Broken Down Man

(This is completely fiction, based on a conversation had in the car with the two Linda's on Tuesday, March 10, 2009)kk

Broken Down Man

“I’m sorry, Lisa; I don’t get what you see in him. It’s not like you’re a 20 something anymore or that you need a man to take care of you. It’s not like you are desperate or can’t do any better.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Carrie? Why can’t you see the good in him?”

We finished dinner quickly because John called and wanted Lisa to come home immediately. She made her usual lame excuses, but I was pissed. This was the second time he’d interrupted our plans. Lisa used to be independent and sure of herself, but this man changed her into someone I didn’t know.

“Believe me, I’m trying to find some good in him. You’re my best friend, and I want you to be happy, but JOHN? I don’t understand at all,” I said, knowing we were heading for a fight.

”What’s not to understand? He is the most amazing man. Have you noticed the way he smiles at me? The way he’s waiting for me when I get home?”

I had noticed. How could anyone not notice? John was missing a tooth right in the bottom front of his mouth. The first time I saw him, he stuck an unlit cigarette in the empty space and talked in a bad southern accent with it hanging there. I thought it was disgusting, but Lisa giggled like it was the cutest idea ever. Blech.

“OK, Lisa-whatever. Go on home, and call when you find some time for me.”

Eyebrows raised, she looked up, reminding me to give John a chance. She knew I’d love him too eventually- just as long as I didn’t love him too much. “Heh, heh, heh,-it’s a joke, Carrie.” When I didn’t laugh, she put on her jacket and went out the door.

When we were younger, we fell for really attractive guys. I married one who turned out to be a big jerk and after five years of affairs (his) and breast implants (mine) in an embarrassing attempt to hold onto him, we divorced. No kids; just Dooley, our standard poodle for whom we shared custody the ensuing eight years and then blamed each other when he caught some strange disease that killed him. Lisa also married one, and their marriage was good for awhile, but six plus years into it, Stu realized he was gay and moved in with a guy from work. Lisa was devastated. She felt that she had somehow failed. She said to me soon after Stu left, “At least Paul left you for another woman-not a MAN!” as though this were some kind of competition. Over the years, we both dated off and on, but nothing ever lasted for either of us. Now here was John. I kept hoping she’d be over him so we could joke about how ridiculous he was.

But at dinner, Lisa told me she loved him –that she hoped to make things permanent. All I could think was, “How could she do this to me? How could she hook up with this broken down man?” I tried to keep my cool, but she could tell I wasn’t happy about it. Why couldn’t she see what I was sure everyone else saw in John. He was obviously looking for someone to support him. He was a bum.

All of that got me to thinking about the past. Throughout the years, I’d look at couples and wonder how they ever got together. Oftentimes, they just didn’t seem to fit. Usually I’d find myself wondering how someone like HER could fall for someone like HIM or vice versa. One would be very attractive and the other NOT, or one would be very thin and the other NOT, or one would be an asshole. Lots of assholes out there. I wondered if anyone thought that of Paul and me, but then how could they? We were the perfect couple on the outside. We took care of our bodies. He played every sport in high school and several in college. I spent every spare minute at the gym. He didn’t act like a jerk outside of our home. He saved that for me. Our marriage had failed, but some of those odd couples were still going strong.

Now that I’m in my 50’s, I notice more of a person than just the outside. I’ve become picky about my friends and even more so about men. I don’t mean that I want him to make “X” amount of money or even have hair on his head. I mean I want someone I can talk to –someone who will listen. I want to be able to share my most intimate thoughts without fear of being put down. It’s not about looks and stature anymore but about finding value in another’s ideas and accepting him for who he is...wanting to know everything about him and finding out slowly with a certain amount of anticipation. I want him to be interested in the whole me, not just whether or not I’m beautiful or sexy or whatever physical attributes men look for in a woman.

As I left the restaurant still ruminating, my phone rang.

“Carrie, it’s me- Lisa. I wanted to apologize for earlier…” She was almost whispering, and my first thought was that John the jerk was listening in.

”No need- I understand-really. We’ll get together soon.”

