A “Becoming” excerpt in sequence:

    “Turn a Corner/Susan2”

Chicago, Illinois

December 8, 1951

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.

_______________________________________________________

Jolted by his expression. Realizing the depth of his feeling… Realizing the depth of her feeling, attempting to smile, “Hi,” she answered back.

Mitchell saw a…

Mitchell saw a kind of a look in Susan’s thin smile, but because it was far more than he remotely expected, having no idea what the look may have meant, “Uh,” thinking, Why’s it so hard for me to talk? “sorry I’m so late, but the streets are kind’a bad out there.”

“Yes, I, uh,” having a hard time speaking, too, “kind of figured that. Come on, they’re waiting to meet you.”

Subconsciously wanting to touch him, to have him touch her, Susan reached to him...

Not expecting this, wanting to touch her, desperately wanting to touch her, reaching froward…

When Mitchell had been with Gina, but more so with Sally because he’d truly liked her—actually, at the time felt that he loved Sally—the first taste of the taste of the breast of both girls had caused a deep felt sensation of reverence.

Now, the very touch of Susan’s hand caused that same deep felt sensation. Now, though, the sensation was not sexually motivated. The sensation of the mere feel of the touch of Susan’s hand was, to Mitchell, ‘sacred’, and to Mitchell love had but one meaning, and the meaning was synonymous with one word: ‘Susan’.

As though unable to believe that he was ‘really’ there, ‘really’ holding Susan’s hand, turning their hands so hers was knuckles up, he fought an all but uncontrollable urge to bring her hand to his lips… to kiss Susan’s hand.

Yet watching the rapt look on his face, Susan’s heart began to beat even faster, and she knew that if her parents were not just on the other side of the open door —even though this was their first moment alone— she would certainly be in his arms…

Tightening the grip on his hand, “Mitchie,” she said softly, “the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get out of here.” Pulling gently, she urged him up the remaining stairs.”

‘Mitchie’. How sweet his name sounded coming from Susan’s lips. Looking up, “Yes,” swallowing, “guess we’d better.”

Hands held, they entered the Friedman living room.

Richly furnished, the floor of the large room was covered with plush, forest green, wall-to-wall carpeting. A sofa, a grouping of two wing chairs and an elegant glass-topped coffee table dominated the wall and the space facing the door.

Sitting on the sofa, watching as their daughter and the boy entered the room—this boy Susan had met mere hours ago—a glance passed between Mister and Mrs. Friedman.

“Daddy, this is Mitchell.”

Nodding at his daughter, standing. “ ‘Mitchell’,” Mister Friedman extended his hand.

Tall, about 6'3". He had dark, curly hair, dark-brown eyes and a ruddy complexion. An extremely handsome man, between he and his wife Mitchell could easily see where Susan got her good looks.

Mister Friedman wore sharply pressed, gray wool slacks, a white, lamb’s wool sweater and shiny black loafers and looked as though he’d stepped from the pages of ‘Esquire’. So unlike Walter, who usually lounged about the house in a pair of wrinkled wash pants and tattered deck shoes.

Shaking hands, “Mister Friedman, glad to meet you, Sir. He looked from Mister to Mrs. Friedman, who was wearing sharply pressed, black wool slacks, a gray silk blouse and white satin slippers… So unlike Myra, who usually lounged about the house in a formless, albeit cleanly pressed house-dress... “Mrs. Friedman,” nodding to her, “it’s nice to see you again.”

“Why don’t you kids sit down.” Mister Friedman motioned to the wing chairs on either side of the coffee table.

Facing Mister and Mrs Friedman, Mitchell sat on the chair to the right, Susan to the left.

As before, Mitchell felt the way to soften the forthcoming inquisition was through the mother.

“Mrs. Friedman, I’d like to tell you something.” Looking directly into her eyes, sincerely spoken. “You are the most beautiful lady I’ve ever met, and it’s hard to believe that anyone as pretty as you could be ‘anyone’s’ mother and that’s the honest to God truth. And I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate you giving Susan permission to…” glancing at Susan, “let me have your phone number and I do want to thank you again.”

