Only Flesh and Bones Page 6

  “Sure. Why, what would have been a bad batting average?”

  “Oh, usually you don’t hear from them for days.”

  I was about to inquire, How do you know? when I caught myself and instead asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  Betty looked thoughtful, scratched her head a moment, and said: “Raccoon.”

  ELEVEN

  CONTRARY to my best resolutions, I continued reading Miriam Menken’s journals that evening, when I was next alone in my room under the eaves at Betty’s house. I was driven by a potent mixture of prurient interest and what I hoped was a saintly wish to find that the advantage-taking Chandler had met an early demise.

  Okay, so the journals called to me like a box of chocolates. The fact was, I’d known a few men like him in my days at Colorado College, and they still held an allure, a have-not’s wish for status and, well, debauchery. They were the trust-fund babies, the good-looking boys with lots of charm and little discipline who probed about endlessly for fresh, naive, vulnerable young flesh to exploit. And I? Well, I had been some of that naive young flesh, but I had been left unexploited. It had been my lot to look on enviously as the wealthy, socially adept girls kept such brightly plumed males of the species circling and pecking at their doors. This Chandler seemed all that and more, not just the cock of the rock but wild, intelligent, entrancing.

  Miriam’s entries about her first dates with J C. Menken were sketchy at best, quick notes about where he’d taken her and whom she’d seen there. I laughed out loud at the first mention of Cindey’s new date, Fred Howard (“ugly like a toad, and he had the gall to make a pass at me”), but I found myself skimming ahead, looking for any additional mentions of the man/boy she called Chandler. The next mention of him came in the late spring of her freshman year.

  May 11

  I saw Chandler today at the Student Union. He asked how I was and I said fine and how was he? Just like we were passing acquaintances and nothing had ever happened between us, or that’s what anyone watching might think. But he was looking at me very closely. He said he’d gotten married. I pretended this was news to me, but I’d heard that, that he married this really young girl who started college second semester and here he is so much older than even the rest of our class. I guess he really meant it that he wanted to get married, because that wasn’t more than three months after he went out with me. People say she was so pretty and bright-eyed but that right away she got to looking really tired all the time and she lost a lot of weight and had to go home to her parents. I’m so glad that one got away.

  After that, there was no further mention of Chandler until the spring of her senior year, and only cursory mentions of J. C. Menken; again, where they’d been, whom they’d seen there. I skimmed through the intervening entries. I noted that she seemed to mature, or become more jaded—I wasn’t sure which—and that her prose became more interesting, but something eluded me. I had a sense that something was missing, left out by design. When that something finally showed up, it was clear that she’d been keeping a few things back even from herself, things that she now blithely dropped to the imaginary audience of the journal as if they should have been presumed:

  May 5

  Last night Joe drove down from New York and took me to dinner and proposed to me again, it must be about the 20th time, only this time I said yes. I’m not sure why I said yes this time, but here I am graduating in three weeks and Mother says it’s important to have a plan in life, and I don’t and Joe does. Besides, we’ve been sleeping together every Saturday night for almost two years and we never fight, so we must be a good match, right? I hope so. It’s just not how I thought it would be, being engaged. I thought I’d feel all this rush of love and excitement, but all I feel is comfortable and a little bit nervous. Maybe the rest will come.

  Joe asked why I hadn’t said yes before, and I said because he always asked on a Saturday before. He looked kind of perplexed. It was sweet.

  May 6

  A big day. I took Joe home to see Mother and Daddy again and we stayed for dinner and I told them about our engagement. I think Daddy liked him better this time, at least I hope he did. Mother was all happy and said an August wedding would be just wonderful, but Daddy counseled a long engagement. I wanted to say we’ve been sleeping together for two years already, so what, but one just doesn’t say that at dinner and expect to get dessert. Anyway, I said maybe December. What’s the hurry, anyway? Like I said, we’ve already been to bed, so it’s not like I’m curious or anything. It’s sure not like in the movies.

  May 9

  I told Julia and Cindey that I’m marrying Joe and Cindey was mad I hadn’t told her first and Julia was mad because she thinks I’m throwing my life away. She had her finger down her throat and everything. I wonder.

  May 11

  Maybe I’ve made a mistake. Today I was walking across the quad and the sun was shining and there was a lovely breeze, and it suddenly occurred to me that I was going to be out of here in less than two weeks and I could do anything I want with my life. I could go to Europe or run off to the Southwest and work for an Indian school or be a ski bum for a while. Then I felt scared. It seemed so nice, but so frightening at the same time.

  May 13

  What’s happening to me? Joe came down last night like always and we were making love or having sex or whatever you call it, and I suddenly wanted to do something crazy, like run down the hall naked or something. I said why didn’t we go outside and make it under the trees by the athletic fields and he said don’t be stupid there are insects. It was a real downer. Now I’m thinking I shouldn’t marry him, like this is all I’m going to get for the rest of my life.