”That’s what I wanted to tell you, Care! John bought us tickets for a cruise.” Now she was giggling like a teenager. I imagined him nuzzling her neck as she talked on the phone and nausea crept up my throat. The sooner this conversation was over, the better.

”That’s great, Lisa. I can tell you’re busy- I can practically hear John breathing down your neck. Call me later when we can talk.”

”He’s not here- your imagination is in overdrive. He went to the Burnett’s to help them with a plumbing problem. I mean, aren’t you even excited about this?”

“OK- the truth- no, I’m not. I think he’s manipulating you and has been since the beginning. How can he afford a cruise anyway? Odd jobs around the neighborhood don’t pay much. You support him, so my guess is he’s using your credit card to book this trip.” I said it, and I braced myself for her verbal onslaught.

“Carrie! Is that what you think? You are so wrong about John. I haven’t told you the whole truth because he asked me not to, but I hate it that you judge him the way you do, so here it is. John doesn’t have to work. His grandmother left him a lot of money (and I mean A LOT) when she died a year ago. He does odd jobs because he likes to help people. As a matter of fact, he gave up a good job in Virginia to move here and take care of his grandmother about two years ago.”

“Hmmm-interesting story. Are you sure it’s the truth?” I couldn’t buy it.

“What, do you think he’s a crook or something? Carrie, it’s all true.

“Okay, if you say so- I believe you. When do you guys leave?” I obviously wasn’t going to convince her.

“He bought the tickets for us- for you and me, not for him and me! He wants us to go and have a good time because he knows how important our friendship is.”

“You’re kidding, right? He wants US to go on a cruise- without him?”

“YES, that’s what I said. Just the two of us. Everything is paid for, but with you being such a bitch, maybe I should take Melanie instead.

Her words were beginning to sink in. John wanted Lisa and me to go on a cruise together. It was paid for. We’d talked about taking a cruise since we were in high school- just the two of us. We even visited a travel agency once, picking up brochures and spending hours poring over them, discussing possible destinations.

“Whoa- you don’t want to take Melanie. She’ll drive you crazy! I apologize for everything I ever said about John. Really, I’m sorry. Oh my, Lisa, you’re not kidding, are you?“

Lisa was laughing now, and she sounded like the Lisa I’ve known almost my whole life.

“Lise, just one question,” I continued. “If John is so wealthy, why on earth doesn’t he fix his front teeth? I mean, come on. He looks like a guy who just stepped out of the bowling alley! You don’t really think that’s cute, do you?

“You are so damn shallow! He has had two implants that haven’t taken. He kids around because he’s embarrassed about it. He sees a new specialist next week to either try another implant or to get a fake tooth. I thought you were beyond looks. You’re always talking about how it’s not about looks, but you are such a liar!

I felt like a pretty big schlub. She was right. I heard people in my head saying, “Her husband is such a nice guy, but she’s an asshole! How did they ever end up together?” I had made no attempt to get to know the man behind the absent-toothed smile. I ranted about judgmental people, and here I was right there with them.

“You’re right, Lisa. I’m an idiot. But, why didn’t you just tell me all of this before?”

“Maybe because you never asked. I know you well, but I still haven’t figured out to read your mind!”

We talked for another hour. She told me that the tooth bothered her at first, too, but John won her over. He’d drop everything to help her elderly neighbors, and when the Parker's across the street heard how handy he was and asked him to paint their house, he didn’t hesitate to help them, too. The more she talked, the more I began to understand what it was about John that lit her up.

After we got off the phone, I went home to my empty apartment. I opened my closet to hang my coat and noticed my old bowling bag, from a college class Lisa and I had once taken to get rid of a PE credit, on the shelf. We thought bowling would be easier than tennis and less embarrassing than ballet. Of course we turned out to be wrong on both counts, but that’s another story.

“Hmmm,” I thought, “a sign? Nah…probably not.”

A New Direction

I decided sometime this week that I'd use this space to publish the stories I'm writing. The following is a fictionalized version of an incident from my childhood.