Obviously taken back by the sincerity of the compliment and the boy’s good manners. “Why thank you, Mitchell,” Mrs. Friedman replied. “That’s a very sweet thing to say.”

To gain attention, clearing his throat, “Mitchell,” Mister Friedman said, “Susan tells us that you’re a senior at ‘Niles’.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve been going there long?”

“We moved to Skokie in August, sir. This is my first semester there.”

“Oh. Where were you before?”

Removing the top of the crystal cigarette box on the coffee table, lifting the box, holding it towards her, Mister Friedman offered a cigarette to his wife, who took one. He then held the box towards Mitchell…

Though he desperately wanted a cigarette, “No, sir, thank you,” wisely declined.

“I went to Harrison before.”

“Oh?” Lifting the matching lighter, Mister Friedman lit his wife’s, then his own cigarette. “On the west side.” This said more as a statement than a question.

“Yes, sir.”

Drawing on the cigarette, “Taking any particular classes?”

Never doing more work in school than was absolutely necessary and sometimes far less than he should. “How do you mean, Mister Friedman?”

‘Well, Mitchell, what are your long-term goals? What do you plan on majoring in, in college?”

Uh-Oh!

Not expecting this type of questioning, waiting for his answer, three sets of eyes looked at him. Glancing at Susan, who was watching him intently. Oh, yeah! ‘Uh-oh’, indeed!

Realizing that this could break it with Susan before it really got started, Mitchell remembered a suggestion that his father had made some time back regarding college and a career that he had rejected out of hand, but, “Photography!” he said.

This answer throwing him, “ ‘Photography’? In college? What do you mean, Mitchell?”

“My dad owns one of the best commercial studios in Chicago, and I’m…” lying through his teeth, “planning on going to ‘R.I.T’.; that’s the ‘Rochester Institute of Technology’, uh, for photographic arts…”

“ ‘Rochester’?” Susan asked. “In New York?”

“Well, yeah, R.I.T. is in New York, and it’s the best university for, uh, photographic arts in the world.” Adding, “It’s sponsored mostly by ‘Eastman Kodak’, you know.”

“I suppose one could make a decent living in photography,” Mrs. Friedman said. “ ‘Especially’ if one’s father owns the business. How long has your father been in it?”

“My folks bought the ‘Park Studio’ right after the war. It was portraits at first, but my dad got tired of trying to make peoples’ daughters look like ‘Shirley Temple’, so he switched to commercial and moved the studio downtown. Matter of fact...”— this was true — “... we were the first studio in the city to do commercial, three-dimensional photography,” he said proudly.

“ ‘Jesus’!” Taking a last drag on the cigarette, Mister Friedman ground it out in the matching crystal ashtray. “If I had to deal with a bunch of crazy parents that insisted that their daughters looked like ‘Shirley Temple’ I’d go out of my mind.”

Thinking he was out of it, at least for the moment. “Or ‘Elizabeth Taylor’.” Looking at Susan, Mitchell forced a smile.

“How’s your grade average?” Mister Friedman asked.

Uh-Oh!

“Susan’s went from ‘A plus’ to ‘just’ an ‘A’ last semester. But she’s working extra hard to bring it up again. Aren’t you, dear?”

Looking at her mother, “Yes, Mom,” Susan said, then turned expectantly to Mitchell.

From an ‘A plus to a regular, old-fashioned A’!

Exaggerating slightly—well, lying through his teeth again—“I carry a ‘B’…” glancing at Susan, “ ‘plus’ average. “But,” he added quickly, “that’s improving this semester also.” Seeing a look of disappointment on Susan’s face. “Switching schools and all, you know, kind of threw my average off.”

This being a ‘somewhat’ plausible answer, looking at each other, Eric and Rose Friedman nodded imperceptibly.

****

Rose Friedman did come from a wealthy ‘North Shore’ family, and Eric Friedman was a graduate engineer. After the war, though, engineers were a glut on the job market so, unable to find work in his chosen profession, needing a job, Eric went into the sale of printing presses.

