Twisted Valentine

Twisted Valentine

Copyright vcwriter17B

Sometimes, when you look back, you can see how a series of choices led you to where you are. Was that destiny, good or bad luck, or just something random? I guess that opinion depends on whether you like where you went.

My journey started with a nontraditional family. I grew up with my grandparents. My mother and father were only kids when I came along and neither really ever played that role. Being raised by her parents was probably better than being raised by either of those two, but in truth we'll never know.

Actually, in the US, nontraditional families are pretty traditional. There are a lot of ways to come by them - war, financial need, disease and poor judgement among them. They're just not the stereotype of what a family is supposed to be. But then again, what family is? In 1971, only 7% of Americans lived in multi-generational households. In Census-speak, that's three or more generations living together. With rising housing costs and stagnant wages, now it's upwards of 18%.

In my case, the kids married before pregnancy, a shotgun wedding after his mother found condoms in my dad's dresser. They were divorced by the time I was two. As Tina Turner sang, "What's love got to do with it?" Probably not much. My mother later tried to justify her actions as a way to get out of her parents' house. That didn't work as they both wound up living there, but she found another way later. My father never offered an explanation.

To be fair, they both became rather successful at least in their careers. At the time I was born, that outcome may have seemed at best uncertain. They had a lot of growing up to do, and experiences to acquire. In Mother's case, that included losing a couple of teeth falling off a small cliff. Trying to frame a picture of a large wedding party for a newspaper for which she worked, she kept stepping backwards. Just like in a cartoon, that last step was.... Oops! Yep, stupid stuff like that happens in real life.

A fourth grade teacher had given me a rash of garbage about my family. She was an old and nosey woman who didn't like anything that misaligned with her sense of propriety. It didn't help that no one in my family would talk about what happened or even why my last name was different. It took me 16 years to get any kind of explanation, and I'll never know the entire story. Between egos, failing memories, and deaths, there's really no way to sort it out. And maybe it really doesn't matter. We can't fix the past.

What we can do is enjoy the humor that crops up in such an existence.

My mother really didn't like her parents, the people who raised us both, so she made a point of staying at least 400 miles away for most of my first eighteen years of life. She would visit for a long weekend maybe three or four times per year, but that was it. Her visits including her spending time with friends from college who lived in our town and using card games with my grandmother and I to avoid any meaningful conversations. She mastered the art of being present and absent at the same time.

By the time I turned 16, mother decided that it was easier to put me on a plane than to visit the parents she didn't want to see. That started my adventures as a traveler. I got to know the regional carrier we nicknamed Agony Express. That was a perfect moniker for several reasons:

1. It was close to the actual name of the carrier.
2. It fit the small, cramped planes.
3. It fit the insanely bad routes.

I mean, how many carriers would have a 300-mile flight with three intermediate stops? The small plane and crazy itinerary were designed to promote car sickness. Not air sickness, never up long enough. The flights had a rhythm to them, like a ballroom dance.

Up down, bounce.

Up down, bounce.

Up down, vomit.

Up down, crawl down the ramp.

For more money, which no one wanted to spend, you could get a nonstop on Trans Wobbly. The navy pilots they hired were accustomed to fast take-offs, often scraping the aircraft tail on the runway, and abrupt landings with a little drop and bounce at the end -- think tailhooks on carrier decks. You learned quickly to snug down the seatbelt as much as you could tolerate.

By the time I hit college, I'd become something of a seasoned traveler. I knew the drill with baggage, airport security and ticket counters. I'd learned that a smile and simple courtesy could lubricate any difficult situation - apparently airport personnel met too many who didn't know that and were grateful to find someone who did. I couldn't do cute, too hulking a guy for that, but I could do nice.

However, family did their best to keep things interesting. The second week of October my first year was pure whiplash. I hadn't heard from Mom for a week or two, so I decided to call her just to chat. A guy answers the phone, and when she finally gets on, "Oh, that's John, your new stepfather." Heck, I didn't even know she was dating.

