Dream Lover (25 page)
Pam took a deep breath and felt like she was ready to make that second, difficult call. She picked up the phone again and dialed. Lisa picked up on the first ring, surprised to hear from her mother already. “How’s everything at the beach?” Lisa asked. “Did you talk to Ben yet?”
“Lisa, I’m calling back because I have something to tell you that I didn’t feel ready to share when you called earlier,” she began. “This sounds much worse than it is. I found out I have AIDS. I was sick with the flu and the doctor ran some tests.” Pam, out of breath, stopped talking, waited for a response. She heard a sniffle, but there was no screaming, yet.
“Oh, God Mother, I don’t even know what to say to you,” Lisa responded. “How do you feel?” That caught Pam off guard. It wasn’t like her daughter to think about someone else right off the bat. Maybe she was growing up!
“Amazingly, I feel great! And I’m not just saying that, Lisa. I redoubled my efforts at fitness and nutrition and think it is paying off. The doctor is certainly happy,” Pam related, leaving out the details about decreased viral loads. Some things just didn’t need to be said.
“I’m so glad!” Lisa said. “I’m still numb, but at least you feel good.” Pam talked more about loving her and being grateful for her daughter’s understanding. There was a few seconds of silence and Pam decided to get out while the getting was good. They proclaimed their love for each other and said their good-byes. Pam hung up the phone. She remained sitting on the veranda for the next hour as the sun went down and she was left in the dark. She finished what was left of her cold coffee, and looked out over the water, the reflection of the setting sun behind the house throwing a bright orange glow on the water. Soon, the only lights she would see would be the landscaping lights that led down the wooden path to the beach, and the lights on boats yet out on the water.
She imagined fishermen returning home from a day of fishing, the smell of brine, the catch on ice in the holds. And a cruise ship or two, headed toward New York Harbor. She and Jack had never taken a cruise, or even gone on a vacation aside from seeing Brent in California. When he was home for a week or two or three during the summer, he wanted to stay right there. She would fantasize that he wanted to stay with the family because he had missed them so much. But now she wondered if he needed to regroup; his hectic, confusing life getting the best of him and the only way he could manage was to step away from it for a while. It didn’t make any difference to her. She loved her home and when the family was all there, she was happiest. It made no difference to her what he was doing while he was in town, because it didn’t affect her at all. Pam snickered to herself. They were a perfect match, she and Jack. He wanted to play, and she wanted to be left alone.
Oh well,
she thought.
I asked for it.
Pushing herself away from the table, she got up to go into the house. She was hungry for a change, and would prepare a real meal. It was the least she could do. She owed it to her children to continue taking care of herself.
Brent
W
ell, I just got some shitty news. I don’t even know how to react or what to think. Your life goes in one direction for a while and then suddenly, without warning, it swerves in another direction, or out of control.
My dad died five months ago. He was healthy, vital, young for his age, and he just up and croaked on me. I barely saw him all year except for the holidays. He surprised me by coming out to California for my birthday. I should have known something was wrong, because he talked to me like he had never talked before, intimately and at times, with tears. My dad was the type of guy who didn’t talk about his feelings much. He spent every second that he was home from work with me and my sister and I always felt like that was evidence enough of his love for us and told him that when he flew out. I never, ever felt like he was ignoring me, or neglecting me. I know Lisa feels the same way.
Evidently, there had been some issue that I wasn’t aware of, because about three hours ago, my mother called here and told me she has AIDS. I know my mother, and unless she shot up, the only place she could have gotten it was from my father. She says she just found out that she was sick. You have to know my mother to appreciate this contradiction. My mother is perfect. I’m not just saying this because she is mine. Ask anyone. Our friends, the neighbors, the guy who cuts our grass. My mother and AIDS just don’t make sense. It’s not possible.
Back to my father. I wonder if he knew and told her and she didn’t want to disrupt our lives further by telling us about it too soon after his death. Ha! I can imagine my sister. We haven’t talked yet. She did try to call me, but I didn’t answer. I have to straighten out my own screwed up feelings before I can address hers. My mother said not to worry, that she was healthy. Again, you have to know my mother. She’s never missed a day at the gym except for when my dad died. She had her gall bladder out not too long ago and went back to the gym the next day, just to walk on the treadmill, she said. She could have walked on the beach, but there was something about the momentum of getting to the gym daily that was important to her. I drove her because she wasn’t supposed to drive yet. I never begrudged doing anything for my parents.