Social status and a college education obviously meant a lot to Mister and Mrs. Friedman and, from what Mitchell could see, to their daughter, too.

****

“What do your folks do for entertainment?” Mister Friedman asked, meaning, ‘Do your parents belong to any social or country clubs’?

Ah-ha!

He’d been waiting for a question that he could answer honestly, more or less. “My dad loves sailing and we’ve got…” better not exaggerate too much, because, God willing, sooner or later Susan’ll see it and a sixteen-foot ‘Snipe’ doesn’t exactly qualify as a yacht “...a sailboat moored in Belmont Harbor and we belong to the ‘Columbia Yacht Club’.”

Impressed, “Oh,” Mister Friedman asked, “do you know Commander Metzenberg? I sold him a printing press last year.”

He’s not out of Esquire! He sells printing presses! “Yes, sir. Last summer, his son, Karl, needed another man to crew on their yacht for the ‘Chicago to Michigan City’ race...”—which again was true — “...and I crewed for him.”

Once again the Friedman's looked at each other, and once again Rose and Eric imperceptibly nodded their heads. Unnoticed by Mitchell, however catching the inflection of her parents’ body language, Susan sighed with relief.

“Well,” Mister Friedman stood, “it’s a shame ‘Butchie’s’ asleep. We’d like him to meet you.”

Looking about, “ ‘Butchie’? He’s your dog?”

“No, silly.” Going to his chair, punching him playfully on the shoulder. “Butchie’s my baby brother.”

“Hey, I got some of those.”

“ ‘Dogs’?” Mister Friedman asked jokingly.

“Yes, one dog, but brothers also.” Facing Susan. “How old is he?”

“Four...”

...Realizing she knew nothing about him—besides the fact that Mitchell Lipensky was a B+ student. Lived in Skokie and was going to college in New York state to learn to be a photographic…? Artist? And that his wealthy parents owned a yacht—“How many brothers have you? Any sisters?” Susan asked.

Envisioning many happy hours spent with Susan babysitting four year old, ‘Butchie’. “Two younger brothers, no sisters.” he replied.

“If you kids want to go out for a while, it’s okay with me.” Mister Friedman looked at his wife. “Okay with you, honey?”

“The streets must be pretty bad by now. You said you’ll walk wherever you’re going?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’d rather walk anyway.”

“Mitchell, Mrs. Friedman and myself think you seem like a rather nice young man, and even if your approach in meeting my daughter was unorthodox…”

‘Orthodox’? ‘Conservative’? ‘Reform’? Being rather liberal in the practice of their ‘Judaic’ beliefs, Eric fleeting wondered how staunch the Lipenskys might be.

“…I understand the reason you did it and, to be honest, I admire your chutzpa. So, so long as it’s okay with Susan, it’s okay with Mrs. Friedman and myself if you two kids see each other...”

Sensing, He’s not going to be ‘just’ another boy. And, Even if he’s not going to be a doctor, lawyer or—at the very least—a C.P.A., maybe we can get the boy to change his mind. And if not, he could be a good catch anyway.

“...But,” Eric said, “don’t give us any reason to be sorry that we made this decision. ‘Okay’?”

“No, sir!” Looking directly into the older man’s eyes, “I promise you won’t be sorry!”

“And bring that B+ average up to an A, ‘okay’?”

Answered a bit less enthusiastically, “Yes, sir.”

****

Susan wore a fur-lined black leather coat along with fuzzy, white knit mittens and a matching hat that tied beneath her chin. Looking at her as they walked down the stairs, Jesus, he thought, fighting the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her, she’s so beautiful! And still could not believe that he was really there. ‘Really’ with Susan.

Outside, the temperature was still barely below freezing and snow still fell, but there was no wind, and even though the vapor of their breath was visible, they were not cold.

“Your parents are nice people, but God, for a minute there I thought they were going to burn me at the stake.”

“Kind of reminded you of the ‘Spanish Inquisition’, huh?”

“Yeah, it sure did.”

They walked slowly, hesitantly. Their hips touched frequently and Mitchell’s bare hand often, ‘accidentally’, brushed Susan’s mittened hand.