The next day got even better. There's a call for me. I pick it up, and this deep male voice says, "Hi, Bill, you don't know me but I'm your father. I'm in town working on a project at the NRC building across from your dorm. Want to meet for dinner this evening?"

Father? Last he was in my life I was age two. No memory.

But I'm a college student. Free food, ok, I'm down with that.

Fabulous steak dinner and my introduction to Brandy and Benedictine, still a favorite.

Two days, two "new" parents. Imagine if that had kept going....

Mom's marriage to what was my second stepdad didn't last all that long, and by junior year she was back in another apartment. That year, the holiday schedule got messed by weather. I was in Atlanta for a chess tournament and couldn't get back to see her. Her airport was iced for days. We reset the visit for a long weekend over her birthday.

Mother was a woman of many ironies. While at that time still looking young and sweet, she carried a verbal switchblade, always ready to strike. One of her favorites sayings was "he/she meant well." To her, it meant that the person had the right idea but was too stupid to make it work. She had the ability to butcher a person and leave the victim smiling and thanking her. That plus tenure got her the gig as department chair.

Her mastery of sarcasm made no one think that she could have been born on Valentine's Day. By the time of this particular trip, I was a solid 6-foot, 20 year old, looking a couple of years older courtesy of a well trimmed beard. Mother a munchkin at 5 foot and 38 looking like 28.

This birthday trip was noteworthy for several reasons.

First, there was the elderly English professor, a reincarnation of Casanova in his own mind. Mother had hauled me out to campus and turned me loose in the college library while she held office hours. I was debating which grad school to attend or taking a year off and working. At one point I got tired and a bit hungry and returned to her office. She opted for plastic food from vending, and that's where we ran into the wannabe Don Juan.

Apparently, he had badly underestimated my mother's age in his bungling attempts to seduce her. As we entered the vending area from the corridor, he was raising his hand to insert coins into the coffee machine. He nodded to us. Mother took that exact moment to offer in a sugary voice, "Oh, Donald, I'd like to introduce you to my son."

The coins hit the floor, his head jarred an acoustic ceiling tile, he did a midair pivot and screamed, "Your what????"

I had no clue that a 60+, obese lush could have ballet moves in him, much less get that kind of air.

I'll give him credit for a quick recovery. We did the usual "pleasure to meet you" sort of thing, but he was holding his chest and shaking as we walked away.

Heading back to her office, I met the newest member of her department. Sally shared an office across the hall from Mother. She turned to greet us as we walked up the corridor.

"Lizzie, is this your son?" She smiled. Almost as tall as me, with fiery red hair and a milky, lightly freckled complexion from too much time indoors. Irish? I guessed her to be five or six years my senior. Couldn't really scope her out with the baggy top and long skirt she wore. Very pretty face. Genuine warmth in her greeting.

"Hi, Sally, yes, that's him. Just scared the Bejesus out of Donald," Mother said with a chuckle.

"Wish I'd seen that. Can't imagine anyone more deserving. One of the reasons I stopped attending faculty parties." Mother nodded in commiseration. Apparently the lech was persistent beyond reason. I'd heard Mother complain about him on a number of occasions. Tenure made him hard to fix.

"Bill, I'm going to ship you back to the library for another hour or so while I finish up. We'll grab some dinner on the way home."

"Of course." Turning to Sally, having seen the name tag on her door, "Ms. Devlin, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, likewise," said with a brilliant smile.

As I walked away, I heard Mother ask, "Oh, Sally, are you going to be on campus tomorrow?"

"What do you need?" Their voices faded as I hit the stairs.

Sally surprised me in the library a bit later. I was absorbed in a Civil War text I'd found and didn't hear her slip up behind me. Nothing until I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. The silence of the library was broken by her musical laughter. Even the librarian over behind the desk grinned.

"OK, you got me. What's up?"

"Your Mom needs another hour, something to do with visitors tomorrow. I offered to take you for a hot chocolate at the Student Center, if that's OK with you."

"Certainly, thank you."

"Do you want to take that book to read tonight? I can check it out for you."

"Thanks but no. I've read enough by that author that he starts to get repetitive, using the same anecdotes over and over. He's a great historian. I guess there's only so much you can say about a narrowly defined subject."

