29
Homecoming
I dream about you while I stare at the bunk above me and hear the sad
croon of women incarcerated. Tonight we had Coq au Vin for dinner. A very odd
delicacy for them to serve in prison, but today’s my birthday, and the cook likes me. For
what is there not to like? I am a princess on the verge of escape, if only I could remember
my way out. I had a map before. I found it in a hole in the wall. No one would expect to
find it there, but I did. Yes, I found the tiny treasure and keep it nestled to my breast
where a baby might suckle and dreams are born. Far and away I would go if I could
remember how to get there. I came to this country in the womb of my mother adrift with
the tide. The water surrounded us as we floated to the land of dreams and yet, my dreams
are forgotten now as my escape. I could have been so golden but know I’m only pan
fried.
When Sarah woke, the streaming glare of fluorescents moaned overhead.
Groggy, she smelled the faint scent of apple juice. Her battered eyes fought to open and
focus, only to discover the one person she didn’t want to see.
“You’re awake.” She gripped the bedside table as if to hold herself down.
“You fell. You’ve been out since they brought you in yesterday. You broke your leg in
two places and hit your head. You have a concussion.”
Sarah’s ears pricked to the unmistakable, distinctive voice. “Fancy?”
“You could’ve broken your neck.” She moved to the edge of the bed.
Trying hard to grip her new surroundings, Sarah said nothing to her mother. She
struggled to find herself and tried to remember….
30
“Were you trying to break your neck? What the hell were you doing?”
“Calm down.” Sarah’s words were painful. They fell out of her mouth like
iron hammers. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Try to kill yourself, and then act like nothing happened. You’re lucky I
don’t kill you.”
The hammers turned to boulders and continued to fall. “That’s not why
you’re here?”
“I knew you had problems but this is it. You’re coming home until you’re
back on your feet. You can’t be alone…”
“I’m not alone. I have my, my--I need to think”
“You can think about it when you’re away from here. I can’t believe this
is happening. If your father saw you, I don’t know what--”
“Stop.” The emptiness resounded.
“If you think I came all the way down here for you not to listen…”
“Mother, just stop.” Her head swooned as she realized clearly where she
was, and the trouble she was in. The pressure compounded. Her voice was raspy and
wanted to burrow deep in her lungs. “Shouldn’t we wait to hear what the doctors say?”
“Since when do you care what anyone else says?” There was silence, the
kind that had always been there, and it didn’t seem to make a difference, even now. “Let
me get one in here.”
Despite the current moment, Sarah wanted to stop her as she left the room.
In the four years she had lived in Los Angeles, this was the first time her mother had
come to see her. Whether it was right or wrong, she wanted to stop her. She wanted to
31
turn her around and stare at the woman she knew as her mother. As the last thread of her
estranged image passed from sight, Sarah wondered again as she did a child, when would
Mommy return? She felt the terror and longing of being alone. The trees swayed outside
her window. The wind blew them back and forth, back and forth.
A doctor appeared from the hallway. “Sarah, I’m Doctor Kim. I treated
you when you came into emergency.”
“Hi,” she returned absently, still watching the trees. “I know you. I can't
place it but I've met you before.”
“Good. The fall didn’t impair your memory.”
“You bought one of my paintings?”
“That’s right. It’s my wife’s favorite.”
“Nice. What about leaving? When can I get out of here?”
“You’re going to need a lot of care. Your head will get better in a few
days, but you can’t be on your leg for a couple of months and after that, you’ll need
physical therapy. Your mom’s offered for you to stay with her. And you can do therapy
practically anywhere. Sometimes it’s better to get away. You were in bad shape when
you came in here.”
“Excuse me, but you don’t know me. It’s been a while since I’ve seen
her.” Sarah creased her forehead. It hurt to talk. It hurt to think. It all hurt and was a long
way from feeling better. The faces looked at her as if they all knew something she didn’t.
They were the faces of people who thought they knew better. The nothingness prevailed
as she overturned. She didn’t know what it felt like to raise a white flag but figured this
was close to it. Her eyes were heavy and head clouded; it hurt too much to fight.
32
“Take your own advice, listen to the doctor. You’re coming home,” it was
her mother again. Outside the window, the trees waved.
On the Road
My mother packed my things today. She put all of my needed things into
boxes and stacked them in her car. Box upon box, suitcase on suitcase, thing upon thing,
tucked away. I don’t know when I’m coming back here. For now Shaila can take care of
the house. If I need anything else, I guess she can send it. I don’t know what I need.
Driving home to the lake, there was a storm brewing in and outside the
car. Sarah’s mother, Francis or “Fancy” as she was called by everyone, growled as a
snowflake hit the windshield. It was the first storm and it had come early. Sarah
remembered how the snow had rarely, but sometimes fallen within days of her birthday
in September. The Sierra Mountains and Lake Tahoe were spectacular, but during any
season the snow could fall unexpectedly, relentlessly, and had the utmost authority to
remind Sarah and all others in its power, they were only flesh and blood. The mortality of
winter began with silken drops and hexagonal feathers to smother autumn. It would not
be stopped or softened by the pleading voice. Despite the planning and re-planning of our
complicated lives, there was no way to control the future or play God. Nature had its own
plan and we were responsible for finding our way within it.
