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“Dad, Marsha says whenever I want, or when you’n’mom want to see Mikey, I can bring him over… by myself!”
“That’s nice, Mitchell,” Walter said wearily. “Your mother will be glad to hear it. And if your goddamned wife doesn’t want to have anything to do with your family, then by us that’s okay, too.”
Letting the “goddamned wife” pass, “And I was wondering, uh, do I still have a job?”
“You and that wife of yours must think we’re really beasts!” His anger apparent. “Do you really think your mother and me want to see our son and grandson out in the street, or living with that bitch of a mother-in-law of yours? Don’t be stupid! Of course you’ve still got a job!”
****
“Mother, we had a horrible fight tonight!” Omitting the “whore” part, but telling everything else, Marsha had called her mother.
****
“Myra, I’m calling to tell you that your son just had a heart attack,” Rhea said calmly, then hung up.
Strangely, no one called to find out if in fact Mitchell had.
_______________________________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
February, March and April, 1958
As so often happens, when a young man and woman marry they will gravitate slightly, or not so slightly, to one or the other’s family, or to his or her circle of friends. In many cases the choice becomes the decision of the woman.
Well remembering her childhood, still feeling the effect of the years of neglect and verbal abuse by her mother, and the neglect and ostracism of her aunts, and as Mitchell’s relatives on both sides of his family seemed to like her, and show it, because of her need of acceptance Marsha found it easy, and did not have the slightest compunction about swinging away from her family and allowing herself and her son to become more so members of her husband’s family.
When Marsha wasn’t hounded by the “Mom syndrome,” then she, too, allowed herself to relax and, forgetting the coffee cup incident, would feel an affection, of sorts, for Myra. And although the strong attachment she’d had for her father-in-law early on in their relationship never returned, she would feel an affection for Walter also.
In fact, Marsha was fond of most of Mitchell’s relatives. True, she could do without his older cousin, but Marvin had delusions of grandeur and was rarely at family functions anyway. She loved Morris, Mitchell’s grandfather, and although she thought Jennie was a krechtz (one that complains), even for a lady her age, she liked his grandmother, too. As for her attachment to Mortie and Larry: in her mind the boys were as her own brothers and Marsha’s love for them was evident whenever they were together.
After three days of icy stares and cold, clipped words, and this only because, working together, they must, occasionally, speak to each other, Mitchell and his parents formed a truce of sorts and, short of ever mentioning Marsha’s name, the relationship between the parents and son came back on track, more or less.
True to her word, Marsha not only allowed Mitchell to take Michael to visit his grandparents at least once a week, but often had to prompt her husband to do so. Occasionally permission was even granted for her child to be left in the care of Myra and Walter overnight.
Seemingly, at least for the time being, Myra and Walter were able to live with conditions just as, and such as they were.
Though stubbornness prevented her from showing or saying so, Marsha did miss the family functions and the time she no longer spent with her adopted aunts, uncles and grandparents. Most of all, she missed Larry and Mortie. However Marsha definitely was able to live with conditions just as, and such as they were.
Myra by this time had convinced herself that the dissolution of relations between herself and her daughter-in-law was fully the fault of Marsha and this gave her the reason and—so she thought—the right to proclaim her daughter-in-law as the wrong one—the bad one—and she the wronged one—the good one. In her need for justification and attention, she began an immediate campaign of “My dear, sweet daughter-in-law had the nerve…” And: “My dear, sweet daughter-in-law said…” And did… And said… And did…!
By the time Myra was through, because, after all, she was one of them, the family that had liked and accepted Marsha as a member of the family no longer did.
For the first few weeks—once the anger between Mitchell and his parents had been resolved—Mitchell had felt obligated to bring his son to, and spend at least one day a week at the home of his parents.
Soon, though, without his wife, that one day a week began to have a core of loneliness and he no longer wanted to spend an entire day without his wife, because without his wife…
To spend an entire day without having Marsha to kiss… To spend an entire day without Marsha’s hand to hold and, yes, her tush to pat… To spend a whole day without the feeling of wellbeing… without the sense of comfort Marsha gave him by just being nearby… Even with his family, without Marsha, Mitchell felt alone.
Even if his mother, father and wife were able to live with conditions just as, and as such as they were, Mitchell Lipensky…?
If, because of this, all “Mom” pressure was removed.
If, because of this, his wife no longer said, “Your mother did or said this…!”
If, because of this, his mother no longer said, “Your wife said or did that…!”
If he was relieved of this mother/wife pressure, why then did he always feel so damned hollow? Why then was he so damned miserable?
Why? Because his family was not simply his parents and brothers on Saturday or Sunday, and Marsha on all other days. His family was his family! His family included all whom he loved: his parents, his brothers and, most of all, his son and his wife!
****
On the fifth Sunday, he said, “Mom, I hate the way things are now, and would really like to have this thing ended between you’n’dad.”
Well aware of whom her son was speaking, and the unequivocal fact that Marsha would never do it, “Well,” she responded, “if your dear, sweet wife wants to apologize to your father and me for what she said, maybe we’ll consider forgiving her.”
Yeah! Sure! Talk about a snowball’s chance in hell!
