Laughing Down the Moon (28 page)

“Everything will be okay, Allura,” she said. “Everything will be okay.”

A nurse wheeled an IV stand and an empty wheelchair past us with an empathetic smile on her lips. She looked kindly at us until she realized someone was coming at a quick clip in her direction. The nurse swerved over to the edge of the corridor as my sister careened in stocking feet around the corner.

“Mom! Allura, come!” Falina skidded down the hallway, looking like a girl version of Dad. “He’s awake!” She was yelling and crying. “Dad’s awake!”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Homecoming

“Lilfella, lilfella, lilfella!”

Tears squeezed past my closed eyes as I cuddled Dwight and he crooned to me. I put my lips to the top of his head and crooned back, “Hi Dwight…Hi buddy.”

“Lilfella, lilfella.” I felt his muscles contract in his neck as he tried to bob his head under my maternal smooches. I let him up for air and laughed aloud over the joy of seeing him. He clenched tighter to my wrist and kept on bobbing as I held him at arm’s length to admire his glossy black feathers.

“Dwight, my little man, you are looking good!”

“Lilfella, lilfella, lilfella,” he said more quietly this time.

Patrick had taken good care of Dwight. Dwight’s cage was clean, he had a variety of interesting playthings on top of his jungle gym and, most importantly, Dwight had not plucked out any of the new feathers he’d grown. There was no reminder of his naked, pink belly to be seen at all. I had worried about how badly the separation would stress him. It appeared that it had stressed him very little. Dwight was the best greeting committee I could ask for, and it was good to be home. Seeing him again made up for the fact that I’d had to cross paths with the stalker cat to get to my front door. The handsome cat was becoming a permanent fixture, it seemed.

Surveying the usual pens, papers, style books and magazines piled on the corners of my desk and surrounding my laptop like an audience in an amphitheater, my fingers flexed with longing. Was I really happy to see the debris of my
job
? I was! I was
that
happy to be home.

I dug into my writing with a newfound zeal. I wrote two articles in the time it normally took me to start one. On most days I procrastinated by dealing with the laundry that begged for attention, making phone calls to friends to see what they were up to, playing a few games with Dwight, pinching back the herb garden and discovering a couple other tasks so dire they just couldn’t wait. I contemplated starting a third article, but decided against pushing my luck. I’d check voice mails instead.

There was one from Mom with an update on Dad, one from Patrick inviting me over and asking me to check in with him when I arrived and the old one from Davidoff Academy offering me an interview. I hadn’t yet called Davidoff back. I wasn’t sure if the sudden rekindling of my passion for writing would last, or if it were just giddiness from returning home, so I called Davidoff first.

“There must be a mistake. I was called and told to schedule an interview for the writing teacher position.” I waited for the secretary on the other end of the phone to double-check her files.

“No…” She cleared her throat nervously. She sounded familiar to me. “No, there’s nothing here in the list of applicants about your being accepted for an interview.” I could hear the shushing of papers. “Perhaps you were sent the letter in error.”

“It was a voice mail.” I tried to keep my disappointment from being audible. Even in the midst of Dad’s hospital stay, I had been looking forward to interviewing at Davidoff. I may have even counted on the job as a sure thing based on Madame DuVaulle’s words. If she were wrong about this, what else might she be wrong about? And then I caught myself…gentle fear and disappointment seeped through my veins as I realized I had been hoping all of Madame DuVaulle’s predictions would come true. And if the one about teaching wasn’t going to come true, perhaps the one about Shiloh wasn’t going to either.

“Okay then, sorry about that.” The secretary’s voice sounded muffled on the other end of the call.

“Are you sure?” My voice sounded small.

“Yes, I am sure. In fact, the writing teacher position has already been filled.”

“Okay, thank you.” I ended the call and sat with the phone in my hand, my head hung low. The position was already filled? That fast? I wanted to teach there. I wanted the challenge, and I wanted to be inspired by kids who were overcoming obstacles. I also wanted, if I were to be honest with myself, to be near Shiloh. I listened to my internal whining and complaining and realized maybe I wanted it for all the wrong reasons. It was not about me. Maybe this was the universe telling me I didn’t have the right stuff to offer the kids.

