A “Becoming” Excerpt in sequence:

  “Cross A Street/Susan 1”

December 8, 1951

Evanston, Illinois

Downtown Evanston was packed with Christmas shoppers.

Looking for vacant parking spaces, cars crawled along Chicago Avenue; finding none they turned east or west onto the smaller side streets.

The jingling of bells in the hands of ‘Salvation Army’ Santas, though a part of the season, constantly reminded the throngs of shoppers that there was a much poorer life beyond the confines of this wealthy—Northwestern College—college town.

Snowflakes fell from a darkly-leaden sky, but as there was no wind they fell straight, and as the temperature was above freezing the snow stuck to nothing but did give a definite white-coated promise that added to the festive, seasonal atmosphere.

They had driven the five miles to go shopping in Evanston because it was close by and also because Myra wanted to get out of the house and into the crowds for a dose of Christmas season fervor, but they carried few packages because she found shopping in the department and specialty stores that lined both sides of the street, ‘Just a little too rich for my blood’.

“Know what I’d like?”

Standing in front of a Marshall Field window, Myra, Walter and Mitchell watched an animated display depicting Santa on his sleigh snapping a whip above the heads of his troop of reindeer led by the newly born ‘Rudolph’, thanks to ‘Gene Autry’s’ recently popular recording of ‘Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer’.

Looking at her husband’s reflection in the window, “Let’s see if I can guess.” Myra said not unkindly. “ ‘You’d like a cup of coffee’.”

Turning to her, “Jesus, Myra,” Walter said seriously, “sometimes you scare the living bejabbers out of me. That’s ‘exactly’ what I want! How in the hell would you know that?”

Patting his cheek, “Walt, I know you better than you know yourself.”

Shuddering at the thought, “Yeah, maybe you do.”

He didn’t want coffee but, “Yeah, a hot fudge sundae sounds pretty good.” Pointing across the street, “Walgreens got a good fountain.” Knowing she liked malted milk, Mitchell looked at his mother. “And they make great malts.”

Shrugging his shoulders, “Coffee’s coffee.” Walter said.

“I haven’t had a malt in years. Okay, it’s okay with me.”

They waited for the traffic light to change, crossed Chicago Avenue and, once inside went to the rear of the large drugstore, waited until three adjacent stools became available then sat on the long side of the ‘L-shaped’ counter with Walter between his wife and son.

A skinny, frizzy-haired waitress standing on the opposite side of the counter with a pencil poised over a small, green pad asked, “What can I get you folks?”

“Just coffee, black.”

“You, Ma’am?”

“Vanilla malt, please.”

Removing his jacket, laying it across his lap. “I’ll have a hot fudge sundae with chocolate ice cream, please.”

Wearing his usual, Mitchell wore worn Levi’s and a sport short opened two buttons down that revealed his chest hair and mezuzah. His shirtsleeves, rolled twice, showed the watch he had received for his Bar Mitzvah on his left wrist and a large-linked, silver I.D. bracelet on his right. On his feet were the ever-present, dirty white-buck shoes.

Within minutes, “Here you go,” their orders came.

The couple sitting kitty-corner vacated their stools and two women sat down.

The movement caused Mitchell to move his rapt attention from the hot fudge sundae before him to the lady and girl… The long-handled spoon pausing mid-way to his mouth, a blob of fudge dropping onto the cherry- and nut-topped mound of whipped cream, the sundae before him instantly forgotten because then, at that ‘precise’ moment, Mitchell Lipensky fell totally, completely, in love.

Having a clear complexion, her hair impeccably coiffured, wearing an expensive-looking white wool coat with a beige fur collar over a pink, knit dress, the lady was beautiful. But…

Oh, God! The girl!

