“Yeah, hello.”
“Hi. Is Marsha home?”
“No.”
“This her father?”
“No. Her brother.”
“Uh, Roger. You’re name’s Roger?”
Disinterested, “Yeah.”
“You probably don’t remember me, but you’n’me met about six years ago at the bowling alley in Union Pier.” No response. “You were bowling with some buddies, and Marsha and her friend Shelly, and me and a pal of mine came in and Marsha introduced you’n’me.” Silence. “My name’s Mitch Lipensky.” Not even the sound of breathing came from the other end of the line. “Anyway,” becoming irritated, “I’m calling from Michigan City. Any idea when your sister’ll be home?”
“No. I don’t live here. Only stopped by to get something.”
“Well, if you’d tell her Mitchell called, I’d appreciate it.”
“Yeah, sure.” Roger dropped the receiver onto the cradle.
Taking a few seconds to realized that the line was dead, looking at the phone, “Thanks, schmuck!”
Across the lake, not giving Mitchell another thought, going to the refrigerator, removing the package of steaks his mother had told him to take, Roger left the apartment.
Mitchell had spent a good part of the time on the trip to Michigan City thinking about Marsha, and was not too sure if, as he’d wishfully imagined, she liked him as much as he hoped, or if by now she had cooled off and the night before had only been a romantic night thing. The more he’d thought about Marsha, the more he thought that, Yes, maybe I really do love her! Yes, he had enjoyed the time spent with his father and brother, and the sailboat ride. Oddly enough, though, he’d wished that he hadn’t made this trip because he would much rather have spent the time with Marsha.
By the time they’d docked, if for nothing more then to confirm what he hoped her feelings towards him were, he had desperately wanted to talk to her. But knowing that she would be at work, he had not wanted to waste a long distance call, which, as he was calling from a public phone, Marsha would not be able to return if she was not at home and someone else answered the phone. So, thinking she would be at home at that time, Mitchell had waited until 5:40 to call.
****
The elevator door gliding open, “Marsha.” Glancing at his sister, nodding his head, Roger walked past her.
Responding just as indifferently, “Roger.” Stepping into the elevator, Marsha pushed 9.
Not knowing if he was even going to call, Marsha waited until almost 6:30, then took a shower.
****
Thinking she’d received the message that he’d called, letting the phone ring eight times, he had waited until 6:32 to call.
****
7:20: Let it ring! Sitting on the sofa with her legs folded beneath her, Let it ring! Willing the phone to ring, Let it ring… It did. Running across the apartment, grabbing the receiver off the cradle on the third ring, “Hello!”
“Hi, Marsh.”
“Oh,” obvious disappointment sounding in her voice, “it’s you.”
“Hey, thanks! It’s nice talking to you, too, kid.”
He called… The line was busy.
“Sorry, Rose. I thought it might be someone else.”
“Someone else, huh? Could only be a guy!”
“Good guess.”
“Someone new? Anyone I know?”
****
Across the lake, Mitchell dropped his dime into the slot again, dialed O, gave the operator Marsha’s number, then dropped the requested change into the appropriate quarter, dime and nickel slots…
Busy, the line busy...
Probably her mother, he thought, and hung up.
****
“No, I don’t think you know him. Well, maybe; you might have met him in the country, or seen him around the J.”
“Yeah.” Becoming interested, Rosalie asked, “who is he? What’s his name?”
“Mitchell, uh…” trying to remember, “Lipensky.”
****
Mitchell called again.
Busy...
**** “Mitchell Lipensky.” She thought a moment. “Doesn’t sound familiar. What does he look like?”
“Rose, you wouldn’t believe me! You’ll see when you meet him.”
“That bad, huh? Your mother’ll have a cow.”
“Oh, God! I sure hope so!”
****
He tried calling again.
****
“Look, Rosalie, I don’t know if he’s even planning on calling, but if he does, I don’t want the phone tied up.”
“So what are you going to do, Marsha, just sit there all night waiting for a call from a guy that might not even call?”
