_____________________________________________________________________
“That doesn’t matter. Your wife abducted your son…”
Abducted your son!
“…and took him across a state line… Out of Illinois, through a bit of Indiana and into Michigan. Across three state lines, as a matter of fact.”
In a bit of a daze, “Did you say that Marsha kidnapped Michael?”
Noticing the questioning tone of Mitchell’s voice, “Mister Lipensky, we’re trying to set a pattern of your wife’s behavior towards you. So, yes! She can’t do that: take your child without your permission and just disappear. That’s kidnapping! And then she removed your possessions from your domicile without your permission; that’s theft.”
A blank expression on his face, What do I care about Marsha? She hates me! Overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. I love Elizabeth—but my kids!
The intercom on his desk buzzing. As though asking for one minute, holding a finger forward, “Yes, Ida?” Looking at Mitchell, “This’ll take a couple of minutes, but I’ve got to take this call.”
“That’s okay…” Mitchell said… What do I do? I love Elizabeth! But my kids! “I’ve got to use the bathroom anyway.” What do I do? Marsha in the arms of another man!
Nodding his head, Leonard motioned for Mitchell to go ahead.
His mind in a state of turmoil, coming from the attorney’s office, hesitating a moment, looking at Elizabeth, “I need the toilet,” he said, thinking, What do I do? Rushing from the room. I love her! But my kids!
Going into the hallway, catching a down heading elevator as the door was about to glide shut. “Lobby,” he said impatiently to the elevator operator.
______________________________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
Friday, November 22, 1963
It Was a Sunny Day…
Looking at his watch: 12:28.
Glancing at the swirling acclimation of snow outside, rushing to the phone booth he’d seen when he entered the lobby to meet Elizabeth. Dropping a dime in the slot, dialing…
It was a sunny day…
A forgotten cup of tea on the oversized, Formica topped coffee table, folding clothing, Marsha was paying scant attention to “As The World Turns” when the phone rang. Rising wearily, going to the phone on the wall, “Hello.”
“Marsha.”
Unable to sleep more than a few minutes at a time, her attitude constantly swaying from anger to sadness to loneliness to fear of the future—to mostly loneliness and fear of the future—unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls at a time since that morning five days ago.
Now being the first time she’d hear from Mitchell since he left. “What do you want, Mitchell?”
It was a sunny day…
Noting the tired, uncaring tone of her voice, “Marsha…”
Her eyes listlessly shifting to the television…
“We’ll see a marriage counselor, if you’d like…”
It was a sunny day in…
“But would you… Can I come…”
It was a sunny day in…
“Oh, my God!”
Thinking she was speaking to him, “I miss you and the kids, and I’ll do…”
“Oh, my God, Mitchell!”
The tone of her voice now of horrid amazement…
It was a sunny day in Dallas, Texas…
“Marsha, what’s…?”
“The president!”
“Kennedy? What?”
Other than the distant, muffled sound of television…
The line silent…
“Marsha, what?”
“Just now, in Dallas, President Kennedy…” Her voice rising, “He was shot! Oh, my God!”
“Jesus! Is he dead?”
“Don’t know yet.” Stretching the line, taking the receiver with her, “Mitchell, wait.” Turning the volume up…
“Here,” the announcer said, “is a bulletin from CBS News.”
“In Dallas, Texas,” Walter Cronkite announced, “three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas. The first reports say that President Kennedy has been seriously wounded by the shooting.
“More details just arrived. These details about the same as previously: President Kennedy shot just as his motorcade left downtown Dallas. Mrs Kennedy jumped up and grabbed Mister Kennedy, she called, ‘Oh, no!’ as the motorcade sped on.
“United Press says that the wounds for President Kennedy perhaps could be fatal.
“Repeating a bulletin from CBS, President Kennedy has been shot by a would be assassin in Dallas, Texas.
“Stay tuned to CBS news for…”
In tears now. “Oh, my God!”
“Please, Marsha, can I come home?”
The line silent… Silent….
“Marsha?”
.
Silence.
.
.
“Yes, Mitchell, come home.”
For better or worse,
Till death do we part.
END