Healthy eating is a big issue with my mother. My aunt had anorexia; yeah, we kids weren’t supposed to know, but neither Lisa nor I is stupid. We could see her not eating and getting thinner and thinner and then one weekend, she didn’t come for her visit. My mother has always been a stickler about nutrition, especially for us kids. She would eat like a bird, but it was healthy stuff. We never had fast food when we were small. I remember crying for a chicken nugget when I was about five. She tried making them for us, but it wasn’t the same.
Some of my earliest memories are of my mother, running behind our stroller. She had one that both of us kids could ride in. She’d run across town from the west side to the east and back. She was attractive and always commanded a lot of looks. My dad didn’t hide the fact that her looks were a big selling point with him. “The first time I laid eyes on your mother,” he’d say, “I knew I would try to get to know her better.” Or, “I am lucky your mom would look my way.” Her response was always the same: a laugh and “Oh yeah, right.” She thought he was being smart, but he meant it. He always told Lisa and me how much he loved our mother. Do all fathers do that? Now I wonder if he wasn’t trying to convince us of it, afraid that maybe we saw something that would lead us to believe otherwise.
I grew up never worried, never forced to hear or see things that would make me wonder how safe I was. I know other kids didn’t have that luxury. I remember hearing stories from my friends and I would think,
How can they sleep at night
? One kid’s dad got hauled off to jail by the police, and another had a mother who drank too much. On one of the rare nights that I slept at a friend’s house, his parents got into a fight while I was there, screaming at each other with the children all crying. I got so scared I called my mom and she came right over to get me. I never asked to sleep over again and she wouldn’t have allowed it anyway.
She wasn’t over protective, either. Lisa and I were allowed to do a lot of things that other kids couldn’t do because my mother said she “wanted us to have that experience.” My parents didn’t bat an eye when I told them I wanted to go to UCLA and then Lisa wanted to go to Oahu. My mother was a little concerned about getting us home from so far away if we ever got sick, but as it turned out, in four years, I have never had to leave school because I didn’t feel well. With Lisa, so far so good.
Every year, my parents rented a house in San Diego during Thanksgiving and they and Lisa met me there. It was the only time I have ever known my parents to leave New York. Why the hell am I doing this to myself? During the summer, my mother mentioned coming here for the holidays, but now I am sure that idea is kaput. Here she is, sick and alone in Babylon without her husband or kids and I’m whining about having to go home so she can cook a turkey for me. I don’t allow myself to think about my dad too much; trying to hold back the tears never works and I share a room with three other guys. Now there is the real possibility that I could lose my mother, as well. That is truly the only issue I have; the loss of my mother. I am not ready to be an orphan! I don’t want her to die. I’m sure that later on, the question of my father’s contribution to this will be something I am going to have to deal with, but right now, I don’t care. I had the two best parents a kid could have and nothing they can ever do will change the way I feel about them.
Lisa
O
h God! I don’t know if I want to talk about this yet! How can this be happening to my family? First my dad, now my mother? No friggin’ way! I can’t lose her. There is no one in my family who could ever take her place, even as a stand-in. I can’t believe there is the remotest possibility that she won’t always be at the beach, waiting for me and Brent. It was horrible learning that my dad had died. It’s only been five months since he’s been gone. I’m not used to it yet by a long shot. I just told her during the Fourth of July that I didn’t want to come home so often, that it was too difficult with dad not being there! How could I have said that to her! I apologized and she immediately said it was no problem, she hadn’t given it a thought. It was her usual, gracious way of handling any slight Brent and I have given to her; complete forgiveness. She has been such an unbelievable role model, but I could never live up to her standard.
She and I have a great relationship. Even when I was a teenager in high school, I knew that my mom would always hear me out about any topic. A big one in my house was whom I could date. My mom liked keeping that to a small circle of boys she knew from my school. They had to be in my grade, from Babylon, going to Babylon High. If she was feeling generous, she’d let me go out with someone from Saint Benedict’s. But only if the kid lived in the neighborhood and only if he was in the same grade. I wasn’t allowed to date anyone older, not even if he was still in high school.