1960 in Georgia

Arms pumping, lungs exploding, I ran. Somewhere between the candy store and home, Sue let go of my hand, speeding off in front of me. I remember thinking that I’d never seen anyone move so fast. This must be what Mom meant when she said, “That boy runs like the wind,” as she watched footage of an Olympic track competition on television a short time ago. My sister, ran so fast, I thought she might disappear along with the wind, never to return.

Earlier that day, Sue and I, took the nickels Mom gave us for cleaning our room and walked to the store about a quarter of a mile from the house. Just a few weeks before, Daddy had moved us into a duplex in Warner Robins, Georgia, after the Air Force sent him there for a new assignment. I was five years old, and Sue was six- both of us still young enough to accept the move with little grief about leaving friends and the house we knew in Louisiana.

At the store, I wanted to pick my candy very carefully, so I walked up and down the aisles surveying each and every treat on the shelves. Sue knew what she wanted- candy cigarettes and wax lips, which she quickly picked and headed to the check out counter, entreating me to hurry up. As I turned the corner near the back of the store, I noticed a water fountain with a sign attached to the front.

“Susie,” I called. “Come ‘ere.”

Impatient with waiting for me, she came back to where I was standing, and told me again to hurry up. I was learning to sound out words at the time, and turning back to the water fountain, I said, “What does ‘No ni-nig-niggas’ mean?”

A nearby man, big and overalled with brown spit on the edge of his mouth, boomed, “What does NO NIGGAS mean? This little girl wants ta know what no niggas means! I’ll tell you what… ”

He didn’t have a chance to finish because Sue grabbed me by the hand, causing me to drop my nickel on the floor, and yelled, “Run!”

I didn’t know why we were running, but the urgency in her voice propelled me forward. She pulled away quickly and though I hollered after her to wait for me, she waved her arms and kept going. By the time we reached the house, tears rolled down my crimson face. Sue slammed the screen door, and I cried all the louder.

Hearing the commotion, Mom emerged from the kitchen with,
“Susan Elaine, what on earth is all the noise- and why is your sister crying?”
“She…she…”

“Catch your breath and tell me what is going on- Carol Anne, are you hurt?
I shook my head as Sue began to explain.

“She said a bad word, Mom- right in front of people at the store, and this big man came after us.”

About now, Sue began to sob uncontrollably. Mom looked at me with a big question mark etched across her forehead.

“I read the sign…the sign on the water fountain. I just wanted to know what it meant- that’s all. I didn’t know it was bad, Mom.”


(I'm not sure if the story is finished here or if I should add to it. For now, I'll leave it as is...)

Bad Books are All Around Me

Until a few days ago, I was starting to think that nobody knows how to write anymore. Several months ago a student recommended a book to me- one she said was "the best book I've ever read." It's called The Shack. I bought it- after all this one was on the Bestseller List! I read it, and I have to say, I could not believe anything so poorly written could have gotten on anybody's list- except maybe one which I won't mention here! I do understand why a middle school girl might like it because it's one of those saccharine stories that tugs at your heartstrings and dares you to believe that there really might be more out there than what we can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. The intention of the book is not bad- maybe even admirable, but where was this guy's editor? The sentence structure was atrocious -among other things. I also found some of it offensive. The best example was when the main character was talking to Jesus (yes, Jesus- the Lord- not Jesus, the cute boy in 3rd period class), and he (the man) tells Jesus that he's surprised by his looks. Jesus replies with something like, "OH, it's the NOSE, isn't it- well, you know I'm JEWISH." So let's keep extending those stereotypes, shall we? Maybe it was the author's attempt at humor- I don't know, but it really wasn't funny. I trudged on through this horrible excuse for literature and can't remember when I was so happy to finish something. Interestingly, many teachers at my school read it and loved it. Maybe they could get past the grammar, but I really couldn't. If any of you read it, please let me know what you think.