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“Damn. I thought we’d make it before it started coming down…. The TV
said it would come in tonight. We should’ve left earlier.” There was a long pause as her
mother thought. “I don’t remember it ever snowing this early.”
“I do,” Sarah replied distantly.
“It was beautiful before I came down, nothing but blue sky. Of course it
had to be cloudy while I was in L.A. The only day right? I don’t know how you live
down there, with that smog and bad water. My clothes, hair, everything--they just feel
dirty.” Fancy looked at Sarah and noticed her eyes glazing over. “Are you OK?”
“Yah,” she cautiously answered. Her thoughts were slow moving. The
drugs had kicked in and made her feel as though she was barely breaking the surface.
“It must be hard coming home.”
Sarah was again quiet. It was revolting, the way her mother said that. So
caringly, she seemed to sympathize. Home. What did she know about it anyway? She bit
her tongue; the road was long ahead of them.
“I hate traveling in weather. I don’t know why I don’t move…” Fancy
turned up the heater. She accidentally brushed Sarah’s hand and felt it jump beneath her
own. Flint struck rock and a stream of smoke journeyed upward. It had been almost two
years since Sarah’s stepfather’s death. He died of a heart attack on account of his heart
‘being broken too many times,’ Fancy had said. Sarah had not been home since the
funeral.
“If he could see us now,” Fancy muttered.
34
“Yah.” Sarah looked at her mother. The drugs subdued her milling
thoughts. “It's nice Shaila’s gonna take care of the house while I’m gone.” She reached
for something easier.
“I bet her boyfriend will move in while you’re away. They had that look.”
She had forgotten her mother’s ability to sink a floating log just by looking at it. “She
can do what she wants; it’s her house too.”
“But you own it.”
Her head was swimming again. If only the pills were stronger, and maybe
she had some vodka, she could forget. She tried harder. “I trust her, like I'm trusting you
to get us home.”
“You sound different--”
“What’s your problem?”
“I didn’t say I hate Shaila. I only wish you’d find someone to take care of
you instead of living with a roommate. By your age I…”
“Get off it. Look where it got you…”
“That's not fair--”
“Neither is this.” Sarah looked away out the window.
The snow continued falling as the two women traveled up the mountain.
Their bickering would lighten and darken as the storm but somehow they made it.
Pulling the car into the garage, Fancy turned to Sarah. She held her breath as she
looked at her daughter.
“Things aren’t like they used to be--”
“I know.”
35
A rush of familiarity hit Sarah when she walked through the door; a
looming mix of her past and present. It was hard to describe, but she sensed it right away.
Something almost protective reached out from beyond the thick log walls for her. With
the storm outside and the windows shut, the house seemed to hold on to that feeling for
her. Disregarding the sorrow and battles fought here, she was home. Bittersweet, it was a
combination of the things she had loved and hated the most. She opened her bedroom
door and entered another world. Time had frozen her inner seventeen year old and though
the old posters and knick knacks had been removed, it was her room. She felt the long
journey back as Fancy helped ease her onto the bed.
“I’ll get the rest of your things.”
Sarah was stiff like a china doll, her legs outstretched taut in front for her.
Hot tears began to fall down her cheeks. The vessels swelled beneath her eyes. What was
she doing here? Desperately confused by her decision; she knew there would be trouble.
In a moment of panic she had only buried herself deeper, perhaps thought to return to the
beginning to make things right. But she didn’t have a happy beginning like other people.
Why had she chosen to return to where the misery started? With whom it had started?
Memories of the past drifted like falling snow, blurring in the wind. Questions were
heavy and unanswerable, her head nodded forward, chin to chest, chest to chin, chin,
chest. The walls of this place fell away, bringing in the haze, directing the frozen crystals
of time to surrender in her lap. Sleep could take this away, she let it.
36
Settling In
The storm had passed. The snow fell for three days and without a sign, on the
fourth, it stopped. The outside world had been transformed and muted. The trees wore
bonnets of ice and baby icicles trimmed the roof. Sarah looked outside the window of her
room. Her mother and she had barely talked during the storm.
Unbeknownst to Sarah, Fancy had entered her room late at night, night after
night, and watched her while she slept. Fancy’s eyes settled on her girl who was now
older than herself when she gave birth to Sarah. The differences and similarities
wandered through the vacant halls of her mind. She remembered the day she learned she
was pregnant. She knew the minute it happened.