My mom is about as perfect as you can get for a parent. She must have never slept at night to accomplish all she did every day, the way she took care of us kids and my dad. My mom served a home-cooked meal every single night of my life, with a set table and fresh flowers in the center. She used to laugh when we asked what was for dinner; her reply was always the same. She’d say, “a starch, a protein, a vegetable, and a dessert.” And it was! My mother never served hot dogs for dinner unless they were done on the grill. And then she would serve homemade potato salad and baked beans with them.
I know my mom dotes on me. My friends were all jealous of the treatment I got at home. Since I was a little girl, my mother helped me with my bath, washing my hair, massaging my feet, giving me facials and pedicures. It’s what we did. Beauty night, she called it. My mom talked to me about growing up, menstruation, and that sort of thing, when I was just eight. She was so worried I wouldn’t be prepared. I had my own stash of personal products, too. Everything I would ever need, I had, and then some. I saw my mom spend extra time on my clothes, making sure I had plenty of underwear and socks, and when I started to develop, I was the first one in my class to have a wardrobe of bras. Overindulged? Probably. I knew that it was from her own childhood; she told me once that when she was about six, her mother complained that she smelled in front of an aunt whom she really liked, and the adults laughed at her. She went to her room and changed her underwear, not aware that she should have been doing that daily because no one had taught her. After that, she made it her business to know everything there was to know about hygiene and to put into practice the measures she used all of her life: continuous bathing, primping, caring for herself. I am not quite as bad as Mom is, but almost. My brother is the quintessential metrosexual…trust me when I say he is Pam Junior, but in a nice way.
This is why I cannot believe that my mother has AIDS. It just can’t be. In the first place, I refuse to believe that my father, someone who was always referred to teasingly as Mr. Perfect, would ever, ever have something so disgusting. So where did she get it? I don’t see my mother being unfaithful to my dad. In the first place, she wouldn’t have had time! She was too busy running around taking care of everyone. I have three aunts and two grandmothers and my mother alone prepared every holiday meal I have eaten, in my recollection. As a matter of fact, I have never been to my aunts’ homes or eaten a meal they prepared. Everyone wanted to come to the beach, even in the winter. And my mom never complained. I have never heard her say she was tired, or that she dreaded a holiday. She would start preparing for Thanksgiving in September, decorating the house and yard right after Labor Day. On Black Friday, she would call the handyman to get the Christmas decorations down from the rafters in the garage. He’d string the lights all over the outside of the house. My mom never forgot anyone on Christmas. People didn’t just come to our house to eat; she bought gifts for everyone, too—thoughtful gifts, not just token presents. She sent cards, and this past year, we reached a new all-time high of cards received: over a thousand. My dad teased her unmercifully, said he would cut off her postage allowance if she sent out a thousand cards in return. She winked at me; I think she had surpassed that years ago. The extended family spent all three summer holidays at the beach. The Memorial Day party was an annual event from the first year they moved to Babylon. My parents didn’t spare any expense, getting a lavish fireworks display out over the ocean, renting out the entire bed and breakfast down the beach from our house, and my mother preparing everything that would be served. Well, almost. My grandmother made potato salad. That was the sole contribution to a spread for a hundred people.
When my dad was home on the weekends, every meal was a celebration. She planned what we would eat down to the last crumb. Nothing was left to chance. She dealt with the house, all the repairs, improvements, and maintenance; she paid the bills and did the banking. All my dad had to do on Friday was show up. She made that place an oasis for him. I don’t know how my dad started out in life, but at the end of it, he loved the way my mother took care of him. He told Brent and me every time we were together that he loved our mother, that the way she took care of her family was a testimony of her love for us and that he knew how lucky he was. I don’t see how he could have been to blame for the AIDS. I took it for granted that what my dad said about his marriage was the truth. That it was information he shared with his wife. If he was unfaithful, well, I just don’t get it. Maybe he was infected when they got married and it took that long to incubate. Is that possible?