“Mom, that not what I said! I said I hate the way things are now and that I’d like to see this thing over with. And by now you know Marsha well enough to know she’s not going to apologize!”
Reluctant to further inflame the situation, he did not say what he was thinking, and this, certainly, was still a large part of the problem between his parents, himself and his wife: he never told his mother and father what he really thought, which was: What in the hell’s Marsha got to apologize for? You’n’dad started this whole damned thing! This whole thing is your fault!
****
“Honey,” he said to Marsha shortly after he and Michael came home after that fifth Sunday, “I miss you when I’m not with you and really hate having to go to my parents without you.”
“Sorry, Mitchell, but that’s just the way it’s got to be.”
“Look, they know they screwed up royally and my mother told me to tell you,”—lying through his teeth—“she’s sorry about what happened and if you want to…”
“Well,” cutting him off, “I don’t want to anything, Mitchell! Forget it, Mitchell! I hate your parents, and as far as I’m concerned I don’t ever want to see them again!”
“Not ever, Marcie? Not ever is a long time!”
“If you want to have a fight with me, Mitchell, keep it up, Mitchell!”
“No,” he said quietly, “I do not want have a fight with you.”
But hurt because she didn’t care about his feelings, and slightly angry because she’d flatly refused to consider even a “sometime in the future” reconciliation, he did not, except when absolutely necessary, speak to Marsha for the rest of the evening.
And because he didn’t talk to her on Sunday, she refused to speak to him on Monday.
Though there was a definite absence of tension in his life due to the lack of contact between these two strong willed women, stupidly not realizing how much better his life would be if his wife and mother did remain apart, the thought of a truce between these two was never far from Mitchell’s mind and soon—really stupidly—putting this thing that he apparently had no control over back together became a full blown obsession.
Also, alas, the seed of the thought the son had planted in the mother’s mind soon become a growing notion of Myra’s also and, as weeks passed, knowing her daughter-in-law wanted nothing to do with her became something Myra wanted to change also—however, this did not stop her “hate Marsha” campaign—and she, too, became obsessed with receiving what she knew she’d never receive: an apology—which, of course, Mitchell never mentioned to his wife. Then, as more time passed, Myra told her son to tell his wife that she—very magnanimously—was willing to allow Marsha back into her home without any apology. Then, within the course of another week, her estranged daughter-in-law became as her long lost daughter and Myra tearfully told her son how much she missed Marsha and if only she’d relent and become a member of her family again… And, although until then she had only spoken to her son about it, now, once again, relentless nagging began over something—by this time Myra had to know—Mitchell had absolutely no control over.
Through all this, Marsha’s. “not a snowball’s chance in hell” attitude towards a reconciliation with her in-laws remained rock hard.
Finally—although too late—realizing he should have left well enough alone, Mitchell Lipensky once again became trapped between a rock and a hard place.
March 22, 1958
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Mikey! Happy birthday to you!” Because that year the 23rd fell on Sunday, Cricket…
“Walt,” Myra said laughing, “get a picture of that!”
…got the chance to lick the glop of mashed chocolate and whipped cream from Michael Lipensky’s birthday cake off the one year old’s cheek at the home of his grandparents in Skokie on Saturday, the 22nd.
March 23, 1958
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Mikey! Happy birthday to you!”
One year old Michael Lipensky got to stick both hands into another birthday cake, and rub the vanilla cake and whipped cream glop over his face in the home of his other grandparents in Chicago on Sunday, the 23rd.
Mikey’s mother did not attend her son’s very first birthday party in the home of her in-laws’ on Saturday, but rather sat home, depressed, by herself.
Mikey’s father—in retribution—did not attend his son’s true first birthday in the home of his in-laws on Sunday, but rather sat home, depressed, by himself.
Monday, April 7, 1958
Reluctant to ask, he’d been quiet since coming home from work.
Aware… so aware of his moods: knowing that at this time this seemed to take precedence over, even, his mostly one sided conversations about sex, or the lack of sex; knowing full well where his mind was, Marsha waited for him to say…
Playing with his mashed potatoes, “Marcie,” watching the white, gloppy furrows squeeze through the tines of his fork, working up the courage, “Wednesday’s my dad’s birthday, and my mom’s having everyone over on Sunday, so please, please, baby, let’s end it. Please come with Mikey and me!”
Taking a long moment, drawing her feigned attention from her meal, looking at him, “No!”
“Marcie, come on! You can’t keep this up forever,” he said pleadingly. “My mother’s promised it’ll be like nothing’s happened and you’ll come in the house and they’ll say “Hi” and it’ll be over.”
“Mitchell,” speaking through clenched teeth, “I said no!”
Never knowing when to quit, “They want to make up, Marcie! They really miss you!”
Slamming her fork onto the table, “Leave me alone, Mitchell!”
In his highchair, startled, Michael began to cry.
“Marsha, why?” he said angrily. “You’ve won! Why go on with this? What in the hell do you want from them?”
“What do I want from them?” Standing, going to the cabinet beneath the sink, Marsha dumped her unfinished meal into the garbage can. “I want you and your goddamned family to leave me alone!”
For once, thinking it best to just drop it, Mitchell, very wisely, dropped it.
