Two

Buzzzz…

I hit the alarm and carefully opened my eyes, unsure of what I may find in front of me. My night stand, holding my dog-eared copy of Richard Brautigan’s poetry, my journal, my alarm clock reading 4:45, my reading glasses. Everything looked like it was in its place. Good. But something didn’t feel right. Something I’d been dreaming about left me feeling at odds with the comfort of my pillow-strewn bed. I vaguely recalled a headache, a messy kitchen, and the arrival of a stranger. Not a dream. A memory.

I slid Brautigan out from under my journal, to find an anchor in his familiar words. The book flipped open automatically to Love Poem: “It’s so nice/ to wake up in the morning/ all alone/ and not have to tell somebody/ you love them/ when you don’t love them/ any more.”

Vvvrrrrnnnnngggg…
Who could be calling so early?

“Hello.”

“Ma! It’s me!”

I experienced a moment of confusion, trapped still in the world of my vivid memory. After a moment real life came back to me, and I recognized the voice of my son, away at his first year of college. “Jeff! What a pleasant surprise! What gets you up so early this morning?”

“I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday. I am first, right? I set my alarm specifically for when I knew you’d be getting up to go into the store. Man, you get up early!”

“Yes, Jeff,” I laughed. “You’re first. You beat Haley this year, I know that means a lot to you. Ah, here she is now.”

The briefest knock on the door heralded the arrival of my daughter, a bundle of energy, even at the crack of dawn.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” she screeched loudly.

“Thank you, dear. Say hello to your brother”

“Man! How’d he beat me? I knew I shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom. I could have beat him good if I hadn’t wasted the time. Hi Jeff,” she shouted in the general direction of the phone.

“Hey Ma? Listen, I gotta get back to sleep. I’ve got a chem lab to make up this morning, and my lab partner will quite literally kill me if I’m not awake enough to make sure to make sure he doesn’t pour water into the hydrofluoric acid.”

“I understand, sweetie. Thanks for calling me! Good luck with that acid.”

“Thanks. Happy Birthday! See you this weekend.”

“This is the first time that Jeff has beat me in five years! Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen again.”

When Jeff was seven, I’d made the mistake of praising him for being the first to wish me a happy birthday. He was so tickled, that he’d made a point of trying to be first every year. This was all well and good until Haley was seven, and wanted some of the praise for herself. My over-achieving children had turned it into an all out battle for the last eight years.

“Oh, I don’t worry, Haley. I’m sure you’ll come up with some plan for next year. Even if it involves driving out to your brother’s campus to duct tape his mouth shut.” Something I’d discovered her brother trying to do the her a few years back.

“That’s a great idea!”

“Ha ha. Don’t make any plans, Haley. No license, no car, no duct tape.”

“But mother, dear. You forget! Next year I will be sixteen. With license, with access to car AND with plenty of duct tape.”

“Be careful, Hale. You know it’s not too late for me to change your name to Queen Yolanda Cream Puff. Sabrina’s been after me to do that for years now.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you’d love going to the PTA meetings talking about your daughter Yolanda, Queen of the Cream. I’m not too worried about that. Back to bed go I. One needs one’s beauty sleep, after all!”

Haley has the most amazing ability to go from one hundred miles an hour to zero in about twenty seconds. I gazed after her, shaking my head. I don’t know where she gets it.

Suddenly it hit me. Birthday. My fiftieth birthday to be exact. I couldn’t help but feel that I’d reached an important deadline without being prepared. No wonder that particular memory chose to visit me last night. I reached for the pendant around my neck, seeking the familiar comfort, but not finding it. Of course. Today it loses it’s power. Today is my last chance to choose.

I walked over to my dresser and picked up a framed picture. It’s of a warm summer day, twenty-five years ago. Me and John on a warm beach. The day we met. A photo taken on the sly by my friend Mel, during his photography phase. In the photo, I stand grinning like a fool, gesticulating wildly with my hot pink painted finger nails. John looks slightly bemused, slightly enchanted.

I turn to look at my bed. I’ve overcompensated for his frequent absence by covering all the empty space with pillows. It takes a lot of pillows to fill the space. When he is home, he complains that the pillows are extravagant and wasteful. But I can’t sleep without them. I can’t sleep without him. I didn’t ask for this. It’s time to make a decision.

“Now or never.” I took a deep breath, and said to the room at large, “I want to change my fate.”

The air started to shimmer, and there was a strange humming sound.

Suddenly, a strangely dressed woman fell onto the center of my bed.

“Well it’s about time!” she proclaimed, “You do take your time, don’t you, honey? I was beginning to think that you’d be the first to let the deadline lapse. But curiosity gets them all, in the end. Tell me dear: what do you wish to change?”