden past.

  ~/~/~/~/~

  Lying alone in the darkness of the strange room, Eve watched the liquid shadows from the backyard pool dance blithely against the walls. As the reflections gently lulled her to sleep, Eve felt an odd sensation of absolute security combined with an uncomfortable sense of foreboding.

  THIRTEEN

  Wild Blue Yonder

  “Off we go into the wild blue yonder, Climbing high into the sun;

  Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,

  At 'em boys, Give 'er the gun! (Give 'er the gun now!)

  Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,

  Off with one helluva roar!

  We live in fame or go down in flame. Hey!

  Nothing'll stop the U.S. Air Force!” ~ Robert Crawford

  If I had to describe my high school years, in twenty-five words or less, especially those spent in public school, I’d have to say it was a seemingly endless tug of war game between my parents and me. Whatever they wanted me to do, I would do the exact opposite. It was all done in the most covert manner to avoid serious repercussions from them. Yet, despite my every effort to achieve a slightly different result, I wasn’t even considered a problem child. Still, I was constantly pushing them to, I don’t know what, I suppose pay attention to me. I just wanted some kind of reaction from them. Anything. Once I reached high school they were rarely around, so I made sure when they were here, they had to deal with me. I flat out would not be ignored. By the time I decided to join the military, I was very good at the game. And when I took the bold step and enlisted in the Air Force, I sincerely believed I had played the ultimate hand and won. Now, some twenty years later, that belief is seriously up for reconsideration.

  My final act of rebellion, eschewing college in favor of the Air Force—the show stopper as I prefer to call it—was probably the most frightening thing I’ll ever do. Ever. To knowingly sign away four years of my life to the government was huge for me. With a clear understanding that the last four years in my life seemed to take a lifetime to go by, well, that in itself was a pretty powerful statement on how strong my desire was to upset my parents.

  In retrospect, I’m sure I could have made a substantial impact by merely joining the Hari Krishnas or becoming a Republican. But my motives were complex, and I was beginning to feel an intense pressure from Mother and Papá to conform to their way of life. Feeling slightly desperate, as well as looking for the coup de grâce to finally liberate me from their clutches, I made my decision, albeit one fraught with contradiction. I wanted autonomy and financial independence from my parents; yet, I also wanted what they could readily give me—education and travel.

  On the face of it, the military seemed to offer me all that with one real important drawback: I would exchange being ruled by my parents with being owned by the government. But more important than that, I would essentially throw my parents’ lifestyle in their faces and alienate them for most of the rest of their lives. It was a difficult decision, but I was facing a truly critical time in my life. The longer I waited before coming to some resolution, the more likely it was that I would be sucked into the life of a full-fledged high society debutante.

  So I did it. I enlisted in the military and became a WAF. Women’s Air Force was a holdover term from the early days of the sexually segregated Air Force. The Army had the WACs, Women’s Army Corps; and the Navy had WAVES, Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service. I always felt it would have been far more interesting to be a WAVE in the Navy than a WAF or a WAC, because, I mean, WAVE makes sense, but what is a WAF or a WAC, anyway?

  Unfortunately for me, the Navy didn’t have any openings for women when I went to enlist. Having resolved to join the military service no matter what, I was left to choose
between the Army, Marines or Air Force. Had I waited a few months, I would have also had the U.S. Coast Guard as an option; but alas, I was in a hurry. Since the Army had ugly uniforms and Marine women scared me, in the end, I was left with the Air Force.

  My ultimate decision found me in the Armed Forces building in Los Angeles at six o’clock on a winter morning swearing the next four years of my young, innocent life to the United States Air Force and Uncle Sam. I was so scared—terrified, really. It was an incredible day of intense mental deliberation where I worried endlessly about whether or not I had made the mistake of my life; and believe me, I had plenty of time for thinking. It was imperative that I arrive at the processing center before six a.m., though I spent the entire day sitting for hours at a time, waiting for each bureaucratic step in a slow-motion processing that brought me incrementally closer and closer to a point of no exit. Constantly looking for any possible escape route if I suddenly changed my mind, and worried about any potential legal repercussions should I elect to bolt, I was a literal bundle of jumping, jangled nerves.

  I managed to make a few friends that day, but I don’t really remember much about them aside from the fact that they intruded on my mental escape planning. They, on the other hand, will most likely remember me simply as the girl with the darting eyes. I felt hunted, waiting for the next phase of in-processing, holding my breath waiting for the final trip to San Antonio and the dreaded Basic Training. Basic. I’d seen enough boot camp movies in my life to know I should be at least mildly concerned. As a result, my fingernails were history, chewed down to the quick; and after too many idle hours of waiting, I was a walking, talking, human coffee cistern, filled with at least ten cups of sloshing, rot-gut military Java.

  Around dinnertime, I and my new comrades finally departed by bus for the Los Angeles International Airport. Some eight hours later our flight landed in San Antonio. The flight itself was only two hours, but a six hour wait seemed to be a requisite part of the Federal government process. We arrived at Lackland Air Force Base by bus at approximately two-thirty the next morning. 0230 Hours. By the time I and another California girl were processed into our training group, called a Flight—which was exactly what I had in mind from the moment I hit base—it was three forty-five. It didn’t take long for me to understand the old adage, “Hurry up and wait.”