Walking on the outside, as they came to a curb he took hold of her elbow, then, reaching the other side of the street or alley, reluctantly releasing her elbow, Susan’s arm would fall back to her side.

Content to be together, at this close proximity neither had spoken, but now…

“Mitchie,” looking at him over her shoulder, “did you tell them… did you tell my parents everything?”

Oh, God! He desperately wanted to tell her the truth about himself, about the type of student he ‘really’ was, but was positive that if he did it would put a strain on—if not completely sever—their barely-budding relationship, especially now that he had lied or exaggerated about just about ‘everything’ to her parents.

This whole thing was so improbable: Going shopping with his parents. Mitchell never went shopping with his parents. His father wanting coffee just at that time, just across the street from Walgreens... Mrs. Friedman and her daughter coming into Walgreens just at that time, too. And finding the courage to talk to her. And she’d listened to him!

And now, By God, he was here, with Susan! And, he was sure—although having no idea just how much she did—Mitchell was sure that Susan liked him also. And the thought that, It ‘is’! That, It ‘must’ be God! That, God wanted me to meet Susan! Why else? How else could this have happened?

Earlier, as it was happening, he’d responded to Mister Friedman’s questions—with the exception of the size of Walter’s boat—without thinking beyond the moment, but now…

‘Work’! The inkling of a thought coming to him. Maybe, if I work my ass off, maybe, if I still have time to buckle down. Maybe I can go to ‘Rochester’ to take an entrance exam. Maybe, if I work my ass off, maybe I ‘can’ make it! At that moment Mitchell decided: If college is ‘that’ important to Susan! If that’s what she wants, then ‘dammi’t! I will do it!

****

“Mitchie,” looking at him over her shoulder, “did you tell them… did you tell my parents everything?”

“Well,” he said, “I did stretch the truth,” holding his thumb and forefinger a fraction apart, “just a little.”

“Mitchell,” Stopping, turning, she looked at him. “It’s important that I know, ‘right now’! What did you ‘stretch the truth’ about?”

Looking at her, “Uh,” swallowing, “the boat.”

“The boat? You mean you don’t have a boat?”

“Oh, yeah,” forcing a chuckle, “we’ve got a boat alright, but I think, maybe, your folks got the wrong impression because maybe I made it seem like it’s a yacht, and it’s not quite… Well, yeah, it’s my dads yacht, but even so, it’s only sixteen feet long.”

No doubt about it, Susan did like Mitchell; she liked him more than she, at the moment, comprehended or would admit. If his family were rich—which they well may be—and if they did have a yacht, a ‘real’ yacht, it would certainly be icing on the cake. She was disappointed, but beginning to walk again, “Okay, Mitchie, if that’s the ‘worst’ thing you, uh, stretched the truth about, it’s okay…”

The plume of vapor from his mouth evidenced a sigh of relief.

“…but I did think that maybe we’d be able to go sailing off to Tahiti or someplace,” attempting to make a joke of her disappointment.

“Yeah,” looking at her wistfully. “That would be nice!”

Beginning to walk again, when their hands brushed he took hold of hers and was gratefully reassured when he felt her fingers curl about his.

****

Their coats hanging on hooks on the outside of the booth. Hands held atop the table. Sitting across from each other on cracked, Naugahyde seats, “Hot chocolate and apple pie, please.”

Cold air having painted a red blush on her cheeks, unable to take his eyes from Susan’s face, “Me, too, I’ll have the same.”

“Mitchie, You’re embarrassing me, stop it!”

“What? Oh, sorry.” Lowering his gaze, thinking a moment, “You know,” he said, “it all seems so improbable. Why did I go with my folks today? Why’d my dad want coffee? Why’d I suggest Walgreens, of all places? And why did you and your mom come in just then and sit directly across from us? And also, looking at your mom, she doesn’t seem like a ‘Walgreens’ kind of lady.”

“No, she really isn’t. As a matter of fact, before we went to Walgreens we tried the coffee shop at ‘Field’s’, but it was so packed that we decided to go across the street.”