Next, I picked up a book about a teacher with Tourette's Syndrome. I think it's called The Front of the Class. It's autobiographical, and I was impressed with the author's desire to become a teacher in spite of his Tourette's, but there's something off-putting about an author with the "look how great I am" attitude. He writes about his awards, about how much he loves the kids- which is a good thing if you're a teacher, but there is not one anecdote in the entire story about what he actually does in the classroom that makes him a great teacher. He does mention bean bag chairs and computers, but what about strategies? What about how one gets that reluctant learner interested? What about how much our students teach us? And worst of all, to me, is that he says he's a great teacher, but he wants to become an administrator! Administrators often say that they loved teaching, but they become administrators to make change from the top, and that is such BS! I have only met one administrator in all my years of teaching who really cared about what's best for kids. 99.9% of them become administrators in order to 1. make more money or 2. to gain power or 3. to do both #1 and #2...and that's it.

So where am I going with this? I picked up a book a few days ago called A Private History of Awe, and so far, it is lovely. The writing is magnificent, and the author is not blowing his own horn. He is dealing with an elderly mom and a new granddaughter simultaneously, making observations about each and giving his history as well as our country's history during the 50's and 60's at the same time. This is the kind of writing I want my students to see and to hear- the kind of writing that I hope will help them become better writers themselves. It is so refreshing to have found something worth reading.

Happy Friday the 13th and Valentines' Day!

I've always chosen to believe that there was nothing to all of the hype about FRIDAY the 13th, but today almost made me change my mind. Some of you know that about 3 weeks ago, I fell in front of an oncoming car after leaving a restaurant. Luckily, I didn't get hit, but I did manage to smash my knee up pretty well. After the initial shock though, the knee was fine- or I thought it was anyway.

Then earlier this week, it started hurting and my leg began to swell and turn red. I checked with the substitute school nurse since the real nurse was home with the flu (a lot of good that flu shot she tried to get all of us to take, did her!), and she said it was because I let it scab over and I needed to soak it and soften that sucker up, put some triple antibiotic on it and WALLA- it would be fine. I took her advice, but the next day, the redness had spread and it was difficult to bend at the knee. That was Wednesday, so I decided to bite the bullet and make a doc. appt.

I took the day off from school Thursday and called, only to find out my doctor doesn't have office hours on Thursday. You can probably figure out how often I see him since I didn't know that. I rested at home, and by afternoon, the swelling and redness were gone. I figured I'd cancel my appt. which was set for today at 5:15 PM, but first I called Ryan, my doctor son, and he told me I'd better keep that appointment and have my doctor at least look at it because I didn't want to get cellulitis. It sounded possibly serious, so I said ok, I'll go.

To make a long story longer (:)), I was sitting in the waiting room this evening when my phone rang. It's Eli on the other end telling me he had broken his finger while playing football with his buddies, and I had to come get him right now. The way he said it was, "The bone is sticking out," so I let the receptionist know that I had to go and told her why.

She grabs the doctor, and he says he'll see me quickly (since it's Friday and I won't have another chance 'til Monday). He takes one look at my knee and says I have a good infection (what the heck is a "good" infection?), has the nurse give me a tetanus shot (ouch!) and gives me a prescription for an antibiotic and an antibiotic cream (both with all kinds of possible side effects although none said anything about a 4 hour anything- whew!- which is why I don't go to doctors in the first place) and tells me if there is any change for the worse to call him immediately!

I rush to get Eli, hit every red light possible and horrible traffic to boot. Eli's calling me every 2 minutes to see where I am. I call Alan- how dare he go out of town this weekend, and I have to deal with all this!! I get to Eli, expecting to see his finger hanging off the side of his hand by a thread, and there's no bone sticking out. My drama king son probably has a jammed finger, though I probably shouldn't say that because I suppose it could be broken, and I'll feel really badly tomorrow if it is. We put ice on it, and it was well enough for him to go to a concert with his friends tonight.

Oh, oh, and do you know what Alan asked? "It wasn't his bowling hand was it?" Argh! No, dear, it wasn't. He will live to bowl another day, and by the way, will you still love me if I have to get a peg leg after this flesh eating bacteria devours this one? Happy V-Day!

It's Groundhog Day and a great day all around!