The girl! Possibly the lady’s daughter. The girl immediately reminded Mitchell of the only movie star he’d ever had a crush on: ‘Elizabeth Taylor’. In Mitchell’s eyes, positively beautiful, the girl was sixteen, maybe seventeen and as though knowing who she so strongly resembled, the girl’s hair was cut short and styled in ringlets, as was Elizabeth’s in her new movie, ‘A Place in the Sun’. Her eyebrows were thick and arched and, Damn, she even had a small mole on her left cheek. Okay, so Elizabeth Taylor’s mole is on her right cheek. But so what! From where he sat Mitchell could see that she didn’t have Elizabeth’s violet eyes, but the girl’s were a beautiful, light brown. Her leather coat open, the white fur collar was pulled up, somewhat framing her face. Beneath the coat she wore a powder blue, cashmere sweater, and there was a fine gold chain with a small, diamond studded ‘Star of David’ about her neck.

As he stared at her the girl’s face turned in his direction and she looked at him.

Their eyes locking and holding, the boy and girl looked at each other for an eternity that lasted four seconds, then, hastily, each looked away.

Swallowing, nudging Walter, “Dad,” whispering, “see those two women across from us? She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’ve ‘got’ to meet her!”

Telling his father, subconsciously, to make him do it, to keep himself from backing out.

If he were alone, more than probably he’d have finished his sundae and with a longingly backward glance left the store. But now, with his father at his side, Mitchell felt compelled. First, because he was absolutely desperate to meet the girl and also, since he had said he ‘would’, to prove to his father and himself that he ‘could’.

Putting his cup down, Walter looked at the two women, then at his son. Remembering his own youth, centuries ago, so it seemed, “If I were you, I’d sure try,” he said then, mentally stirring him on, added, “Good luck, kiddo.”

Not allowing himself time to think. Standing, now committed, he placed his jacket on the stool and without the ‘slightest’ idea of what he was going to say, walked around the counter.

“Mitchie, where are you going… Walt, where’s he going?”

Turning to his wife, motioning over his shoulder with his head, “Shhh… He wants to meet that girl.”

Looking at the two women on the other side of the counter, Myra felt a pang of jealousy for the older woman’s beauty and obvious wealth. “She’s beautiful,” she said, referring to the older woman.

“Don’t watch him; it’ll make him nervous.”

Looking at the woman another moment, listening to Walter, Myra turned away.

As though ‘anything’ could make him more nervous, Mitchell stood between and a pace behind the two women. Wanting his mezzuza to be in plain sight, he’d spread his collar, giving the girl and himself that much, ‘at least’, that they had in common. His heart pounding…

“Excuse me.” his voice, oddly though, was unwavering.

The women and the girl turned towards each other, and the voice behind them.

Quite often distance will help people appear to look prettier or handsomer, but upon coming closer the illusion frequently changes; blemishes and facial lines appear, eyes become shadowed and light-colored hair will sometimes show roots of black…

But it was not that way with these two. The older woman did wear makeup, but as a complement not as a cover-up. And the girl… Oh, God! From across the counter she’d appeared to be beautiful, but now, standing near her, looking at the girl from a scant three feet away…

Mitchell’s thumping heart jumped from his chest to his throat. Moisture erupted on his forehead and his armpits. He looked from the girl to the woman and back at the girl…

As, waiting for Mitchell to say something, the girl and woman looked back at him.

To him it seemed forever, but in fact it was no more than three or four seconds until, somehow, someway, the words and accompanying gestures materialized.

Knowing in order to meet the girl—at least in a place such as this and in a way such as this—he must first gain the good will of the mother. Forcing his eyes from the girl’s—Oh, God, they’re beautiful—eyes and, looking directly into the same light brown eyes of the mother. Praying it was his best, all-time, prize winning smile…

“Excuse me Ma’am. My name’s Mitchell Lipensky and I’m here with my mother and father…” He’d been told, at least a million times, that it was not polite to point. So rather, as though presenting royalty, he extended his right arm, palm upward towards Myra and Walter.

Turning their heads in unison, the women looked across the counter.

On the other side of the counter, Walter and Myra were doing their best to appear nonchalant, but when they saw their son’s ‘presenting gesture,’ not quite sure what to do, smiling, nodding their heads, turning to each other, they went back to their non-existent conversation.