“That figures… And then there’s meeting you like I did, with your mother there! And now I’m here, looking at you. Just looking at you,” he said emotively. “God…” Searching for the right words. “Susan, you make my eyes feel good.” Stopping, looking out the window, thinking, “I know it sounds crazy,” his eyes back on her face, “but… I don’t know. But, Sue, I think I…” He knew what he wanted to say, but was afraid to say.

“Mitchie,” sandwiching his hand between hers, “what were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” looking out the window again. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Yes… Yes you were!” Lifting his chin, turning his head, looking into his eyes, “Tell me, Mitchie! What were you going to say?”

“Susan, I can’t! It’ll sound so stupid you’ll think I’m an idiot.”

“No! I will ‘not’ think it’s stupid! And unless you want to have our first fight right now, you’d ‘better’ tell me!” Smiling wanly, holding the first two fingers of his right hand, squeezing them in her closed fist. “Better tell me, Mister, or I’ll bust ’em right off!”

“You’re going to ‘bust ’em off’, huh? God,” he smiled, “you’re so sweet.” The smile fading, the look on his face suddenly serious, “Sue, I…”

Waiting to hear the words. Wanting to hear the words but afraid of the words, and her response.

“This is crazy. We just met each other, ‘today’. This is the first time we’ve even been out together, or, for that matter, now’s first time we’re even alone.” Stopping, looking out the window but seeing only his reflection. Collecting his thoughts. “But, Sue,” turning forward, looking into her eyes, “I feel like I’ve known you all my life. And right now—and ‘believe’ me, I know it sounds screwy—but I can’t remember what life was like this morning before I met you.” Moving her hand to his lips—giving into the compulsion he had less than an hour ago when they were standing in her hallway—he kissed Susan’s hand. “You’re what I dream of when I dream of a girl. It’s you I’ve ‘always’ dreampt of,” he said passionately. “Oh, God, I feel so dumb, but I can’t help it, I knew it the second I saw you today.” Hesitating, whispering, “I think…. No, Sue, I know, I do; ‘I love you’.” Overtaken by a tide of emotion, his throat thickening, Mitchell’s eyes became moist, then overflowed.

She’d ‘wanted’ the words but ‘never’ expected the deep-felt sincerity witnessed by his tears.

“I love you,” he repeated. “That’s why I did what I did today.” Scrubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I knew it the second I saw you. I couldn’t just walk out of your life or let you walk out of my life. What I told your mother is true : I’m not like that! Actually I’m kind of shy and thought I’d ‘never’ go up to a girl like I did.” He smiled, “ ‘especially’ if she’s with her mother and say, ‘hi, there, I’m Mitch Lipensky and I just fell in love with your daughter, so can I have her phone number so I can call her so we can get to know each other so that, maybe… Oh, God, so that maybe she’ll fall in love with me, too’.”

“Mitchie, I don’t know what to say.” She did, though. Susan knew exactly what she wanted to say.

“God, Susan, I’m such a jerk.”

“No you’re not! Why would you say such a thing?”

“Why? First off,” exaggerating slightly, “I’m sitting here,”averting his face, “crying like some kind of a baby.”

“Here you go, kids.”

Mitchell turned back when the waitress left.

“Mitchie, I don’t think you’re a jerk at all. Guys always think they’ve got to act like… guys. I think it’s really beautiful.”

“Oh, yeah! Grown men always cry!”

“What I mean is, it’s wonderful that you can show your feelings this way.” Trying to get a hold on her own emotions, cutting into the pie, Susan put a piece in her mouth.

“Maybe you think it’s neat for a guy to cry when he tells you he loves you, but personally I think it’s really dumb and I feel like a dope.”