Fancy was a singer. The New York Times had once called her a ‘tour de
force in high-heels.’ She started playing in clubs in the seventies and stayed there
through the nineties. Singing was what she did. She didn’t cook. She didn’t clean. She
sang. Now singing and mothering did not always go hand in hand, but Fancy said, ‘You
gotta do what you love, even if it kills you.’ When Sarah was born, it was against
doctors’ advice. From the beginning it had been Fancy and Sarah. She never knew her
biological father because he left Fancy after he found out she was pregnant. He was an
artist, a painter like Sarah. They met while Fancy was on the road. She played in small
clubs across the country and he followed her that summer. He had followed her from
New York to Chicago before she had a drink with him. He convinced her that he was
indeed crazy, crazy in love with her. He drew her portrait at night and coveted her body
by day. Fancy left home when she was 15 and for the first time in her life felt loved.
37
‘No true beginnings are without pain,’ Fancy had also said, and great deals
of it had vexed her throughout her life. During her pregnancy she met Sam. He too fell in
love with Fancy, the girl with an angel face and heavenly voice. He worked nights at his
friend’s father’s club and met Fancy within weeks of Sarah’s conception. When he first
laid eyes on Fancy, he was sure it was love at first sight. When he heard her voice, there
was no other woman for him. He had sat in the back of the bar and listened, unable to do
anything else but wait until she was done. He sat transfixed night after night.
When she didn’t show up for rehearsal that evening, he ran all the way to
her live-in hotel. Truthfully, she had said hello to him a few times, but never been
encouraging. Sam had even walked her home once after a show and it was the chill of
Fancy, not the night that had sent him away with his heart in his hands. As he entered her
room it was unkempt but he notice, convinced too much time was wasted opening the
door. Fancy’s skin, usually so fresh and alive, faded with the beat of her pulse. It quietly
tip toed from her veins as good girls do when trying not to make a scene. Her breath was
shallow and willing to exit stage left when his large arms engulfed her.
“Fancy? Fancy!” He cried as lifted her lifeless body. “Jesus the blood” His
eyes stared warily at the large pool collecting in the sheets.
“Help me” she murmured. “Help” Her childlike arms coiled around his
neck, her skin feverish, drenched with sweat, lies, naiveté.
“Hold on. I’m here.” He peeled her from the bloody sheets and wrapped
her in his coat. “Hold onto me. I’m here. We have to go to the hospital.”
“He said it wouldn’t hurt” she whispered quietly as death. Crimson water
drained from between her legs and spiraled down them. “It hurts. It hurts!” her whisper
38
turned to howl and convulsion as she internally fought the monster that burrowed deep
into her soft pink flesh.
“Hold on honey. You’re gonna make it. Hold onto me.” In the final gasp
of that touch and go moment, Sam knew the truth. However butchered or blundered, he
would not let it die. Through the unthinkable and unspeakable, he loved this idol. His
own fallible, beautiful, unknown Eve and that was that.
“Miracle Girls” he called them, as if it had been planned all along. As
though some higher power had crushed its foot into the beast’s neck, not with sympathy
but with mercy. Whatever it was, Sam never questioned it. The thanked the unknown for
giving him the ultimate gift of life and love. Sam and Fancy were married within weeks
of Sarah’s birth. When Fancy held that little hand in hers, there was no escape, no
possible return to where she had come from. Flash: baby, husband. The path was
unmistakably altered and this stranger, Sam, her husband, for better or worse, was hers,
too. At least he could carry this burden with her, trudge the path. Lead them to the clear,
so maybe she could see again. Flash: husband, baby. Regroup and dissipate the
enormous cloud that fogged everything around and about her until she went back to the
stage where she belonged. And when she did Sam was there again, watching. How life
had changed before she had time to accept it. She had been forced to accept it. It sucked
her breasts and kept her awake with its screams at night. This was real. It wasn’t a venue
she could escape or a kiss she could forget about.
It was hard, but they got by. Sam made sure they did. He was a smart man
and good with money. He didn’t ask questions, wasn’t moved by them like Sarah; didn’t
covet their secrets like Fancy. Flash: husband. Eventually he bought and managed
39
properties, building their income and independence. 19 years old. They moved to
California and Fancy began to sing in bars and clubs across California and Nevada.
Wherever she went the fans followed, as did Sam and Sarah. Flash: husband, baby.
When it was time for Sarah to start school, Sam wanted them to settle down. His
grandfather had owned a cabin on Lake Tahoe and taken him there as a boy. He thought
it was the most magical place in the world and wanted to take his girls there. Start fresh,
and start new. Flash: wife, baby. Fancy protested that she could not live so far away from
the city and nightlife. Flash: husband, baby. 21 years old. Sam bought them an apartment
in San Francisco to be home away from home, and they were happy, at least for a little
while…Fancy’s memories were disjointed. Confused and dark, they flooded her, rushing
the past history into the present. She tried to order them, wrap her perfectly manicured
fingers around them, catch them; strangle them, just to remember. It had all happened so
fast, lightening fast and here in the stops and gaps, she stood now: Widow, mother, 42.