  Here I found more taped pages that had been stealthily peeled open. The wheezing Cindey had been thorough. I stopped again, asking myself if I really wanted to know what lay hidden. Unfortunately, the answer was yes.

  May 18

  Now I’ve gone and done it. Graduation is the 25th, and I’ve come all this way without running into Chandler again, and then there he was at the next table at the Student Union reading one of his damned books. I tried to ignore him, but he still looks so good. I told myself I would ignore him, but when he put down his book and smiled at me, I told myself what does it hurt to be friendly, he can’t hurt me here in the Union.

  So we got to talking. He asked how life was treating me. I said I was getting married, thinking that’s all he needs to know, I’m not available. He looked straight into me with that crazy look of his. It was frightening, but I must admit I’m still thinking about him.

  May 21

  I met Chandler again this afternoon when I was out walking and we got to talking again and he said let’s turn here and suddenly there we were in front of his house off campus. He said why didn’t I come in for a while and I said why not. I guess I was telling myself his wife would be there but she wasn’t. He said she wasn’t with him anymore because she was sick all the time. I asked if he missed her and he said yes. He asked if I was in love with the man I am marrying and I said I didn’t know. The next thing I knew he’d put music on the stereo and his arms were around me and we were dancing and it felt so good. Joe can’t dance a step. Then his hands were on my shoulders massaging them and I remembered how good he was at that, and I decided to let him, after all I’m not a child anymore. When he took me to his bed I thought about his poor little wife for just about a half second and then decided something nasty like “she isn’t here.”

  Now what am I going to do? I know better than to love Chandler, that’s not the problem, but now I know just how fantastic sex can be. He moves like a big cat and touches me in places Joe’s never heard of and roars when he comes. He got me so hot I didn’t care where I was. We did it three times before dinnertime.

  Now it’s two in the morning and I can’t sleep for anything. How am I supposed to marry Joe when I know what I’m missing? How am I supposed to sleep with him for that matter, when I know he’s stopping too soon? I always used to think it was me.<
br />
  TWELVE

  ABOUT three, I quit kidding myself that I had an ethical bone left in my body and just read. I was hooked, and not just by the lip; I had swallowed the bait, and the barb was lodged in my viscera.

  Miriam Menken wrote frustratingly little in her journal for the next seven years. Perhaps she was too busy in her new life and status as a married woman, or perhaps she dared not write, lest she find herself contemplating her choice of mate. At least now I had some inkling of why she had chosen to marry J. C. Menken. He was safe, a predictable, dependable man of whom Mom and Dad approved, a good provider, an anchor to the wind. Too bad he bored her to tears.

  The other thing I came to know was that I liked Miriam Menken, this woman who had whelped the painfully adolescent Cecelia, of whom I was unaccountably fond; this candid, sensuous woman who had found her passion in one untethered afternoon with a man who radiated more sexual heat than was considered street legal. This admiration came on me by inches, pushing up underneath an unadmitted preference to dislike her. She was, after all, my rival for Cecelia’s affection and worship. Slowly, unavoidably, I was letting go of my albeit-sketchy championship of Cecelia and taking up the cause of her dead mother.

  When Miriam began to write again, her reunion with journal keeping was precipitated by passion of another kind:

  1980

  November 17

  Dear old journal, you’ve been a friend to me in the past and I hope it works again. Here I am 30 years old and still no plan, still thinking of leaving Joe, and then today the impossible has happened … . I’m pregnant! Good news and bad in the same package, huh? All these years I thought it must be me and now I wonder if it just took this many years for Saturday night to fall on the right phase of the moon! Well, I have something to give thanks for this Thanksgiving. The doctor says the baby is due July 12 of next year.

  November 20

  Today Joe got home from his business trip to Amsterdam and I told him about the baby. Bless him, he is ecstatic. In fact, I have never seen him like this. It’s great, but I wonder what he’s been saving it for.

  November 22

  Thanksgiving with Mother and Daddy. Joe announced the Coming Event. Mother said, “About time.” Daddy cried. I threw up clear through dinner. After dessert, Daddy took Joe into his study and they smoked cigars. I threw up again. I’ve always hated cigar smoke, but now it’s awful.

  December 2

  I’ve been thinking of names for the baby. I like Mariah for a girl, but I think I’m going crazy—I want to name the baby Chandler if it’s a boy. I just can’t see Josiah Carberry Menken, Jr. I’d want more for a son. What’s wrong with me?

  December 7

  Last night I dreamt about Chandler. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he said, “Don’t worry about a thing. It’s my baby.” I woke up sweating, afraid to waken Joe.

  December 24

  Joe came home from another trip just in time to decorate the Christmas tree with me and we fought about how much he’s gone, how seldom we have sex, and names for the baby. He had the gall to tell me I needed to calm my temper a bit!

  Next year this time, we’ll have a child with us. Maybe then things will feel closer between us.

  1981

  January 1

  Happy New Year! I hope this year is happy. Maybe Joe’s right, I just need to control my temper. I always feel so upset afterward, all humiliated that I got so angry but still angry just the same. My New Year’s resolution is to try to look on the bright side of things more.