“We live in Skokie and came here, uh, to Evanston to go shopping.” Doing his best to look and sound sincere, which he most positively was. “So please, Ma’am, I hope you don’t think that I go around doing this all the time because as a matter of fact I’ve ‘never’ done anything like this before!” Stopping, he caught his breath. “But your daughter…” turning from the woman he looked at the girl, got lost in her beauty and for a moment his mind went blank and his mouth went slack and, ‘Ulp.” swallowing audibly, he turned back to the woman, “Uh, your daughter…” Oh, my God! What if it’s not her daughter and I’m insulting her? “Uh, unless she’s, uh, your sister?” Trying to make amends, just in case.

“No.” The woman couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s now bumbling effort. “She is my daughter.”

A relieved, muttered, “Whew,” caused both the mother and daughter to smile.

“She’s… Your daughter is, uh…” Looking into the girl’s brown eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Looking into the boy’s green eyes, So are you, Mitchell, the girl thought, so are you. Cocking her head, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, Who’s he remind me of? she wondered.

Pulling his eyes from the face of the girl, turning back to her mother “I know this isn’t right, uh, the way I’m doing this. But there isn’t anyone here to introduce your daughter and me… uh, your daughter and I, uh, me…”

Smiling a sparkling white, perfect-toothed smile, “Either way,” the woman said. “Either ‘me’ or ‘I’ seems to be the correct way to say it.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Anyway, you’ve got to think that I’m some kind of a jerk, but I’m not. I’m really a nice guy who’s out with his mother and father, and would a bad guy ever be out shopping with his mother and father?” Speaking quickly, answering his own question. “No! Of course a bad guy wouldn’t be out shopping with his mother and father! So please…” catching his breath, looking from the woman to the girl, “please let me have your phone number.” To the mother, “You don’t even have to give me your address or tell me your last name. Just let me have the phone number so I can talk to her.” To the girl, “And then, if you decide that you don’t want to see me or talk to me again, I’ll throw it away and never bother you again.” Taking a deep breath, he studied the girl’s face, then turned to her mother. “I ‘promise’,” holding his right hand up, “that if your daughter doesn’t want me to call again after we talk on the phone, ‘just once’, then I’ll never bother her again!”

If she were alone there would be no question; ‘certainly’ she’d give him her phone number but, “Mom,” she asked, “what do you think?”

Looking at Mitchell, He’s well dressed, she thought. Well, as well dressed as most of the kids now’a’days, and his parents are well dressed, looking at Walter and Myra—who were now watching the unfolding drama with rapt attention—and the father’s good looking, could even be a doctor or a lawyer and the boy is certainly handsome enough. Well… turning to her daughter, “Susan…”

‘Susan’!

“… if you want to…”

Oh, God! Her name’s Susan!

“….give, uh…?”

“ ‘Mitchell’,” Susan said quickly and a bit louder than necessary.

Both Mitchell and her mother looked at her, and she blushed.

“Yes, ‘Mitchell’... If you want to give Mitchell our phone number, it’s all right with me.”

I’m going to get it! He couldn’t believe it. I’m going to get, oh, God, Susan’s phone number.

Reaching into her purse, Susan rummaged a moment, found a pencil and a blue envelope. Tore the flap off the envelope, swiveled to the counter, wrote on the flap swiveled back and handed it to him.

Looking at it, ‘Susan Friedman’… She’s even given me her last name. Sh 3-5758. Mitchell recognized the ‘Sheldrake’ exchange as a north side number. He’d been afraid that she might be a rich girl from ‘Evanston’, ‘Wilmette’ or someplace along the wealthy north shore, and now felt that she and he were on somewhat equal ground.

“Thank you, Susan.” Turning to Mrs. Friedman, “Thank you, Ma’am.” He folded the flap in half, put it into his shirt pocket, patted it once and, “When’s a good time to call you? Uh, later today or this evening?”

Looking at her mother, “We should be home five, five-thirty?”

Shrugging her shoulders, “Yes, about then.”

“Okay, Susan.” God, what a beautiful name! “I’ll call about then.” Looking at Mrs. Friedman. “You won’t be sorry.”

“I know, Mitchell. Go on, your sundae is melting.”