Sarah turned over on her side. The snow lightly flickered in the window.
She wondered what Robert or Zach was doing. Probably nothing good, hanging out or
causing trouble. Maybe they were sitting together in a coffee shop talking about her. She
knew that wasn’t true because they never met but if they had, they wouldn’t say a word-just sit and laugh.
“Rat-tat-tat.” There was a small knock at the door. “Rat-tat-tat,” came
again over the hum of the heater. The rap was almost indistinguishable. “Yoo-hoo
Sarah—Can I come in?”
40
She looked over the edge of the bed. “Unless you’re expecting someone
else.”
“I’m Floreta. Your mom’s housekeeper.”
“Oh yah,” she mumbled. “We met-- I remember you from the funeral.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” She drew open the curtains. “You don’t mind
this?”
“I can see better now.”
“You had a bad fall.” She comfortably banged two pillows together and
stirred the dust in the air. “You could have broken your neck or teeth. You have such a
pretty smile, I always tell your mom. You look like her. Want something to eat? I’m
gonna make lunch.”
“I won’t bother you.” Sarah had cooked dinner for herself since she was
seven.
“Daughters aren’t a bother. I’ll make something good to help you feel
better.” And with that she was gone.
Beans on Toast
I’ve been home for one week and already it feels like an eternity. It’s so
strange how when you’re home, you’re home, but coming home to the place you were
raised feels so different. My sheets don’t smell as good or hair feel as clean or food taste
as filling. It’s like there’s a residue simply missing here that’s everywhere else in my life.
41
A clarity that sheds the veil I’m constantly dealing with, forcibly putting my hand through
to see if I’m awake or dreaming, swimming or sinking. It is all at once wonderful and
miserable.
The women, for the most part, had managed to avoid each over since Sarah’s
homecoming. She had found herself extremely thirsty this morning and knew Floreta
would arrive in less than an hour but couldn’t wait that long. As she hobbled into the
kitchen, she was surprised to meet Fancy. After all, it was 7 O’clock and she had never
known her mother to rise before noon.
“Do you want some breakfast?” Fancy asked.
“If we’re having beans on toast, I’ll pass,” replied Sarah.
“When did I make beans on toast?” Fancy asked, confused.
“Only half my youth.”
“Was I there?”
“It must have been Jack, Johnny or Jim. They babysat a lot.”
“It’s not like there isn’t anything else to eat. Floreta went shopping and I…”
“It’s all right. Coffee and toast is fine.”
“I can’t find anything in this damn kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about it…”
“I pay someone to keep this place in order so when I want something…”
“It’s OK.”
“It is not! I make small requests around here and…”
“Mom!” Sarah’s voice cut like a knife, but she struggled with her words. “I know
you’ve come a long way, but I can’t forget what’s happened here” they trickled through
42
the noose of her throat. “Between us. Between you and Dad. Even though you’re sober, I
can’t act like I don’t remember. I can’t forget--” Sarah looked at Fancy and saw little
flakes of gold floating in the air around her head like a halo. Suddenly she felt a pang of
remorse, a need to take everything back she’d ever said to her mother and in the next
breath, wanted to hurl it all upon her again with greater force. She loathed herself and
needed an escape. She needed to go where it didn’t hurt, where she didn’t have to feel
anymore. “I don’t know why…what I was thinking coming here…” she hunched in the
threshold of the kitchen and watched the golden flakes settle before her mother. Sarah’s
eyes averted to the ground. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“You called me Mom.”
Her head lifted and peered out watery eyes. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Fancy breathed deeply. A lion’s roar filled her lungs and released again. “That
city isn’t doing you any good. I know how lonely--how messed up things can get.” She
smiled dimly, not knowing to tighten her defense or run for cover. The lights shone too
brightly, she was temporarily blinded and uncertain of her cue.
In that moment, neither woman was sure how it had happened exactly, but felt
contact had been made; a bridge crossed, a message delivered. They watched each other
in the morning light expecting the other to bolt for the trees yet they stayed.
Riptide
At 7 AM I’m awake. My eyes open. I stare at the ceiling remembering to forget. I
take a pill and a drink of water. I sleep for three hours and the pain wakes me up. I take
another pill and another sip of water. I sleep for four hours and then eat a sandwich. I take
43
a pill and watch daytime TV, read a magazine, check my voicemail and texts. Eat dinner
take another pill. The phone doesn’t ring. I fall asleep. I wash my hair. I pick my nose. I
take another pill. I sleep through the night; I sleep through the day; I take another pill.
The phone doesn’t ring. Days string together; a sad melody of sleep and waking. The
ache in my heart increases. My bones try to mend. I take another pill. I go down to the
bottom of the sea, a blue world where day and night, have little meaning other than the
difference between light and the dark. I am hiding in the shadows, and the other fish
swim around and around. I am hiding in the tall grass, afraid to open my eyes. I am
floating to the surface.
