Return the monstrous television you purchased, and everything will go back to normal.Keep the monstrous television, and you must agree to the following demands:You must eat dinner at the table with Pat and me five nights a week.You must go on a half-hour walk with either Pat or me five nights a week.You must have a daily conversation with Pat, during which you ask him at least five questions and listen to his replies, which you will report to me nightly.You must do one recreational activity a week with Pat and me, such as eating at a restaurant, seeing a movie, going to the mall, shooting baskets in the backyard, etc.
Failure to complete either option 1 or 2 will force me to go on strike. I will no longer clean your house, buy or cook your food, launder your clothes, or share your bed. Until you declare which option you wish to take, consider your wife on strike.
With best intentions,
Jeanie
It does not seem like Mom to be so forceful with Dad, and I do wonder if her “new friend” coached her through the writing of the two-page letter. It is very hard for me to picture Dad returning his new television, especially after watching the Eagles win on the new set. His purchase will be considered good luck for sure, and Dad will want to watch next week’s Eagles game on the same television so he will not jinx the Birds, which is understandable. But the demands Mom made—especially the one where Dad has to talk to me every night—also seem incredibly improbable, although I do think it would be nice to eat dinner together as a family and maybe even go out to a restaurant, but not to the movies, since I am now only willing to watch the movie of my own life.
Suddenly I need to speak with my brother, but I do not know his phone number. I find the address book in the cabinet above the stove and place a call to Jake’s apartment. A woman picks up on the third ring; her voice is beautiful.
“Hello?” she says.
I know it is not my brother on the other end, but I still say, “Jake?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Pat Peoples. I’m looking for my brother, Jake. Who are you?”
I hear the woman cover the phone with her hand, and then my brother’s voice comes through loud and clear: “Did you see that ninety-eight-yard fumble return? Did you see Patterson run?”
I want to ask about the woman who answered my brother’s phone, but I am a little afraid of finding out who she is. Maybe I should already know, but forget somehow. So I simply say, “Yeah, I saw it.”
“Frickin’ awesome, dude. I didn’t know a defensive tackle could run that far.”
“Why didn’t you come over and watch the game with Dad and me?”
“Truthfully?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t lie to my brother. Mom called me this morning and told me not to come, so I went to a bar with Scott. She called Ronnie too. I know because Ronnie called me to make sure everything was okay. I told him not to worry.”
“Why?”
“Should he be worried?”
“No, why did Mom tell you and Ronnie not to come over?”
“She said it would give you a chance to be alone with Dad. She said it would force Dad to talk to you. So did he?”
“A little.”
“Well, that’s good, right?”
“I found a note from Mom to Dad.”
“What?”
“I found a note from Mom to Dad.”
“Okay. What did it say?”
“I’ll just read it to you.”
“Go ahead.”
I read him the note.
“Shit. Go Mom.”
“You know he won’t be taking the television back now, right?”
“Not after the Birds won today.”
“Yeah, and I’m worried that Dad won’t be able to meet the demands.”
“Well, he probably won’t, but maybe he’ll at least try, right? And trying would be good for him—and Mom.”
Jake changes the subject by mentioning Baskett’s catch in the second quarter, which turned out to be his only catch of the game. My brother doesn’t want to talk about our parents anymore. He says, “Baskett’s coming along. He’s an undrafted rookie, and he’s getting catches. That’s huge.” But it doesn’t feel huge to me. Jake says he’s looking forward to seeing me next Monday night, when the Eagles will play the Green Bay Packers. He asks me to have lunch in the city before we tailgate with Scott and the fat men, and then we hang up.
It’s getting late, and my mother is still not home.
I begin to worry about her, and so I do all the dishes by hand. For a good fifteen minutes—with steel wool—I scrub the pan my father burned. And then I vacuum the family room. Dad had splattered some pizza sauce on the couch, so I find some cleaning spray in the hall cabinet and do my best to remove the stain—dabbing lightly and then wiping a little harder in a circular motion, just like it says on the side of the bottle. My mom comes home as I am on my knees cleaning the couch.
“Did your father tell you to clean up his mess?” Mom asks.
“No,” I say.
“Did he tell you about the letter I wrote him?”
“No—but I found it.”
“Well, then you know. I don’t want you to do any cleaning, Pat. We’re going to let this place rot until your father gets the message.”
I want to tell her I found the “Pat” box in the attic, how hungry I was today, that I really don’t want to live in a filthy house, and I need to take one thing at a time—finding the end of apart time first and foremost—but Mom looks so determined and almost proud. So I agree to help her make the house filthy. She says we will be eating takeout, and when my father is not home, everything will be as it was before she wrote the note, but when my father is home, we will be slovenly. I tell Mom that while she is on strike, she can sleep in my bed, because I want to sleep in the attic anyway. When she says she’ll sleep on the couch, I insist she take my bed, and she thanks me.
“Mom?” I say when she turns to leave.
She faces me.
“Does Jake have a girlfriend?” I ask.
“Why?”
“I called him today, and a woman answered the phone.”
“Maybe he does have a girlfriend,” she says, and then walks away.
The indifference Mom shows regarding Jake’s love life makes me feel as though I am forgetting something. If Jake had a girl friend Mom did not know about, she would have asked me a million questions. Her lack of interest suggests that Mom is keeping another secret from me, maybe something larger than what I found in the “Pat” box. Mom must be protecting me, I think, but I still want to know from what.
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