Part II: Journeys (Chapter 26)
Tess wanders
around Sal’s
living room, observing the happy chaos: Heidi, the dachshund, and her pup,
Oscar Meany, barking and chasing each other around the house; the sounds of a
steel guitar twanging from the TV; the telephone ringing constantly, which Sal
ignores.
Stevie has discovered the Tonka
Truck and runs it across the carpet: “Rrrrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrr….”
Sal, Ruby, and I sit at the
kitchen table, the same pink and gray Formica table Sal bought when I was a
kid, just before Phil, Jr., now 31, was born. So much has happened here; I
watched all five of Sal’s kids growing up around this table. It was here I drew
pictures of “Bonnie Boo” – an old woman with spiders and snot hanging out of
her nose – for Ashley and Phil, Jr., telling them stories about the creepy old
woman who stole kids from their beds at night.
I experienced my first orgasm
at this table – I was 12 and in love with Mark Ackermann, a love that would
forever remain unrequited, a love so pure that Mark never even knew he was a
target of my affections. That first orgasm happened early one morning. It was
still dark, and my cousins weren’t up yet, and I’d just awakened, throbbing
with lust – only I didn’t know what lust was back then – that I ran downstairs
for a drink of water. When I sat down at the table to drink, it happened, that
first surprise between my legs. I knew right away that I wasn’t supposed to
feel so good “down there,” that I might go to Hell.
I felt so ashamed I never told
anyone about it.
As a teenager, I drank beer at
this table with my friends Chrissy and Kathy while watching Johnny Carson and
playing Monopoly. Later, I hung out here with Sal, Phil, Shel, and Babe – Sal’s
best friend who died of lung cancer last year.
Ruby seems out of place at this
table, a stranger who has no history in this family. She, too, seems to feel
the strangeness; she drums her fingers on the nicked surface.
I wish I could get inside
Ruby’s head, extract the years we missed being together, distill them into my
experiences. Share them with her. I wish I could tease her like a sister
should, even fight and snipe like Sal and I do. And like Sal’s table is just a
table to Ruby, maybe I’m just someone who happens to share a few genes.
Suddenly, I wish Nicole were
here. I don’t care if she’s unmarried and pregnant by an old biker and living
in a cult. I just want to see my daughter at this table – she spent many
summers here, she even helped dig out the hole for the swimming pool – I want
her to meet her Aunt Ruby.
If only I could pick up the
phone...But I can’t do it. And then I tell myself that this is about protecting
Nana from a truth so awful that it might kill her. If only Nana were dead
already, I could call my daughter and wire her the money for the next plane.
Maybe she could still make it for the last part of the reunion....
Ruby continues drumming; maybe
she just needs a cigarette. Since Babe’s death, Sal has thrown out all her
ashtrays and tacked up “No Smoking, Lungs at Work” signs in every room.
“You enjoy your swim?” Ruby
asks.
“It was okay,” I say, patting
my red face. “I stayed in too long.”
“You need some Sea & Ski,”
Sal says.
“No, no. That’s okay.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Y’all mind if I go outside for
a cigarette?”
“I’ll go with you,” I say,
relieved to be away from this table, from the voices that call me.
As Ruby pushes herself up and
heads for the backyard, Sal’s mouth drops open. “My God,” she says, breathless.
I know exactly what she’s
thinking: echoes of Mother, the drawl, the languor, the way the cigarette
dangles from Ruby’s long, thin fingers, a body in slow motion, the sexy hip
thrust.
Mother without the baggage.
“Genes are a funny thing. I
could’ve almost sworn...” Sal shakes her head. “God, if only Dad was here, he’d
never believe it. You know, your mama was his favorite.”
I had always thought I
was Pappa’s favorite.