Her eyebrows raised, coupled with a smirk. "That's a universal problem with dissertation topics these days. Finding something singular that will add to what is already known. In some fields, that gets really absurd. Come on, let's go." We started walking.

"I think I know what you mean. I took a grad seminar on the politics of education. I can image education being quite difficult in terms of dissertation topics. It's not clear that anyone knows the best strategy for teaching, and nothing seems to stay in place long enough for any realistic assessment.

"At least in a field like archeology there are new discoveries forcing reinterpretation of what we thought we knew."

"Bill, you sound more like a faculty member than a student."

"I like to read fairly widely. My heroes are people like Franklin and DaVinci. Feel like a leftover from a different century."

She chuckled. "I can relate to that."

The Library and Student Center were adjacent. We entered and found a table in the dining area. "Hold the table and that thought. I'll grab the drinks, then explain what I mean." I nodded and sat.

She was back in five minutes, a cup in each hand. I stood and pulled her chair out for her. "Why, thank you, sir!" Another smile. "I can't remember the last time someone did that for me."

"That's sad. There's nothing wrong with simple courtesy. Life is challenging enough without trying to make it less pleasant."

She looked at me with an odd expression. "Your mother would probably object to a man holding a door or chair for her."

"Object, I don't think so. Admit she likes it. No way." We both laughed.

Locking eyes with Sally, I continued. "Look, I'm aware of a few of the battles she's fought, and she's fought them well. My father's similar. He's done some really remarkable things, but he's a womanizer, a player, and a lousy father for my half brothers. No one's perfect. You have to play the hand you're dealt." I shrugged.

"Gosh, I wish I could be as matter-of-fact as you. I've never been able to talk about my home life with anyone."

"If you want to share, I'm listening, and no one will ever know what you tell me."

"I believe you, just not sure I'm ready.

"That's OK. The offer stands. Back to heroes. Mine are Alcott and Dickens. Part of that is I can relate too well to some of the characters they created and I like writing with a social conscience."

"Two of my favorites as well. Surprised you like Alcott, most guys seem not to."

"Before I forget, do you want to exchange phone number? That way, when you do feel like talking...." She looked surprised, but paused and then nodded.

I pulled out my phone and handed it to her. She entered her information, then texted my number to her phone. "All set."

Then she shocked me by opening a bit more. "Bill, I've had lousy relationships in the past. I've never told anyone, but that includes both guys and girls. I was abused as a child, and seem to gravitate toward people who either took advantage of me or continued the abuse. Finally, working on my dissertation, I turned into a hermit. I isolated myself from everyone except my advisor for two years. Even with him, after explaining my history, we made a deal that I would only meet with him if someone else was with us. We ended up doing most of our meetings at his house with his wife sitting in. Turns out she knew my topic area and really helped. No your mom doesn't know all that. She just knows that I don't want to be within twenty feet of someone like Donald. He makes me physically ill."

"Thank you for trusting me. Again, I won't share this with anyone. Not my story to tell. You have my word."

"I've learned not to trust people, but you're different. I don't know how I know that, I just do. By the way, when your Mom's not around, just call me Sally, please."

"Will do and thank you, your trust means a lot. Now, to a lighter subject, how did you get to this corn town?"

"I grew up in Utah. My family was part of a renegade Mormon sect, one of those that still believes in polygamy and female subserviance." OK, this wasn't going where I expected. Shut up and listen.

I nodded my understanding and she continued. "My mother's older sister had left the sect, but came by to visit when she knew my father wouldn't be around. The last visit, Mother couldn't hide my whip marks or black eye. I took my aunt aside and begged to go with her. She gave me her car keys, told me to open the trunk, leave the keys on her seat, then lock myself inside the trunk. That's how I got away. My Aunt was a saint. She worked hard to help me catch up in school and inspired my love of books. She healed me as much as she could."

"You're not giving yourself the credit you deserve. She couldn't heal you; you did that with her help. You're stronger than you're saying."

Sally stared at me, thinking.