I love the idea of a groundhog telling us that we'll have 6 more weeks of winter! Of course in San Antonio, we don't have to worry about it, but we faithfully read the newspaper to find out what 'ole Punxsatawney Phil has to say about the weather. I remember in middle school being jealous of our neighbor, Bobbie Sein, who was born on February 2, and got to share her birthday with Phil. By the way, I recently heard he's only accurate about 20% of the time, but I'd have to say that's better than our local meteorologists! No big chill, no snow, no ice, no sleet. I love it when they are so wrong.

Not only is today a great day because it's Groundhog Day, but I also got some cool news. The play I co-wrote with Michael H., Darfur Calls, won the Irving J. Fain Award, which according to our rabbi is the "premiere social action award for the Union of Reform Judaism." And Rabbi wants me to go to Washington D.C. for the URJ's Consultation on Conscience in April to accept it! Even cooler, is that Kristinn and family live up there, and I'll get to see them. I don't care about getting an award, but this will hopefully give our play "legs" and the possibility of being produced in other venues across the U.S. Now THAT would be very cool!

The Big Chill

There was talk on the news yesterday that the "big chill" was finally going to make an appearance. I always have to laugh at the idea of snow here, where we go for years with neither snow nor ice. As a matter of fact, the last time we had real snow in San Antonio was 1985, and the big reason I remember when it was is because Rachel was born in October of 1984, and the snow hit right before her sister, Alana's second birthday in January. We had great fun building a snow "person" in the front yard- Alana had ziplock bags over her shoes to keep her dry.
But I digress...the "big chill" makes people crazy here. The kids get excited because of the possibility they might get a day off from school. They don't sleep because every 10 minutes, they go to the window to check out the snow that is surely falling by now. In the morning, they leap out of bed to check one more time, praying that while they dozed off for that final 10 minutes, a miracle happened and the meteorologist was actually right. The forecast last night was for sleet with a strong possibility of ice by mid-morning. Even the teachers were beginning to imagine a day off by the end of the day yesterday because it was really getting cold outside. I woke up this morning, and I have to admit, I peeked out of the window, halfway hoping to see that blanket of snow. (I always figure if it has to be cold, it could at least snow so that we can play in it!) I couldn't tell from upstairs if there was anything on the ground; I went downstairs and opened the door to see a completely clear sky and no sign of any precipitation of any kind. OH Maaaaaan. How is it that we get fooled over and over again? Then there's the number of accidents that happen when the roads are icy because nobody in this part of Texas knows how to drive in it. We recognize the Northerners by the chains on their car tires, but none of us would know how to get those chains to stay on ours. We secretly laugh at them as we go barreling down the road, pretending we know what we're doing until CRASH, BAM, BOOM, we run into a utility pole and total our cars as that New Yorker rolls by shaking her head. So, in the end, it's probably a good thing we only have snow and ice once every 25 years. We'd just have to make up the school day we miss sometime in June anyway, when the sun is out to stay, and who wants to be stuck inside when the beaches and parks are beckoning? Oh, that is so much better than building snow people and wrecking our cars...

Be the Change

Can you feel the electricity in the air? The hope? I feel so fortunate to be a part of it. What an amazing time! During my conference period today, my phone rang. I usually turn it off when I get to school, but I had forgotten, so I answered it. Kristinn was on the other end, telling me that 3 year old Sofia had something to say. Sofia got on the phone and said, "Hi Bubbe, I am watching President Barack Obama!" I heard 5 year old Gabriel in the background saying, "We're watching the inauguration!" We (teachers) were able to see the swearing in and President Obama's speech before we had to get back to class. In San Antonio yesterday, our MLK March was once again one of the (if not the) largest in the US. It was very moving to see the joy on everyone's faces- to know that a dream few expected to ever happen has come true with this inauguration. People of all ethnicities and religious backgrounds marched arm in arm, and it truly felt like a new dawn is here- a new age of more than just tolerance but acceptance and even (dare I say it?) love. Only a few times in my life have I known I was witnessing a historic event, but today is a day I will never forget. Let's keep the dream alive until we are all truly equal.