Amber passed by the dawn
With purple paper on her back
Meekly in the corner I said nothing
Just covered my battered mouth
Exposed seven days a week opposed to the opposition
Finally standing on the deck that sees it all
But I look and see nothing
Haunted by the beach
That lies thick by the water
My body so bloated
Awaited the Chief
And in his strong arms
He solved my disease
And fed me to the fish
Snapshot II
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked.
44
“I’m here for Dr. Selin.”
“Have a seat.”
Sarah hobbled to a chair in the small doctor’s office. She regretted now insisting
on coming alone. Her leg throbbed as she applied only the slightest pressure to it. She
looked down at her cast. Her gaze was blank and numb as the thud in her chest.
“The doctor will see you now.”
Sarah got up and waited in the examining room. She wondered with all of these
pills and gadgets could she be put back together again? Or in the end would she become a
garish reincarnation of her past self? She shivered at the thought of it. The scars on the
inside never show.
“Sarah. How have you been?” Dr. Selin chirped as she entered.
“Better…”
“L.A. hasn’t been showing the love? I haven’t seen you in years! You’re all
grown up. I saw your paintings in a show in San Francisco. I bought a print for my
bathroom.”
She sighed.
“What do we have here?” Selin said reading her file. “A broken tib and femur.
How’d you do that?”
“I fell.”
“Do me a favor? Watch where you’re going next time.”
“Are you always this funny or is comedy something you do on the side?”
45
“I see your leg isn’t the only thing smarting.”
“What’s the plan for this?” Sarah’s patience ran out. “When can I start physical
therapy?”
“After the cast comes off in about eight weeks. The more you stay off it the better.
Keep it up for the next month.”
“You’re kidding. I’ve been in bed already for two weeks and it feels like an
eternity. Can you give me something?”
She grimaced. “It looks like you have a lot going on. Let’s try something new to
get you on the right path.”
“As long as I don’t have to feel, I’m fine,” she huffed again, wanting to escape
with the carbon dioxide that fled her lungs. She suddenly felt very jealous of them and
the free particles floating in the air, atoms, molecules, dust mites.
Dr. Selin paused. “I’ve known you for some time right?”
“Known of me.”
“Sorry. Known you and known of you and your family.” She lifted off her
eyeglasses and peered through them as if to see a small imperfection. “Small towns talk
and neither of us are idiots. You’ve been through a lot and well, I thought maybe you
came here because you need some help.”
“I came here because my leg is broken.”
Selin returned the glasses to her face and glanced again at the report. “Right then. Have
you had an increase in pain since you got the cast?”
“Not really.”
“Any numbness?”
46
“No.”
She pressed gently on Sarah’s knee. “Move your toes for me. Any more pain?”
Letting up, she scribbled in the chart and closed it. “Great. You’re done. See you next
month. The front will check you out.”
Sarah felt like a door had hit her in the back. “That’s it?”
“Yes.” Selin turned.
“I waited 45 minutes for you to say that?”
“Yep” she reached for the doorknob.
“What did you want to tell me?”
Dr. Selin’s eyes narrowed as she looked back at Sarah. She watched her twiddle
with a wad of tissue paper from the examining table. She remembered Sarah as a child
and teenager sitting before her as so many patients from this small town had. The years
had passed with so much hearsay about this and that. It wasn’t her business to interfere
where there wasn’t immediate danger. Though she had never married, or had a family of
her own she felt a lineage to these people who trusted her, the fevers she had cured and
tears she had dried. There was a surrogate world of daughters and sons, mothers and
fathers she was responsible for and she knew it.
“What?” Sarah challenged again.
“If you need someone to talk to I can give you a referral.”
“No thanks. But can you write that prescription?”
“Not everything is solved with a pill. It can help but complicate things too. I’m
not in a position to give you something, if you’re not being monitored. If you talked
about your problems maybe you wouldn’t feel like you need to cover them up.”
47
“I’ve been dry since the accident.”
“But you’re on pain killers and though at this point you need them, it’s just
replacing one thing with another. We’ll take you off those and get you started on
something lighter as needed. I’ll give you a single prescription for the pain but nothing
else until we meet again.”
“You don’t know me…”
“I know from my own life that every day is a challenge. Either you embrace it or
give up. I’ll refer you to some local therapists, too. We even have a great counseling
group that meets here weekly. You’re invited whenever you feel up to it. I want to help
you get better.”
“Where do you get off saying that? Because you think you know me. What else
does it say in my records?”
Selin handed Sarah her chart. “You’re all set. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
Pausing, Sarah looked down at the unopened folder. “What if I wanted to talk to
you?”
“I’d rather give you a referral. I think they may be able to help you more.”
“I’ll think about it.” She handed the folder back to Selin.