Placing her fork onto the edge of plate, looking him in eye, “No, it’s not ‘dopey’ at all! Don’t feel that way, Mitchie. Do you think you’d have ‘ever’ gotten my number if I didn’t want you to have it? I saw you there too, you know. And I was wondering how I was going to meet you, but a girl can’t just go up to a guy and introduce herself, ‘especially’,” smiling, “if she’s with her mother.” Stopping, debating with herself. Wondering if she should go on, and if she did, just how much she should say. “Then, when you stood up, I thought you were leaving.” Her throat thickening. “And when you put your jacket down and came over to me…” hesitating again, thinking, No, don’t tell him! But, her emotions at play also, “it was like God was answering my prayer.”

Absorbing her words. Quiet a few seconds. “Praying?” He asked incredulously. “You were ‘actually’ praying to meet me?”

Swallowing, “Yes,” blinking back tears, Don’t say it! But, “Mitchie, I feel that way, too,” Susan whispered. “I love you, too.”

“ ‘You love me’?” Daring to believe, but fully overwhelmed by this emotional declaration. “ ‘You love me’!” Feeling the thickening in his throat once again. But able, this time, to hold back tears. Touching his thumb to her cheek. Lifting a running tear and licking the tear onto his tongue. “There, Sue, now we’re a part of each other.”

Taking her hand. Holding her palm to his mouth, smelling the fragrance of her flesh Mitchell once again kissed Susan’s hand as, ‘God’! Thinking his thought again. Moving her hand from his lips. Turning it. Studying her hand as though to once again confirm that this was truly happening. That this was ‘truly’ Susan’s hand…

“This whole thing…” he said reflectively. “I’m not a religious guy, Sue. Not at all. But don’t you see why it happened?”

So long as she had mentioned God and praying, even though he fully believed it. Still, hesitant to say, “It’s God! God wanted us to meet each other. Why else would we both be at Walgreens, of all places, at the same time? And how come, all of a sudden, did I have the nerve to go over to talk to you and your mother? And why would you and me… you and I… fall in love with each other the second we saw each other? Why?”

“God.” Susan answered. “God!”

****

‘Samson’

Walking slowly in the thickening snow. Strangely, the feel of Susan’s bare hand in his brought biblical Samson to mind. And as Samson knew his hair, his strength, was a gift from God, Mitchell sincerely felt that Susan was his gift from God. And with her inexplicable, seemingly completely reciprocal love, for the first time in his life he felt he could do monumental things—yes, even pass a college entrance exam.

Walking with Susan, Mitchell Lipensky felt a spiritual warmth and an aura of physical comfort that gave him the sensation of literally walking on air.

Turning off brightly lit Peterson Avenue onto the comparative darkness of Talman Avenue, at a point between the waning light of one streetlight and the increasing brightness of the next, as though arriving at a preordained location, stopping, turning to each other, his arms about Susan’s waist, her arms about Mitchell’s neck, for a long moment each looked at the shadowed face of the other through the falling snow and semi-darkness…

Their lips touched…

Soft… Pure… As soft and pure and chaste as the falling snow that swirled about them.

Each standing within the arms of the other, the bulk of their winter clothing separating their physical bodies, both sensed the deeply felt mental warmth of loving and being loved. For this, their first kiss, sensing their universes’ spin, nothing more… ‘nothing’ other than this purely chaste kiss was needed, nor wanted.

Mitchell had a far-off sense of kissing this kiss before. Of being in this place before. Other than snowflakes, though, he had a remembrance of… fireflies. And this sensation of déjà vu added to the mysticism of this night and of this soul-moving kiss.

In wonder, the simple word, “Oh,” was said, because now, for the first time in the years of her life—other than the love of a child for her parents, or baby brother—Susan Friedman realized the meaning of love.

****

Six months younger than Mitchell, Susan would be seventeen in February.

An exceptionally pretty girl, beyond her face, however, Susan was fairly average. Standing a bit below five foot, six and a half inches, she weighed 132 pounds. Was extremely light-completed and, according to her, would like her breasts to be larger, her waist narrower, her hips and buttocks curvier and her legs more shapely.

In truth Susan Friedman did not have the kind of figure that caused boys to drool, drop their hot dogs and follow her down the beach. A very good student, due to her parents’ urging she strongly believed that the better things in life came only to those with a superior college education.