One last look at Susan and as he walked back to his stool, Thank you! His eyes looking upward, God. Thank you!

“Got her number, eh.”

“Yes. Oh, God, Dad, yes, I got her number.”

Clasping his son’s shoulder, “Good for you.”

The unaccustomed praise from his father warmed Mitchell almost—not quite, but almost—as much as knowing that he was going to know Susan, and whenever he looked across the counter, which was almost constantly, it seemed to him that Susan was looking at him also and each time their eyes touched they held until she, or he averted them.

Outside again:

The first signs that the snow was beginning to stick was evidenced by the semicircles of slush left by automobile wiper blades.

****

Home again:

The afternoon went so slowly.

The minute hand crawled, and the hour hand, God! The hour hand didn’t move at all.

3:22… 3:41… 4:01… 4:18… 4:31… 4:49… 5:00… 5:16…

He’d told himself, I’m not going to call before 6:00.

5:20… Oh, come on, already! 5:28… 5:35… Shit, what’s twenty-five lousy minutes?

His hand shaking, he dialed: ‘S-H-3-5-7-5-8’. The phone rang once… twice… and ri… into the third ring.

Susan had been sitting on the sofa with her legs folded beneath her with a book on her lap that had been opened to page 123 for the last half-hour. The phone, on a long cord, was on the cushion beside her…

4:47… 4:53… 5:14… 5:21… 5:29…

She had been eagerly, ‘very’ eagerly awaiting the call. 5:31… 5:35…

When the phone finally rung it startled her.

Ringing once… twice, she’d told herself that, I’m not going to answer it in less than four rings! But upon the third,ri… her heart pounding, “Hello.”

“Susan?” His heart pounding. “Is this Susan?”

Oh, God, his voice sounds so nice! “Yes,” doing her best to sound indifferent, “this is Susan. Who’s calling, please?”

His heart dropping to his stomach. But of course anyone could be calling.“Susan, hi! It’s Mitchell.”

“Mitchell? Mitchell, who?”

Dropping even further. “ ‘Lipensky’. Susan, it’s Mitch Lipensky. You remember? I met you today, in Evanston.”

“Oh, yes, that Mitchell.”

‘That Mitchell’? “Susan, please,” trying his new warm-’em-up line, “don’t call me that.”

Biting, “What shouldn’t I call you?”

“ ‘Mitchell’. Don’t call me Mitchell.”

“Why not, it’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but Mitchell sounds so formal. Please, call me Mitch, or when you get to know me better, Mitchie.”

Wanting to sound aloof, but unable to keep it u[. “Okay, then you don’t call me that either.”

“What shouldn’t I call you?”

“ ‘Susan’. Don’t call me Susan.”

Smiling, going with it. “Why not, it’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but ‘Susan’ sounds so formal. Call me Sue, or when you get to know me better… if you ‘ever’ call me ‘Suzie’, I’ll kill you!”

Repeating, “ ‘When you get to know me better,’ huh?”

For the first time in his life possibly understanding what a girl really, possibly, means when she says some thing: She wants us to know each other! “Know what?”

Blushing because he’d caught what she hadn’t planned on throwing. “What?” Susan asked.

“Susan has always been one of my all-time favorite names.”

“Oh, yeah! Sure, come on.”

“Yeah, it’s true . I’ve always loved the name Susan because every Susan I’ve ever known has been beautiful… except for you.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah! You’re ‘unbelievably’ beautiful! You do know, don’t you, that you look like Elizabeth Taylor?”

****

Susan was well aware of her looks. As a matter of fact—much like Mitchell— the way she looked also made her feel self-conscious and shy and this, to those that did not know her, also came across as conceit—which to some extent it was—and with a girl, if you’re ‘too’ good-looking guys will often feel intimidated or not good enough or they will assume that the girl is ‘taken’ and stay away. So Susan Friedman did not have as many dates, and was not as not popular as one Mitchell Lipensky might think. Besides, this girl, and her mother and father were ‘very’ particular when it came to what boy she dated, or what boy she was seen with. But so far the boy on the other side of the telephone line, omitting the unconventional way they had met, did meet Susan’s lofty — first sight— criteria.