“Don’t know… Guess so.”
Continually fighting a futile battle to control the girth of her hips and buttocks, jealous, Rosalie never missed an opportunity to ply her perpetually-thin friend with food. “That’s dumb! J’ya eat?”
“No, not yet.”
“So, hows about meeting me at Askanaz?”
****
Mitchell tried calling yet again… with the same results.
****
“Askanaz? No, I don’t think so.”
“For God’s sake, Marsha, at least play a little hard to get!”
Remembering that last night she’d been thinking that exact thought, and really, she was hungry, and, If he does decide to call and I’m not here, then I guess… Marsha thought, he’ll just have to call back. “Yeah, okay, Rose. I’ll meet you there… When?”
“Right now! Okay?”
The decision made. Suddenly not wanting to be home if he should decide to call. Wanting him, if he really wanted to talk to her, to have to call back, “Yeah, I’m on my way.” Hanging up, grabbing her shoes, Marsha was putting them on on the downward trip in the elevator, as…
****
“Damn!” The line no longer busy, but no one was answering, either.
Friendship tied to a dock at the Michigan City Yacht Club, Walter still ashore having a drink or two with a couple of men he knew, but in the state of Indiana, as Illinois, the drinking age was twenty-one, and as Mitchell was legally too young to stand at the bar with the older men, and as he’d wanted to reach Marsha, and really, he would rather spend the evening with Larry anyway.
And besides, Walter had replenished their supply and they’d had better than a dozen bottles of beer in the cooler.
The only time Larry was allowed to drink beer was when he was on the boat, and then his father saw to it that he never had more than one bottle… But Mitchell was not his father.
“Mitchie…Urrpp! I wanna tell you sompin’. But’ch’ya gotta promise to never tell nooo-one.”
About to make the trek to the clubhouse to use the phone, again, putting the bottle on the coping, he looked at his bleary-eyed brother. “Yeah, sure, Larry, you’re my baby brother and…” in a high-pitched, falsetto voice, mimicking his much younger brother, “I ain’t tel-lin’!”
Taking another pull on his bottle, belching again, Larry whispered, “I’ve gone all the way with a girl.”
“You what?”
“Yeah, Mitchie, I done it! There’s this girl, she’s fifteen, an’…”
“Jesus, Larry, you’re big, but you’re just twelve!”
“Yeah, but there’s this girl, Vickie, she’s in high school, an’ she thinks I go to…” Giggling, he took another swig of beer. “…Catholic school an’ that I’m fifteen, too. An’ her’n’me went to her home when no one was home an’ we, uh, did it.” His voice raising an octave, “An’ it was grrreaat!”
Not knowing if he knew, How could he know? “You didn’t just put it in! Your, uh,” pointing to his crotch. “You used a rubber, didn’t you?”
“Yeah!” Looking at his brother incredulously. “What’a’ya’think, I’m’a baby?”
Actually, Yes, he did, which made Larry’s admission all the harder. Briefly wondering, Where in the hell’d he get a rubber? Now his turn to be incredulous. “You got laid, Larry? You got it? You been laid?”
“Yeah! Shhh,” holding his finger in front of his lips. “I don’t want dad to know ’cause then he’ll tell mom, an’ you know how she is!”
Thinking, Yeah, she’d probably be overjoyed knowing that at least one of her sons got laid! He stared at his brother, then chug-a-luging the rest of his fourth bottle of beer, “Larry,” he said, “I’m going to bed.” And jealous—hell, green with envy—that his twelve-year-old brother… Hell, his just twelve-year-old brother had had intercourse, and that he, at almost twenty-one, hadn’t.
Mitchell stood, and because no one was nearby to see him, urinated over the side of the boat, then pushing the hatch open, “Good night, Larry.” went below, flopped down on his bunk and went to sleep wondering what kind of a God it was that lets a just- twelve-year-old kid get fucked while denying the privilege to his almost-twenty-one-year-old brother, as…
****
Home again, Marsha still hoped that Mitchell would call.
(A "Becoming" Excerpt)