Many of Susan’s classmates came from families that were considerably more affluent than the Friedmans, which gave her somewhat of an inferiority complex that she covered by being standoffish and a bit of a loner. Consequently, between her obvious beauty, shyness and aloof attitude—much like Mitchell before his transfer to Niles Township High School—her fellow students thought Susan to be stuck-up, and although she did have dates, they were infrequent and she often went through bouts of loneliness.

She loved her parents dearly, and though her father was fairly successful at his sales job, Susan knew that they could have much more in the way of prestige and monetary benefits if he were able to work in the field he had trained for. But now too many years had passed for him to start anew in engineering.

The Friedmans lived well, but not nearly as well as Rose had lived before she’d married Eric, when she lived in the big house in Wilmette with her parents.

****

“How’s about tomorrow?” Standing hand in hand on the steps between the entry and first floor. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, Mitch, but I don’t want my parents to think that we’re moving too fast. But…” thinking, she looked at the ceiling. “Look, call me tomorrow at about, uh, eleven. Tell me you’re going to take your brothers sledding… Think they’ll want to go?”

“ ‘Sledding’? You kidding? They’ll ‘love’ it!”

“Okay, then. When you call, tell me you’re going sledding with…?”

“ ‘Larry’ and ‘Mortie’.”

“Yes, ‘Larry and Mortie’. Tell me you’re going sledding with your brothers and wondered if Butchie and I want to come along… Think your dad’ll let you take the car again?”

“You ‘kidding’? If my dad can get Larry’n’Mortie out’a the house so he has nothing to do but lay around and read the paper all day he’ll probably even fill the tank… But what about your parents? They going to want you and your brother away from them on a Sunday?”

Smiling, “You kidding? My mom and dad love being alone. I don’t know what they do…” She blushed. “Well, maybe I do, but they love being alone and you’ll be a real hero to them and Butchie.”

“Being a hero’s okay.” He smiled. “Okay, let’s try it.”

Walking up the three remaining steps, Susan looked down at Mitchell.

The hallway being warm, Susan’s coat was unbuttoned and, putting his hands on the slight curve of her hips, looking into her face, “ ‘Thank you’.”

“For what?”

“For lots of stuff. For being you. For taking a chance on me. And most of all—and I still can’t believe it—for telling me you love me.”

“Mitchie, don’t be silly.” Taking his head between her hands, Susan kissed his forehead, then, in an emotional, spontaneous move, pressed it closely against her chest.

Putting his arms about her waist. Holding her tightly, he could feel and hear the reverberation of Susan’s heart. He smelled the spicy fragrance of her perfume and sensed the gentle, soft swell of Susan’s breasts upon either side of his face…

Surprisingly, the sensation of Susan’s breasts pressed against either side of his face was ‘not’ sexual and Mitchell felt as though he could stand there, like this, for the rest of his life…

But, in a few all too short seconds…

“I’d better go in now.” Susan kissed him lightly on the mouth. Opened the unlocked door and, backing into the apartment, silently mouthed, “I love you,” and threw one last kiss.

Returning the kiss, Mitchell also silently mouthed, “I love you.”

***

“Hey, Mom, Dad!” he called from the front door, “I’m home!” And received the reaction he’d expected.

In the den, watching television, “ ‘Straw’s’’ cheaper than hey!” his mother said.

And, “Glad you’re home,” his father said. “Weather reports say the streets are getting pretty bad out there.”

“Nah, the streets ain’t all that bad!” And again got the reaction he had expected.

“ ‘Ain’t’ ain’t in the dictionary, Mitchell!”

In the den, “Dad...” Sitting on the edge of the desk, astonishing both his parents. “...That offer you made to send me to ‘R.I.T.’? It’s still open, isn’t it?”

Glancing at his wife, Walter looked at his son. “Why?”

“I’ve changed my mind, Dad. I do want to go!”

“Mitchell, when I suggested R.I.T., it was because I thought it would be an investment in your future, ‘and’ the studio’s. But when’s the last time you even set foot in the studio? Also, when I made the offer you still had two years left in high school and maybe, just ‘maybe’, if you worked your tuchas off, ‘maybe’ you’d have made it. But now? With… what? Less than six months to go before graduation you suddenly want to go to a university? Forget it! You’ll ‘never’ make it!”

