whole thing.
“Just say ‘Mobil Oil’ and ask them to hold on.”
I pick up the receiver. “Mobil Oil,” I say. “May I help you?” I am so nervous for many reasons.
“… Hello?” a woman’s voice says.
“Mobil Oil,” I say, louder. “Can I help you?”
“Is
Jimmy
there?” she says. I hear a kid yelling in the background. I believe he is saying “Mine” but it is hard to tell since the sound is so long and drawn out. It sounds like someone falling from a cliff.
“Just a minute, please.” I’m not sure what to do with the phone. There is no hall table to lay it on. I let it down gradually, leave it hanging there, and go to the door again. “Hey, Jimmy!” I have to yell, but I do it in as dainty a way as I can. “It’s for you.”
“All right. Tell them just a minute.”
Well, it is the team of us.
“I did.”
“Okay. Be right there.”
I hear noise coming from the phone and I go to stand closer so I can hear. Some entertainment has suddenly arrived.
“What did I tell you?” I hear the woman yelling. “Huh? What did I
tell
you?” There is a silence and thenthe kid starts bawling loud. She either hit him or took something away from him. “Damn it!” she says. Her voice is like a rope unraveling.
I move away from the phone. Something has just occurred to me that hits like a sock to the stomach. She could be his wife. There could be pans on their stove, her making his dinner. They could have their wedding album out on the coffee table and look at it often and fondly.
He is coming in now, smiling at me so friendly, and there is no wedding ring on his left hand. And in that moment I decide, I don’t care if he is married. I’m staying. It is every woman for herself.
I am sitting in my room thinking I have never seen anyone change so fast as Diane has. She is the kind of person who always looked so done and you never saw her doing it. She had things on her dresser: emery boards, bobby pins, Aqua-Net, makeup, perfume, scarves and barrettes to wear in her hair; but you never saw her using anything and she always looked so good. But now! When I first saw her, I didn’t know where to look. In the bad way. Her nails were almost all broken off, and she had not cut them all short, which you are supposed to do if two or more get broken. She had one ring finger long, and on the other hand the thumb; all the rest were broken off short. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, not shiny. No makeup except the black rings of eyeliner. I tried to look like I didn’t notice anything, but she knew. It was a hurt in her face, saying, “Yes, I know.” She had gained some weight, too. I wouldn’t say you could call her fat, but she was not the same in that department either. It was not pregnant weight, which according to what I learned you would not see yet anyway; what Diane told me last time wespoke is she is three months. At three months the morning sickness should be thinking about leaving. But if not, eat soda crackers before you even get up to pee.
Dickie looked absolutely the same. Same clothes, same hairdo, same slow grin. I can’t say that my father was polite to him, but he didn’t kick him out, which is how he used to treat him. There is a bedroom made up for them in the living room out of the sofa. They are out now, buying the groceries we need, for tomorrow. The frank truth is I need some time to get used to how Diane looks, which is why I decided not to go along. My father took them in his car, Dickie is plenty tired of driving. His truck is parked out front. It is the same, too.
I come out into the kitchen, find Ginger hanging up her apron. She is ready to go home for the long weekend. “I wish you could eat Thanksgiving dinner here,” I say.
“Do you?” This makes her happy. It’s a good thing to let people know how much you like them. It’s strange but true that people usually forget to do that, but then when you see how the littlest compliment can make a person sit up
“Just say ‘Mobil Oil’ and ask them to hold on.”
I pick up the receiver. “Mobil Oil,” I say. “May I help you?” I am so nervous for many reasons.
“… Hello?” a woman’s voice says.
“Mobil Oil,” I say, louder. “Can I help you?”
“Is
Jimmy
there?” she says. I hear a kid yelling in the background. I believe he is saying “Mine” but it is hard to tell since the sound is so long and drawn out. It sounds like someone falling from a cliff.
“Just a minute, please.” I’m not sure what to do with the phone. There is no hall table to lay it on. I let it down gradually, leave it hanging there, and go to the door again. “Hey, Jimmy!” I have to yell, but I do it in as dainty a way as I can. “It’s for you.”
“All right. Tell them just a minute.”
Well, it is the team of us.
“I did.”
“Okay. Be right there.”
I hear noise coming from the phone and I go to stand closer so I can hear. Some entertainment has suddenly arrived.
“What did I tell you?” I hear the woman yelling. “Huh? What did I
tell
you?” There is a silence and thenthe kid starts bawling loud. She either hit him or took something away from him. “Damn it!” she says. Her voice is like a rope unraveling.
I move away from the phone. Something has just occurred to me that hits like a sock to the stomach. She could be his wife. There could be pans on their stove, her making his dinner. They could have their wedding album out on the coffee table and look at it often and fondly.
He is coming in now, smiling at me so friendly, and there is no wedding ring on his left hand. And in that moment I decide, I don’t care if he is married. I’m staying. It is every woman for herself.
I am sitting in my room thinking I have never seen anyone change so fast as Diane has. She is the kind of person who always looked so done and you never saw her doing it. She had things on her dresser: emery boards, bobby pins, Aqua-Net, makeup, perfume, scarves and barrettes to wear in her hair; but you never saw her using anything and she always looked so good. But now! When I first saw her, I didn’t know where to look. In the bad way. Her nails were almost all broken off, and she had not cut them all short, which you are supposed to do if two or more get broken. She had one ring finger long, and on the other hand the thumb; all the rest were broken off short. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, not shiny. No makeup except the black rings of eyeliner. I tried to look like I didn’t notice anything, but she knew. It was a hurt in her face, saying, “Yes, I know.” She had gained some weight, too. I wouldn’t say you could call her fat, but she was not the same in that department either. It was not pregnant weight, which according to what I learned you would not see yet anyway; what Diane told me last time wespoke is she is three months. At three months the morning sickness should be thinking about leaving. But if not, eat soda crackers before you even get up to pee.
Dickie looked absolutely the same. Same clothes, same hairdo, same slow grin. I can’t say that my father was polite to him, but he didn’t kick him out, which is how he used to treat him. There is a bedroom made up for them in the living room out of the sofa. They are out now, buying the groceries we need, for tomorrow. The frank truth is I need some time to get used to how Diane looks, which is why I decided not to go along. My father took them in his car, Dickie is plenty tired of driving. His truck is parked out front. It is the same, too.
I come out into the kitchen, find Ginger hanging up her apron. She is ready to go home for the long weekend. “I wish you could eat Thanksgiving dinner here,” I say.
“Do you?” This makes her happy. It’s a good thing to let people know how much you like them. It’s strange but true that people usually forget to do that, but then when you see how the littlest compliment can make a person sit up
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