“Good.” The fine lines around doctor Selin’s eyes cocked like the edges of a map
folding in on itself. She held eyes with Sarah before turning to drift away on a sterile
cloud, an unnoticeable smile gracing her lips.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. “Twenty-five percent of life is bliss.
Twenty-five percent is piss, and the rest is Zoloft,” Sarah thought to herself.
48
Thanksgiving
Sitting alone. My heart is frozen by the days that go by. I wonder what could have
been if I was born to someone else, grew up in another house, another country. Would it
be the same? Would I?
Sarah heard her mother’s car pull into the drive. She was out shopping for their
Thanksgiving dinner. Fancy had planned a mini-gala that included the neighbors, friends
and Floreta. It would probably be a hodgepodge of second home-owners and locals, but
Sarah looked forward to it. It had been so quiet around the house in the last weeks, she
wished for anything to happen. If a lightning bolt hit her, it would be better. Fancy huffed
as she carried an armful of groceries up the stairs. “Are these getting heavier or am I
getting older?” she dumped the bags on the counter. “Don’t get up. I got it.”
Sarah looked over the contents. From the sacks protruded carrot tops with bushy
green stems, bags of ripe oranges and cranberries, almonds and fresh bread. The bag
looked so pretty sitting there, a variance of color in the soft kitchen light. Her mother
came with three more bags. “Now, you ready to get cooking?”
“Excuse me? What’s going on?”
“Flore needed the day off and I’ve been taking cooking lessons. I’ve been
swapping singing for them with my friend I met in AA. He says I’m not half bad.”
“And what do you think of him?”
49
Fancy only raised her eyes, and then looked back at the food as she continued to unload
it.
“Who’s coming to dinner?”
“Jane, the Mercers from across the street, the Beefields from around the corner,
Floreta and her mother, you and me. That’s nine. If you want to invite anyone else let me
know.”
“Let me think. I can’t invite everyone… ” She had fallen out of contact with most
of the people she grew up with and didn’t care to see who was still around. “I’m sure I’ll
be fine with your friends.” She remembered the caravan that had so typically surrounded
Fancy all the years she was growing up. Everyone was there when she was high, but only
Sam and Sarah with her in despair.
“I don’t know how women do this year after year. This turkey’s huge.”
They began the tasks of washing and chopping, puréeing and stirring, basting and
baking, cooking and cleaning. The promise of an audience kept Fancy running and
relieved Sarah from her thoughts. Though boiling water had been a challenge, the
possibility of making something together silently urged them on. The radio played loudly
all day and around six they finished setting up for the party.
“Not bad if I do say so myself,” Fancy said with a gleaming smile. “I can’t
believe we did it.” It was about an hour until their guests arrived and Fancy turned to get
ready. “Do you need any help?” Fancy asked in her most demure voice.
“I’ll be fine. You get dressed. It’s time to play Hostess.”
50
As Fancy disappeared into her bedroom, Sarah drifted into the past. Thanksgiving
had often been spent with her dad only. When Fancy was on the road, they celebrated
alone. They would spend the day together at the movies and then get dressed for a night
on the town. When she was young, he used to let her wear whatever she wanted, even if
the clothes were meant only for dress-up. Most of the time Sam had taken her to the best
restaurant in town with grandiose table settings and all-you-can-eat dessert buffet. He had
the ability to make everything special like the page out of a fairy tale. Sam was not the
most handsome man but he was kind. He had the kindest heart of anyone Sarah had ever
met. Just once she wished he would knock her mother out, but he never lost his temper;
only loved her from afar in those days as you do a dream. In later years, when Sarah
started to explode at her mother, he seemed to implode. He was the most selfless man she
knew and it killed him.
When the guests started to arrive, Fancy greeted them with an enormous smile
that had dazzled crowds for decades. There was something marvelous about her although
skeletons huddled like sardines in her closet. She looked vibrant and elegant. She was a
striking woman with a knock out figure despite her past of drinking and pills. Maybe it
was because she spent most of her down time with a pound and a half of cream on her
face. The smell of Lancôme lotion easily conjured an image of Fancy in Sarah’s mind.
Jane, who was Fancy’s best friend, arrived first. She had moved to Tahoe after years of
living in San Francisco. After her divorce, she moved into her vacation home and then
sold it for the one next to Fancy’s. They spent a lot of time traveling and going to classes
together. She was also in AA and had provided support for Fancy when she got sober.
51
The Beefields from around the corner arrived next and were much like their name, busy
bees. Involved with politics and commerce, they controlled local events and the
newspaper. Fancy was one of their favorite subjects and likewise, she enjoyed it being
that way. Floreta, her mother and the Mercers from across the street, arrived at the same
time. As the Mercers trudged clear the autumn path of fallen needles and cones, the two
small women helped carry each other to safety inside.