“Dad, are you telling me that if I ‘do’ pass the entrance exam and if R.I.T. ‘does’ accept me, you won’t keep your bargain?”

“ ‘Bargain’? What bargain? Two years ago I told you that if you worked your ass off and got accepted to R.I.T. I’d pay. You’ve worked your ass off?” Asked sarcastically. “Since when?”

“Mitchie, what’s this all about? This has something to do with the girl you met today, hasn’t it?”

“Mom, “Appealing to his mother because he thought she, rather than his father, would better understand. “I know this’ll sound really strange, but I love her.”

Not getting quite the reaction he’d expected from his mother… “ ‘Love’? You just met her! You just want to get laid.”

Wincing at her words, “No, Mom! That’s why I know I love her, I ‘don’t’ want to get laid! Look, I know you and dad have always been after me to work harder in school, and I know that I’ve always been a screw-up! But that’s all changed now. I’ve ‘got’ to go to R.I.T. and I don’t care ‘what’ it takes, or how ‘hard’ I’ve got to work to do it.”

“You’ve had girlfriends before. Remember how you raved about Sally? And that lasted…? What, about two weeks?

The time with Sally, not counting the time he’d spent trying to get her to go out with him again, actually lasted four days.

“What makes you think that you and this girl will even be together that long? You don’t know a thing about her! You’ve only been with her tonight. What makes you even think you love her?”

“Why? Because of the way we met. Because… You won’t believe this, but I knew I loved her from the second I saw her… And believe it or not, she told me that she felt the same way then, too. And I know,” he said with finality, looking at his mother, “that Susan ‘will’ be my wife! And she ‘will’ be the mother of your grandchildren… That’s if I get into R.I.T.!”

Silent a few seconds. Looking from her son to her husband. Digesting ‘grandchildren’. “It’s so important, ‘R.I.T.’? Why not ‘Wright’?”

“You don’t understand, Mom. Wright’s a junior college. It’s not that all of a sudden I want to go to college, to ‘any’ college; it’s that Susan’s a ‘real’ good student! And her and her parents believe in a really good college education! And when I first got there tonight I got grilled by her parents like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You meet a girl you say you love, and suddenly college—and not just any college, but the ‘Rochester Institute of Technology’—becomes the most important thing in your life! And I’m to pay for it?”

“Dad, I told you, ‘ everything’s’ changed now. I ‘want’ to go to R.I.T.! I ‘want’ to work with you! I ‘want’ to be part of the studio!”

Walter looked at Myra, who shrugged her shoulders.

“So, Walt,” she asked, “you think he’ll pass the entrance exam?”

“Not in a million years! I’d make book on it.”

“Okay, so if he’ll ‘never’ get in, we can afford to be generous.”

“Okay!” Jabbing his well-known finger in his son’s direction. “If you work your ass off,” ‘jab’ “If you pass the entrance exam,” ‘jab’ “your mother and I will pay for college.”

Taking a deep breath, “Thank you!” coming off the edge of the desk, kneeling in front of the sofa. “You won’t be sorry.” He hugged his father, “Thank you!” Then his mother.

“Yeah? Don’t thank us so fast! You’ve ‘got’ to get accepted first.”

“Don’t worry, Dad, I will!”

Beginning to leave the room, “Oh, yeah,” turning back, “when you meet Susan, don’t mention how I’ve been in school up to now, because she thinks I’m a B-plus student.”

“Mitchie, that’s no way to start out with a girl you say you love and are going to marry; by lying.”

“I know, Mom, I hated doing it, but you had to be there to understand.”

“Oh, by the way, if I can use the car, I’ll take Larry and Mortie sledding tomorrow.”

“Jesus Christ!” Walter said, “You’re ‘volunteering’ to take your brothers someplace?”

“I’ll be damned!” Myra said. “When did you say you were getting married?”

 Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: “And Your Life/Susan 3”