“Damn it.” I tossed the phone onto my desk.

“Damn it,” Dwight echoed as he tossed a half-destroyed peanut onto the floor of his cage. “Damn it.”

My phone rang before I had a chance to talk to Dwight about impolite words. I picked it up and was greeted by Trisha’s bright voice.

“Allura! I’m so glad to hear your dad is doing okay!”

“Hi Trisha, thanks,” I said. She asked me a few questions about his prognosis and about how my mom was doing. She listened to my answers with patience and care. She told me how they enjoyed having Dwight at their house and how sullen Patrick was to drop him off this morning before my return. There was a short silence before the pace of the conversation sped up.

“Okay, before I change my mind about interfering,” she blurted, “I need to ask you to consider seeing Mickey in order to clean things up.”

“Clean things up?”

“Well, yes,” she said more slowly now. “You need to move on, Allura and so does Mickey, but she can’t because she…well, she hasn’t.”

“I don’t know,” I said, even though I knew she was right. There was no chance Mickey and I would ever work. It wasn’t a matter of choosing Shiloh or Mickey, which was how it felt a while ago. Now it was just a matter of not being compatible with Mickey. We hadn’t been able to stick together. It was not going to work.

Trisha didn’t say anything as I kicked thoughts around in my head.

“You’re right, Trisha, thank you,” I said. “Any advice?”

“Well, I guess I’d advise meeting face-to-face rather than talking about it on the phone or email. And maybe you want to tell her about Shiloh…”

“Shiloh’s done,” I said.

“Really?

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Allura, you have strong feelings for Shiloh, right?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “You don’t know if it’s over with her. And the fact that you started something with her, and it was
real
, well, that might be what Mickey needs to hear to move on.”

“Again, you are right.” I smiled as I said this. I felt relief begin to loosen my shoulders, which I hadn’t even noticed were tight. It would feel good to tie up the dangling ends with Mickey.

“I know!” she laughed into the phone.

“And thank you for being such a good friend,” I told her, “to both me and Mickey. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I love you both. And this is kind of a weird place to be with you two, but…well, I love you guys, so I don’t want things to drag on. I think you’re both being hurt by…I don’t know…by not finishing, I guess.”

We said our good byes and as I spun back to attack my writing, I was both fuller and lighter than I had been before Trisha’s call.

Four hours and two additional articles later, my phone rang and this time I didn’t recognize the number.

“This is Allura,” I sing-songed, high on my renewed lust for writing.

“Good afternoon, Allura, this is Boz Green from Davidoff Academy. I left you a message a short while back, but I wonder if you received it because I haven’t heard back from you. I’d like to offer you an interview for the writing teacher position, unless you have already taken a position elsewhere.”

Happiness, confusion and the fact that he’d said all that without taking a breath battled for my attention. “Oh! Hello, Mr. Green, I did return your call, just today, actually, but your secretary said there had been a mistake.”

“Oh?”

“She said the position already had been filled,” I explained.

There was silence on the other end, followed by what sounded like the slapping of a folder or paperwork on a desktop. Boz Green cleared his throat.

“I am sorry about that. Beth must have made a mistake. The position is definitely not filled, and we’d really like to interview you. I do apologize. Things usually go very smoothly around here. I, uh…I can find out what happened…” Embarrassment tinged his words.

“Don’t worry. I’d really like an interview.” I sounded too eager in my own ears, but I didn’t care how I sounded in Boz’s ears because I was pretty sure he was mulling over the mix-up.

“Are you able to come in anytime tomorrow?”

We made the arrangements, ended the call, and Dwight and I danced around like a pair of buffoons until I worked the excitement out of myself. I pumped my arms out in front of me and did my white-men-can’t-dance dance. Dwight strutted around saying, “Damn it.” I had an interview with Davidoff! Thank you, Goddess, Mother Earth, and God! Maybe I did have what the kids needed after all.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Closure, Shmosure

The short bursts of wind whipped my hair across my face and brought tears to my eyes. It was cold when the wind blew, but the hesitant warmth of the early spring sun tempered the gusts. The oversized spoon that balanced a shining cherry on its business end would look out of place anywhere but here in the Walker Art Museum’s sculpture garden.