"Sally, I'm just telling you what any other thinking person would have said if you had opened up to them. But there's more to the story, right? Was your Aunt also living in Utah?"

"You're right. No, she wanted to put some distance between her and the sect and had moved to Denver. That's where I attended high school and college."

"And where you got entangled with people you couldn't trust."

She nodded. We're back to that, but she had said she wasn't ready.

"Another time. We talked about Alcott and Dickens. What are your favorite books?"

We got lost in an animated discussion of books and authors as only two book lovers could. We probably could have talked all night, but eventually Sally's phone pinged, letting us know that Mother was on her way. As we got up to head to the door to meet her, Sally surprised me with a hug. "Bill, this is the nicest time I've had with anyone other than my aunt probably in forever. You're really different. You feel more like an old friend than someone I just met. I can't thank you enough."

"Just me, Sally, just being me. I've enjoyed it as well." I returned a brief hug after glancing around to make sure Mother wasn't in sight.

We met Mother at the door. The women chatted briefly, then Mother and I headed off to a fish sandwich place she liked. After dinner, back to the apartment. Mother retired to her bedroom with a new book and a glass of scotch. I retired to the study to explore some porn and erotic story sites, all the while thinking about Sally.

I was surprised, an hour later, to get a text from her.

<Bill, thank u again for a really nice evening.>

<Sally, my pleasure, truly. Penny for your thoughts?>

<Now that I've started to open up, there's so much more, but don't want to burden u or scare u away.>

<Not to worry. When you're ready, I promise to listen, not judge. U don't need a judge, U need a friend u can count on.>

<u'd be that for me?>

<yes>

<Knew your answer before I asked. Brain, heart and gut are all telling me to believe. They've never teamed up on me before. Thank you. A lot to think about. Sweet dreams.>

I decided to flirt just a little.

<u too, beautiful.>

<goof, u don't know that yet. I don't show myself off at work.>

<Your face is enough.>

<Silly. Gosh, Donald should take lessons from you. LOL. GN>

<GN>

At that, I killed the lamp and rolled over. Didn't need a screen with images of Sally in my head.

I was surprised to find Mother gone when I got up the next morning. She left a note reminding me of leftovers in the fridge and that she wasn't sure how long she'd be gone. I remembered chatter about some VIPs visiting campus so while she didn't explain, I wasn't totally surprised. However, without a key to the apartment, a keycard for the main door or a car, my options were really fairly limited -- basically studying chess openings, playing a video game, surfing porn, or finding a book in her collection to read. Of course, I could do almost all of that in my apartment back at school.

Mother had no interest in technology. Terms like parental controls, firewalls, phishing and even spark plugs were foreign territory. I could do anything I wanted but had to watch out both for myself and her.

At least staying off campus allowed me to skip the political and social drama, or so I thought. She may have expected me to stay in bed, but no way. Mother had me sacked on a small sofa, more like a loveseat, in her study. It was definitely too short for me, but the dusty shag carpet option was worse. A sleeping bag would have been a huge step up but no one in the family considered that.

With those choices, I buried my head in a book on chess openings. Yes, pure nerd, I played in chess tournaments. Not grandmaster potential but I enjoyed the game.

Maybe not that pure a nerd; I also had access to Mother's copy of the original edition of "The Joy of Sex". The first edition of "Joy" was much better than the more politically correct later versions with commentary on such things as the pleasure of trussing a partner. I picked that up for a few minutes and thought again about Sally. If I had the chance, what could I do to please her? Finally deciding that there was insufficient information, I gave up and returned to chess. A complex game, but definitely easier to sort out.

Along about 10AMx I was surprised by a knock on the door. Not expecting anyone, I opened the door to see Sally covered in a trench coat.

"Hey Bill, your mom said you were here, and I told her I would check to see if you needed anything."

Of course, I invited her to step inside. She seemed both happy and a little nervous with a bit of a glow about her and her long red hair in a ponytail. I assumed she was out and decided to drop by. Then it occurred to me that the entry door required a keycard. Maybe someone let her in.

"Thanks, Sally, You look wonderful this morning. I'm pretty set. I hope this didn't take you out of your way."