how come you can so easily accept my daddy's money?"
I got up from the
breakfast table and stomped away. I hated these arguments. Allison seemed to be
changing before my eyes, and I much preferred my novel's characters to those
living in my own house. Also, I knew her words of accusation held the hint of
truth.
By the time school
ended in June 1967, Allison and I no longer talked of finishing the hardwood
floors in our house and instead argued about who would get custody of our
German Shepherd. My toast at Gary's wedding, just two months before, echoed its
falsehood in my mind.
Allison received the
appointment to vice principal and was seriously being considered as principal
of the new high school being planned near the Huron River on the north side of
town. Even though it wouldn't open until the fall of 1969, Allison would
probably leave PHS in 1968 to begin working on the plans and design and hiring
of an entirely new faculty. She would be making more money than the two of us
combined if the job materialized.
During the summer of
love everywhere else in the country, Allison and I decided to separate. Allison
would keep the house, while I would be forced back into an apartment just like
my college days. However, instead of minding, I found myself eager to be on my
own again. I managed to find a small place in an old house on Main Street
across from the University of Michigan's stadium and close to PHS.
However, before moving,
I began the first of what would become an annual summer adventure of travel.
Allison graciously allowed me the use of the spare bedroom to store my meager
belongings, which consisted of everything I owned before the marriage, until I
returned in August.
With my little
savings, I bought a used Volkswagen van and set out for the West for two
months. I had little money but lots of notebooks and film for my camera. I
didn't know what I would write, but I hoped it would be something that captured
the changing mood of the country.
I visited my parents
one warm evening in late June. We sat in the living room of their small house
in Ypsilanti.
"Mom, Dad, I
need to tell you something. Allison and I are getting a divorce."
My mother looked at
me sharply while my father continued watching Walter Cronkite relate the day's
events on the small TV set in the corner.
"What will I
tell Claire and Philip? You'll be the first one in the family to ever divorce.
Somehow Claire will manage to blame me," my mother said.
My mother, Marjorie
Townsend, was ashamed of everything in her life except for me. I was her one
proud success, and now I disappointed her beyond measure.
I ran my fingers
through my hair as I stared at my mother who turned gray and old before my
eyes. My dad said little from his recliner in front of the TV. He grunted and
told my mother it was my life.
"Stanley, say
something to him."
"He never
listens to anything I say, why would he start now," my father said as he
lifted the beer can to his mouth.
I decided to make
Gary’s and Pamela's house the first stop on my trip west at the beginning of
July. They had moved to Evanston, an upscale suburb of Chicago, and lived in a
comfortable old two-story home that seemed ready-made for many children.
"Eddie, I'm so
glad you came to visit," Pam gushed as she greeted me in the driveway
before I could even open the door of my van.
"Pam, good to
see you. Where's that cousin of mine?" I reached to hug her and could
smell the gin of her late afternoon cocktail.
"Oh, he'll be here
shortly, I imagine. Some nights he's really late, but not tonight, not with you
here." She hugged me and pressed her perfect figure against me. She would
have continued to hold me close if I hadn't pulled away from her.
" Eddie, you're
so handsome." She tried leaning toward me again.
"Come on, Pam,
stop it," I said.
"Come on inside,
then." She grabbed my hand and pulled me across the front lawn and into
the house.
"How about a
drink, Ed?"
"Sure, a beer
would be fine."
When
I got up from the
breakfast table and stomped away. I hated these arguments. Allison seemed to be
changing before my eyes, and I much preferred my novel's characters to those
living in my own house. Also, I knew her words of accusation held the hint of
truth.
By the time school
ended in June 1967, Allison and I no longer talked of finishing the hardwood
floors in our house and instead argued about who would get custody of our
German Shepherd. My toast at Gary's wedding, just two months before, echoed its
falsehood in my mind.
Allison received the
appointment to vice principal and was seriously being considered as principal
of the new high school being planned near the Huron River on the north side of
town. Even though it wouldn't open until the fall of 1969, Allison would
probably leave PHS in 1968 to begin working on the plans and design and hiring
of an entirely new faculty. She would be making more money than the two of us
combined if the job materialized.
During the summer of
love everywhere else in the country, Allison and I decided to separate. Allison
would keep the house, while I would be forced back into an apartment just like
my college days. However, instead of minding, I found myself eager to be on my
own again. I managed to find a small place in an old house on Main Street
across from the University of Michigan's stadium and close to PHS.
However, before moving,
I began the first of what would become an annual summer adventure of travel.
Allison graciously allowed me the use of the spare bedroom to store my meager
belongings, which consisted of everything I owned before the marriage, until I
returned in August.
With my little
savings, I bought a used Volkswagen van and set out for the West for two
months. I had little money but lots of notebooks and film for my camera. I
didn't know what I would write, but I hoped it would be something that captured
the changing mood of the country.
I visited my parents
one warm evening in late June. We sat in the living room of their small house
in Ypsilanti.
"Mom, Dad, I
need to tell you something. Allison and I are getting a divorce."
My mother looked at
me sharply while my father continued watching Walter Cronkite relate the day's
events on the small TV set in the corner.
"What will I
tell Claire and Philip? You'll be the first one in the family to ever divorce.
Somehow Claire will manage to blame me," my mother said.
My mother, Marjorie
Townsend, was ashamed of everything in her life except for me. I was her one
proud success, and now I disappointed her beyond measure.
I ran my fingers
through my hair as I stared at my mother who turned gray and old before my
eyes. My dad said little from his recliner in front of the TV. He grunted and
told my mother it was my life.
"Stanley, say
something to him."
"He never
listens to anything I say, why would he start now," my father said as he
lifted the beer can to his mouth.
I decided to make
Gary’s and Pamela's house the first stop on my trip west at the beginning of
July. They had moved to Evanston, an upscale suburb of Chicago, and lived in a
comfortable old two-story home that seemed ready-made for many children.
"Eddie, I'm so
glad you came to visit," Pam gushed as she greeted me in the driveway
before I could even open the door of my van.
"Pam, good to
see you. Where's that cousin of mine?" I reached to hug her and could
smell the gin of her late afternoon cocktail.
"Oh, he'll be here
shortly, I imagine. Some nights he's really late, but not tonight, not with you
here." She hugged me and pressed her perfect figure against me. She would
have continued to hold me close if I hadn't pulled away from her.
" Eddie, you're
so handsome." She tried leaning toward me again.
"Come on, Pam,
stop it," I said.
"Come on inside,
then." She grabbed my hand and pulled me across the front lawn and into
the house.
"How about a
drink, Ed?"
"Sure, a beer
would be fine."
When
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