Fancy offered her guests wine, and all but she and Jane sipped dainty glasses as
they enjoyed appetizers and the festive setting of her home. It was easy in these moments
of being on. Fancy was the queen of the stage whether she was playing to a party of three
or crowd of three thousand, she knew how to set up an act. The small crowd mingled and
chatted, someone now and again telling a boisterous story, usually Mr. Beefield or Jane,
and the whole group laughed. The Mercers laughed at everything, the precise reason they
had been invited, and Floreta repeated things to her mother in Spanish, as she didn’t hear
very well and spoke mostly in her native tongue. When Sarah entered the room, the group
stopped. She was very aware her act was counted on too. It was the secret language of the
crowd, the facade of personalities and agendas banging together. Histories resurrecting
themselves and making advances on the room covered with the gloss of holiday jelly.
Mrs. Beefield, of course, needed to know what had happened and how Sarah had such an
accident. Her stomach dropped. It was part of the act, but Sarah couldn’t muster her lines.
She knew Mrs. Beefield was asking the obvious question on everyone’s mind, but didn’t
want to answer. She peered into the ironed face of Mrs. Beefield and searched to find
where exactly she had been stung.
52
“You know, Sarah was voted this year as ‘one to watch’ by the Artist’s
Symposium in San Francisco. It’s quite an honor for such a young artist,” Jane
interrupted.
“The Symposium does have an eye for talent.” Mr. Beefield added.
“That is very exciting, Sarah. Who was that artist we had the big spread on last
month? I’ve forgotten her name….”wavered Mrs. Beefield distracted by her own desire
to be the center of attention. The group’s interest redirected, merrily buzzed.
The food at the table was indeed a feast. They delighted with grunts and sighs as
Fancy delivered course after course. She was surprisingly modest and shared the credit
with Sarah and her new cooking guide. From the table there was interest in his
whereabouts, but the topic was quickly changed as Fancy noticed her face turn pink.
Going forward she kept a tight reign, telling stories of her days on the road and the
celebrities she had met and worked with. There seemed just enough food to keep their
plates and mouths full. When it was time for dessert and coffee cups and plates clattered,
there was a knock at the door. All of the guests looked at one another. Fancy stood to
answer. Sarah heard her voice low in the entranceway. She returned with a visitor.
A Tangled Web
“I thought you might be here,” a shy male voice began.
“Wow. I didn’t expect this. Come in,” Sarah said with an awkward smile.
53
Sarah led her guest away from the crowd to the living room. He followed her with
coffee and dessert. To move from the frying pan to the fire, she was not sure which was
better.
“You sure know how to throw a party.”
“That’s all Fancy in there. When did you ever come to one of my parties?” she
muttered.
“Don’t you remember the tea party?”
“Oh yah. I mostly wanted you to come in that night. I didn’t care if we had tea or
not.”
“Your honesty, that’s the other thing I missed about you.”
“Funny. I don't remember that going over so well the last time we saw each
other.”
“Some things change.”
He caught a whiff of her languid perfume, “And some things don’t. I don’t need
to ask, but you still look beautiful.”
Sarah settled into the large white sofa and propped her leg with pillows. She
stared watchfully at her old friend.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Fine,” she lied and fidgeted with her cup. “So I heard Africa--You’ve been in
Ghana? What’s it like?”
“Beautiful…and sad.”
54
“I wish I could go there. There’s nothing happening in L.A. or here for that
matter. Are you going back?
“I thought I’d stay for a while and figure out my next plan.”
“Long way from Ghana.”
Todd Mishner had grown up with Sarah. The classic boy next door, his parents
owned a second home up the street. She had met him when she was thirteen. She was
walking home from school when two boys almost ran her down. Their sled ride came to
an end as they crashed into a nearby snow-bank. Sarah hurried to the accident, but as she
made it to them, they roared with laughter. She was about to turn away when a snowball
struck the back of her leg. Upon turning she was hit with another and another.
“Freaks! What’s your problem?” she yelled at the top of her lungs before she
crouched down and hurled one back.
“You,” a young voice returned.
She gathered more ammunition and kept up her end of the game. “If you want my
attention,” she hollered, “there are better ways to get it.” She struck a perfect bull’s-eye.
“We surrender,” they howled as one boy cupped his bleeding lip. Sarah had quite
an arm for her age and dead-on accuracy. She walked over and met them in the street.
“I think you broke my tooth,” the older one said.
“What a shot,” the younger chimed in admirably.
“You deserved it. Say hi next time.”
“What’s your name?” the oldest asked.
“I’m cold,” she stomped away.
55
That evening the boys appeared at her doorstep. Like cats with their tails high,
they entered her living room. Her parents were gone and the oldest boy pulled a bottle of
Peppermint Schnapps from his jacket. “You want some?”
She graciously accepted and cocked it back. It was her third time drinking and she
was a pro. “Where are you guys from?”
“Sacramento,” the youngest teen answered. “I’m Todd. This is Chris. Do you
always live up here? Tahoe’s great.”
“We have an apartment in San Francisco too. My parents work down there a lot.
What grade are you in?”