***I

The resemblance between SusanFriedman and Elizabeth had been noticed and noted.

“Well, yes,” Susan said softly, attempting to sound honest but still modest in answering Mitchell’s extremely complimentary question. And now—though she had been searching her mind since first seeing him on the other side of the counter—she suddenly realized whom Mitchell reminded her of. “And do you know you look like ‘John Derek’.”

In the past he’d been compared to ‘Tyrone Power’, and recently to ‘John Derek’.

Attempting to sound modest. “You mean the guy in the movie, ‘Knock On Any Door’ who said, ‘Live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse’ ? Flattered she’d noticed, “Me? Look like ‘John Derek? Nah!”

“Yeah, you do!” Changing the subject. “Where do you go to school, Mitchell, uh, Mitchie.”

‘Mitchie’! ...“ ‘Niles’. I’ll be graduating in the spring. You?”

“ ‘Senn’. I’m a junior. Are there many Jewish kids in Niles?”

On the one hand, thinking, She’s a junior, perfect! On the other hand, Mitchell had always felt—and was fairly correct in his thinking—that the most beautiful girls on the north side went t ‘Senn High School’… And the richest and most conceited.

“Yeah, lot’s of ‘em... Actually, besides me, I think there’s only one other.”

“In the whole school?”

“Yes, I think.”

“Susan,” Mrs. Friedman called from the kitchen, “dinner’s ready.”

“Mitchie,” truly not wanting to end this conversation without making a date to meet , “dinner’s ready and I’ve got to go.”

The very last thing he wanted to say at that moment was goodbye, so, “Hey,” he said hopefully, “you busy tonight?”

The question came so fast and was so unexpected that Susan didn’t have time to think ‘the boy/girl thing’. Besides, she didn’t want to think the boy/girl thing so, “No, I’m not busy.” she answered honestly.

Yeah! “ ‘Great’! Listen, Sue, you don’t have to give me an answer right now, but what if I come by tonight, say at about, oh, eight, and we go someplace for dessert.” At the ‘least’ it would give him an opportunity to call back, and at the ‘best’ she’d go.

“I know you don’t know me,” thinking of Sandra’s parents, “so we won’t drive. I’ll leave the car by your house and we’ll walk. There’s got to be someplace within walking distance where we can get hot chocolate or coffee and pie or cake; where we can just sit and get to know each other… And Sue, I ‘really’ want to get to know you. So if your answer is going to be ‘yes’ don’t eat dessert and I’ll call you back at… What say I call you around seven and then you can tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’. But I’m warning you that if you say ‘no’ I’m going to kill myself, really! So ‘please’ don’t say no! Please say yes! So I’ll…” not wanting to give Susan a chance to say no, speaking rapidly, he did not allow her the opportunity to say a word—although if he had allowed her a word, the word would have been yes—“...talk to you,” glancing at his watch, “in about an hour. Bye.” Pressing the button, breaking the connection, looking at the ceiling, “Oh, God,” he whispered, “please, please let her say yes!”

**** 

The phone answered on the second ring, “Sue, it’s…”

“ ‘Yes’! I don’t want the responsibility of being the reason that the only other Jewish kid at Niles killed himself.”

“Yes? You said ‘yes’?”

“Yes. But under one condition.”

“Anything, Sue. You name it.”

“My dad wants to talk to you. He wants to know who’s this guy that goes around picking up girls at Walgreens drug stores.”

“That’s it?” He had always gotten along pretty well with the parents of girls that he’d dated, sometimes even better with the parents than with the girls. “Fine. When should I come?”

About as anxious to see him as he was to see her, “Anytime. Now’s okay.”

“ ‘Okay’,” he said excitedly. “Be there in a little while. Bye, Sue.” About to hang up, “Hey, what’s your address?”

“Gee, Mitchie, I thought you’d never ask. It’s ‘6133 Talman’. That’s three blocks east of California and just north of Peterson.

Writing the address on the envelope flap she’d given him, “I’ll find it. ‘Believe me’, I’ll find it.”