  January 15

  I had another dream about C. We were making passionate love and the baby started to be born and I caught her and it was me. I looked so new.

  January 30

  More dreams. I told my mother I was having strange dreams and she said it was just the hormones. I hope she’s right.

  February 20

  Joe is staying late at the office more and more. He says he has to win a promotion so he can take care of his baby. He has trips scheduled all spring, and some of them are overseas. I’m not sure I can stand having him gone so far. I see the way my friends get with their small kids all alone, and besides, I feel so vulnerable when he’s not here.

  April 10

  Joe has been gone for three weeks now on this trip. Why doesn’t his company understand he needs to be home now? He has a baby coming! Worse yet, I’m getting to feeling extra horny. I thought that having a baby meant I could put all that aside for a while.

  April 14

  Joe home. He’s afraid to make love, as he thinks it could hurt the baby, and he says he needs to rest from his jet lag and get ready for the next trip. What a bastard!

  May 5

  I spent the day shopping for baby clothes with Mother. She says Joe’s right, it’s important to let the baby rest. Don’t ask me how we got on that subject!

  June 1

  Joe makes me sit down a lot, even though I want to get up and do things. He puts his head against my belly and talks to the baby. I wish he’d talk to me like that sometimes.

  June 14

  Only four more weeks. The little kid is kicking me hard in the ribs. I’m ready anytime, except Joe’s gone again. Maybe he’ll be gone when the baby comes. Maybe he should just stay away. That would be easier than constantly getting used to him being gone, then getting used to him being home again.

  July 6

  All systems ready. I wish the baby would come.

  July 12

  The day’s here, where’s the kid?

  July 13

  Now, damn it!

  July 14

  NOW!

  July 15

  My waters just broke. I’ve cleaned myself up and called Joe to come home from the office and take me to the hospital. It’s kind of nice waiting here in the backyard. I’m trying to keep moving, as it hurts worse when I stay still. Next time I write, I’ll be a mother.

  I snuggled down underneath the blankets in my bed, clutching the journal close. I had enjoyed no close friends to assist through the long wait of a pregnancy, had no younger siblings, no close cousins to await and welcome into the world, and yes, was at this advanced stage of my childbearing years still childless. Until this moment, I had felt none of the draw to have children. But now Miriam’s excitement enveloped me, and I felt the stirrings of longing, all wrapped up in a tender sense of gratitude that this woman had left this record of her waiting. I quickly turned the page.

  And found a much later entry. Early motherhood must have kept Miriam Menken very busy, because she didn’t write again for a full year, and entries remained sparse for years thereafter. She wrote sporadically and usually when she was having fits, bent as she was on pressing herself into the mold of perfect mother. Her words focused on the consuming needs of her growing child, colic and all, but every once in awhile, she confessed to having screamed at Joe because no one was looking after hers. By the end of Cecelia’s first year, Miriam’s mind had begun to wander back to sex:

  1982

  July 15

  It’s Cecelia’s first birthday already! Joe gave her a big teddy bear. Mother gave her a dress. Daddy gave her a savings bond for college. I whispered in her ear that I’d love to give her a baby brother, but her daddy will have to help.

  The next New Year dawned on rocky ground:

  1983

  January 1

  A new year. I resolve to get out more. It’s a good thing I’m feeling that way, because we’re moving to Denver so that Joe can take a management position at some oil company. Maybe now he’ll be home more often.

  January 2

  Fought with Joe last night worse than ever. I considered leaving him again, but where would I go with a tiny baby? She still cries at every little thing, and still wakes at least five times every night. Sometimes I want to leave both of them.

  As Miriam’s little sprout reached the terrible age of two, the lapses between cheerful entries grew longer and longer. Miriam’s depression grew palpable. As Cecelia reached
five without learning to sleep through the night and Joe started traveling more and more often, Miriam found her way briefly to a psychotherapist, but she gave up after a few months:

  1986

  November 1

  I’ve had it with giving another white male control over me. I’m not getting better, and it’s not because I don’t want to be enjoying sex. I’ll just do like my mother says and eat more chocolate. It’s certainly cheaper than psychotherapy.

  The next years became a trudging recitation of fights with her husband and attempts to deal with her daughter’s tantrums. In 1993, Miriam reported the reappearance of Julia, her pal from college. It was only in this context that Miriam mentioned that the whispering Cindey had been there right along:

  April 18

  Julia Richards moved to Denver this week. Cindey and I met her plane and took her to lunch, kind of a Hooray We’re All Together Again. Then we drove out to Green Mountain to see her settled into her new home. The moving van wasn’t there yet, of course, but she seemed to like the house empty just fine. She roamed from room to room kind of dancing on the carpets and hardwood and linoleum and sat down cross-legged here and there and closed her eyes and made humming sounds. She sure has changed her act since college, but it’s still the same old Julia underneath, full of opinions.