__________________________________________________________

Off in the distance, midway across the channel but perfectly visible, even in the falling snow…

The lady is there! Floodlights shining from the base up and her crown down, in the distance the lady appeared to glow an almost eerie green.

“…The Statue of Liberty! Oh, my God, Mitchell, she’s beautiful! I can’t believe it!” Her head turning to the right, continuing to look as they drove on. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to drive all night? You should have woken me! At least I could have kept you company.” Quiet a moment, then, “We’ll be home soon, won’t we?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, Marcie, we’ll be home soon.”

“God, Mitchie… home, our home.”

Though the simplest of statements, it filled both their hearts….

…Our home.

A “Becoming” Excerpt in sequence: “Day Two: Seagate”

December 19, 1955: 3:45 AM

Seagate, New York

The thickening snow was beginning to lay on the streets as the dirt-coated Ford convertible turned off the ‘Shore Expressway’ onto ‘Ocean Parkway’, went south past ‘Neptune Avenue’ into ‘Brighton Beach’and made a right turn on ‘Surf Avenue’ then drove slowly past the darkened and desolate, skeletal-like amusement structures of ‘Coney Island’.

“Marcie, just wait until summer.” He had dreamed of this moment. Of showing Marsha ‘Coney Island’ and it didn’t matter that it was four in the morning nor that it was the middle of winter and snow was falling.

“You’ll ‘love’ it! We live close enough so we can walk to the boardwalk whenever we want and every Wednesday during the summer...”—Although he had told her all this before, now, his voice animated with excitement. Speaking rapidly he told her again— “...they shoot fireworks from a barge out in the ocean. I used to watch ’em from the tower at Rockaway. And boy, I can’t wait till you try a ‘Nathan’s’ lobster roll!”

“I’ll never eat lobster.” Shaking her head, “they’re so ugly!”

“I ‘promise...” looking at her, “...you’ll learn to love ’em!”

A block from ‘Brighton Beach’, ‘Surf’ and ‘Neptune’ avenues angled towards each other to become one street at the guarded entrance to ‘Seagate’, then continued through the small peninsula as ‘Neptune Avenue’.

Having been told about it before— more than once— now, seeing a gated, guarded community for the first time, the sight of it made Marsha feel protected and a bit ‘pretentious’.

As the Ford came to a stop, sliding the window open, “Good morning.” the guard inside the heated shack poked his head through.

Rolling the window down, “We’re, uh...”— this being the first time he’d said the words— “ ‘Mister and Mrs. Lipensky’.”

Not having seen Mitchell or knowing the car... Studying a clipboard…

“We live here on Neptune: ‘2915’.”

“Yeah...” the guard said, “...here you are.” Lowering his head so he could see into the car, “ ‘Nite, folks.” The man pushed a handle and the barrier rose.

Putting the shifter into ‘D’, Mitchell drove into Seagate where older brick and wood-frame structures— many with twinkling Christmas lights even at that hour— intermixed with modern houses and newer one- and two-story apartment buildings.

Coming to the end of the long block, pointing to his left, to an older three-story wooden structure,.“There’s ‘Aunt Ida’s’, and this…” turning right, “...is where we live.”

Parked cars were scattered along the curb of the long, two-story, yellow brick cul-de-sac building and Mitchell was able to park almost directly adjacent to the front door of the well-lit lobby.

“So, you like it so far?”

“Yes, I do., ‘very’ much!”

“Honey, if you don’t mind, I’ll take just what we need for now and get the rest later. Okay?”

“Sure.” Opening the door. “I’m glad you said that,” Marsha stepped out.

“Oh,’ God’!” He’d been sitting in the same position for ‘so’ long. Standing. Moaning. Having to force himself into an upright position by pushing his hands into the small of his back

“Just your green case, okay?”

“That’s fine. It’s got everything I’ll need for tonight.”

Taking just the A&P shopping bag and green case they walked from the car up the three concrete steps where Mitchell opened the plate-glass door to the pushly carpeted lobby.

“You never told me there’s an elevator.”

“Yeah...” stepping inside, “...there are few things I didn’t tell you.”

Pushing ‘2’ the door slid shut.

“I knew it would be nice, but never thought it would be so…”

“ ‘Classy’?”

“Yes,” she said. “ ‘Classy’.”