“Don’t you want to know what bell to ring?”

‘Bell to ring’? They live in an apartment! I know,” he said. “ ‘Friedman’.”

Surprised, “How’d you know that?”

“ ‘You’. When you wrote your name and number you also gave me your last name.”

“Gee, Mitch,” she said honestly, “I don’t remember doing that.”

“Oh, sure! You just wanted me to be sure to know who you are.”

Quiet a moment, thinking, That’s true . “Maybe you’re right.” she said. “Okay, see you at about… what? Eight.”

“You bet’j’ya! See you in a while.” Dropping the receiver on the cradle, “Yeah!” Thank you, God!

Still at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, Walter was dawdling over his coffee.

“Dad, you remember that girl I met today?”

“Do I remember ‘Susan’? You haven’t shut up about Susan since you met her. I’m almost sorry I encouraged it.”

“Would you believe…” smiling broadly, “that I’m on my way to her home to take her out for dessert… Okay to take the car?”

“How’s it look outside? Much snow there?”

Bending two slats, Mitchell looked through the Venetian blinds: snowflakes swirled in the glow of streetlights and there was about an inch of accumulation on the ground.

“Nah, it’s fine out there, Dad.” If need be, on this night he’d walk through a blizzard to get to Susan.

Without looking up, “Okay, but take it easy.” Turning a page, “It could be getting pretty slippery out there.”

**** 

The streets were slippery, and what would normally take twenty to twenty-five minutes took almost an hour.

Worried because of the growing accumulation of snow and knowing that nothing short of an accident would keep him away, she had been standing by her bedroom window watching for him.

Headlights flickered as a slowly-moving car traversed the street, made a U-turn at the next cross street, came back, stopped and parked across the street. When the driver door opened, the dome light lit the car’s interior,

He’s here. Breathing a sigh of relief, Susan stood back, out of sight, watching as he crossed the street. “He’s here!”

“Okay,” in the living room, “he made it.” Mister Friedman said. “Now, will you please relax!”

“Yes, Daddy, now I will.” Going to the intercom by the door, Susan waited for the bell to ring.

It was a newer, two-story, yellow brick building. Inside there were two shiny brass mailboxes on either side of the marble-paneled foyer.

Standing in the foyer composing himself, Mitchell unbuttoned his coat and straightened his shirt collar. Looking at his reflection on the shiny brass cover of the mailbox marked ‘Friedman’, taking a deep breath he pushed the button.

After counting to five, Susan pushed the button, and…

It took five very long seconds until…

“Hello,” the voice on the intercom said.

Assuming… rather sure the voice belonged to Susan and not wanting to hear ‘Mitch who,’ “Hello,” he said. “It’s ‘Mitch Lipensky’.”

Knowing why he’d said ‘Mitch Lipensky,’ smiling, she pushed the button.

He heard the ‘pop’ of the lock in the plate-glass security door.

Wiping his feet on the cocoa floor mat, opening the door he began up the stairs.

Half way up the first flight, the door on the west side of the first floor landing opened.

Looking up, Mitchell stopped two steps short of the landing…

It had happened in the past: Mitchell would meet a girl and, being a guy, he would build the girl’s physical attributes to spectacular proportions in his mind and to some degree was usually disappointed upon seeing her the next time.

Now, though, his heart began to pound. His breath catching in his throat he blinked and swallowed because Susan had not been built to unreal proportions at all, and if anything she was lovelier now than when they’d met. Barely able to speak, emotion clogging his throat, “Hi,” he whispered.

Crystals of melted snow sparkling in his dark-brown hair. His cold, flushed complexion caused his eyes to appear even greener and, her breath catching in her throat, Mitchell’s features were more alluring to Susan now than they had been when she had first seen him sitting across the counter… when she had silently prayed that ‘somehow’ they would find a way to meet.

The two stood in the hall, Susan in her open doorway and Mitchell just steps below the landing, a distance of about four feet and as an electric spark arcs from contact to contact, a deeply felt emotion arced from one to the other.

Next “Becoming” Excerpt in sequence:

         “Turn a Corner/Susan 2