“I’m in tenth, he’s in the ninth” Chris began. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” she lied.
“Guess you’re out Bro,” Chris said as he patted his younger brother on the back.
“So, show me the place. Wait. Have another sip before we go.”
Chris walked closer to her than she expected. When they got to the bathroom he
closed the door behind them.
“Are you really fifteen?” he questioned.
“Yah.Why?”
“You seem older that’s all.”
“I get that a lot.”
“You’re really pretty. You’re face--it’s pretty.”
His hand touched her cheek. Her eyes turned down. His fingers stroked her
bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?”
56
Her doe eyes turned up and locked with his. She trembled slightly as she opened
her mouth and accepted his kiss. His lips were strange friends she had longed for. He
became more passionate and kissed her harder, the edge of his tongue lashing out the
corner of her mouth. He put his hand on her breast and wrapped his other arm around her
neck. She fell limp in his arms, a rag doll.
“Pretty girl,” he whispered close to her. “Very pretty.”
When they finally made it back to the living room, Todd was sitting on the floor
next to the empty bottle.
“Ready to go?” Todd asked turning green.
“In a minute, little brother. Sarah’s a sweetie. What are you doing this weekend?”
“My dad’s coming home tomorrow, so I don’t know.”
“Let's go to the movies. We’ll pick you up--bring a friend for my bro.”
Sarah was ecstatic as they left. It was her first drink, other than Champagne from
her mother’s parties, her first date and first kiss. Her head swooned from the alcohol. She
ran to the bathroom to see her face. Did she look any different? She felt so changed
inside. Finally someone wanted her and her alone. The first brave soldier had come. Her
heart swelled and pupils dilated, as she looked closer at herself and remembered Chris.
The way his lips felt, how he tasted. The secret that began to grow was a song she’d
longed to hear her entire life. It was like the wind that blew through the mountains and
burned her skin as she yearned for what she didn’t have, someone to call her own,
someone who could take her away from the coldness, the loneliness…. Sadly the date
was canceled due to a storm that carried the boys away. Only Todd had continued to call
saying that Chris was always busy.
57
Eventually it came out that Sarah was only thirteen and that she and Todd had
more in common. They phoned and sent letters. They were friends the rest of winter and
into the next year. She could tell Todd liked her, but he was tall and awkward, nothing
like the refined beauty of his brother. Three years passed, and all the while the letters and
calls continued. They were friends exchanging fears and conquests. When she was
sixteen, Todd stayed in Tahoe for the summer and they enjoyed their time together. They
hiked and swam, and then one night on the way home from the movies it happened, their
first kiss. Sarah wasn’t sure if it was really great. In fact, it was the opposite, but she
could tell how much he liked her. He was gentler than his brother or other boys.
“I've wanted to do that since I met you,” he said softly as he looked at her. He had
a genuine way about him that was undeniable.
“You’re really sweet,” she told him as she looked away but did not kiss him
again. He was leaving in a few days to study abroad and she knew he’d be gone for a
while. When they finally made it to her house, she invited him in for tea. One part of her
wanted to hold him down so he could not leave as everyone else had, while the other part
wanted to turn him away and keep him wanting her. He came inside but only to have tea
before he left. They chatted and laughed, and when it was time, he kissed her lightly and
was gone. He sent her a few postcards over the next year, but they drifted. She was
getting older and had other boyfriends, so she didn’t miss him as much.
Sarah showed her guest to the door and said goodbye for the evening. They had
talked for a good two hours. She told him about her paintings and scene. He went on
about his travels and work. It was late and they stood together alone.
58
“I’m happy you’re here,” he began.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” He touched her hair.
“Thinking of me. I guess.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing tomorrow but I--”
“It’s cold” she nervously interrupted. “I should go back in.”
“…Wanted to take you breakfast?”
“It’s late. We’ll talk soon?”
“No breakfast?” he smiled.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Todd.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.” He looked at her as if to protest, then, turned.
Her heart beat in her chest as she leaned against the closed door. She winced as
the pain inside throbbed again. The house was quiet and she could hear her breath as she
squeezed everything in not to fall apart. How could these days go on? When would the
universe know it was too much? The night was still outside.
She hobbled to the kitchen to turn out the lights and found her mother sitting alone.
“You scared me. What are you doing in here?”
“Waiting”
“For what?” She stared at her mother in disbelief. Her heart pounded in her throat.
Her words sputtered and stuck in the back like a gag: waiting to turn over, spread their
wings, be free.
59
“What was he doing here?” Fancy needled again.
“What?” Sarah softly exploded. “It’s none of your business.”
“What a web we weave,” she whispered as she turned out the golden light. “A
glorious web,” she said again as she knew too well the look on Sarah’s face. A mother
can always tell when her daughter’s in love. There were so many wrong turns to be made,
so many decisions. Fancy pitied her daughter standing alone in the shadows. She pitied
her but left her alone, the reality too great to face herself.