“I’m sorry for calling you judgmental when you told me to get help for my drinking issue, Al,” Mickey said, facing the enormous spoon sculpture rather than looking at me. Her short salt-and-pepper hair created tiny spikes like upside-down icicles, and her cold ears almost matched the red of her coat.

“It’s no problem,” I answered, “maybe I was judgmental, am judgmental.”

“Yeah, but I think it’s the helpful kind of judgment,” she said, turning to look at me and then turning back to the spoon. I didn’t answer because every sentiment that crossed my mind did indeed sound judgmental to me. I thought of telling her it’s only a helpful criticism if positive change occurs because of it. So far she hadn’t mentioned stopping, or even cutting back on drinking. I thought of asking her what her plan was, but I felt it was none of my business. I decided against tinkering in my mind with various options for her to address her alcoholism because, emotionally, I needed a rest from that kind of involvement. This was Mickey’s issue now; I couldn’t get re-involved with it. But at the same time, I
did
care what happened to her. I still cared for her but not in the way I had when we were together.

“Mickey, I hope everything works out the way you want it to with…with your drinking.” I looked at her, bundled up in a bright red parka that matched the cherry resting atop the spoon. Her face in profile was softer than I had seen it in what seemed like years. This made me ache for what we might have had, who we might have been together had the alcohol not taken my place in the relationship. But the ache subsided quickly as I realized that we were both in exactly the right places now.

“I have to do this without you, don’t I?” she asked me, finally turning to look at me fully. Her eyes were sad, but I could sense her strength and determination. She took my hands in hers, our mittens big and clumsy making us have to push our hands together rather than allowing us to really hold each other.

“Yes, I think so,” I started, but then I had to add, “I mean, I’ll be here, but…not like, not like before.”

She nodded. I felt that she knew what I meant, even though I hadn’t been able to fully express what was in my mind and heart. We stood that way for a few moments, and she didn’t break eye contact for what seemed like the longest time in our recorded history together. Was she finally able to hold my gaze for more than a few seconds because she had nothing to hide or to lose now? Whatever the reason, I felt closer to her than I had in years. It was a nice way to say goodbye.

We walked around the gardens full of cold, whimsical metal art. Her thumb encased in my hand, my hand enclosed in her palm, separated by inches of the woolen insulation of our mittens. She asked how my father was doing, how my mother was doing and how I was doing. I talked to her more than I had talked to anyone else, including Falina and Patrick, since my dad’s accident. I told her how scared I had been, how my mom had handled things and how I had questioned my perception of the risk involved with loving mere mortals. We laughed together, another thing she hadn’t been able to do much with me in our last years together. It felt so good to experience Mickey’s lightened energy. She felt happier in a way that was somehow
tangible
to me as I walked beside her.

I wanted to tell her about Shiloh, but didn’t want to ruin what might be the last time she and I really connected. If this was goodbye as lovers and partners, and I wasn’t sure there’d be a hello as friends, I thought it best to not speak of Shiloh. That might ruin the moment. Of course, if I didn’t tell her of Shiloh, she wouldn’t know that I was fully, truly moving on, even if it wasn’t with Shiloh. Not telling Mickey may not be fair because she might harbor a hope of rekindling with me. I didn’t have to ponder long because, as people who have spent years together often do, she seemed to read my mind.

“Trisha and Patrick tell me you’ve been seeing someone,” she said, making the end of the statement sound like a question.

“Umm,” I intoned through closed lips. What was I supposed to say now? Give her the whole story or only its sad ending?

“It’s okay, if you want to tell me about her. I…well, I’ve had time to come to terms with it, so you can talk about it…I think.” She laughed a little as she said the last bit. I glanced at her beside me, trying to read her face, but she wasn’t looking at me. I could only hope the tears running sideways from her eyes to her hairline were tears brought out by the chill of the winds.