Coming out of the elevator he led Marsha down the carpeted hall to, “Here we are.” the door marked ‘219’. Putting the case down. Fishing in his pocket for the ring of keys, “You ready?” he asked.

“Mitchie, ‘yes’! I’ve been ready for months.”

Knowing how he’d dreamt of doing this. “Okay, don’t look till I tell you. I want the lights on before you come in.”

Unlocking the door. “Your eyes closed?”

Knowing he’d planned this, going along with him. “Yes.”

“Good.” Going inside he turned the lamps at either side of the sofa and the ceiling light in the kitchen on. Sitting on the sofa so he could see Marsha’s reaction when she opened her eyes.

“You’re right in front of the door. Simon says, ‘take two steps forward and open your eyes’.”

Marsha did…

“Oh, my God!” Said softly, her eyes widening. “Oh, my God, Mitchie, it’s ‘beautiful’!”

Looking from right to left, Marsha saw the double dresser on the short wall, the door leading to the bathroom then a waist-high room divider with lilac- and lavender-painted one-inch dowel rods that went from the divider to the ceiling. Beyond the divider was the kitchen with a pine-colored, wood-grain Formica and chrome table with four lavender-padded chairs. To the left of the kitchen— centered on the adjacent wall— were lovely drapes on either side of the double-hung window. Beneath the window was the sofa Mitchell sat on with a lamp table on either side and a coffee table before it. The light lilac-painted walls and darker lavender carpet contrasted beautifully.

All in all this one-room apartment in this first home of Mitchell and Marsha Lipensky, appeared to be new and beautifully and tastefully appointed.

Holding her breath, her eyes returning to Mitchell and letting her breath out. “I can’t believe you did this for me, all by yourself!”

“Well, I didn’t do ‘all’ by myself. Mrs. Tennenbaum helped pick the colors and stuff and had it done. But you like it, Marcie? You ‘really’ like it?”

“ ‘Like it’?” Coming into the room. Closing the door. “My, God, Mitchell, ‘I love it’!”

Now that they were home and now that he had seen Marsha’s reaction — her long awaited reaction to the apartment — Mitchell’s adrenaline flowed in the opposite direction and as he lifted himself off the sofa to go to her a total, complete fatigue overtaking him. “Marcie,” draping his arms over her shoulders. “I’ll carry you over the threshold tomorrow, okay?”

“You poor baby.” Stroking his cheek. “Sure, come on, I’ll help you open the bed.”

Moving the coffee table, removing the two cushions from the sofa and pulling the bed open, Marsha was surprised to see the bed neatly made and covered with the feather-down quilt given to them by her grandmother.

Going to the closet. Wearily taking two pillows off the shelf he laid them on the bed.

“Go on, Mitchie, you use the bathroom first.”

Putting the green case onto the kitchen table. “Thanks, baby. I’m about ready to pass out.” Taking his kit from the A&P shopping bag he went into the bathroom.

Marsha drew the drapes, then going to the kitchen she looked through the drawers and cabinets. Having spent quite a bit of time thinking about how she wanted her home kept, Lots of organizing to do here, she thought and, I know how we’re going to spend tomorrow!…

Really, today.

Done in the bathroom within minutes, except for his shirt which Mitchell draped over a kitchen chair—actually disappointing Marsha—he was still dressed.

This being the first time she’d handled it since the hotel. Surprised at its lightness, taking the green case into the bathroom, “I’ll be right out, Mitch.”

“Yeah, honey.” Removing his clothes. Crawling into bed wearing nothing. “I’ll wait for you.”

***

When Marsha came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later the lights were still on and Mitchell was sound asleep.

The Second Day of Their Lives

Seagate, New York

December 19, 1955: 9:48 AM

A thick beam of sunlight casting through the seams of the drapes lay a swath of brilliance across the bed.

Turning from his left side—the position he kept from the time he’d hit the bed—to his right side the brilliant line of light lay across his face causing a dull red glow beneath his eyelids. Opening his eyes and quickly screwing them shut again, disoriented a moment…

Remembering where he was, turning back to his left side Mitchell looked at the disarray of black hair on the pillow next to him.

For some unknown reason — each of the three times they’d slept together — he’d automatically gone to the right side of the bed and Marsha to the left.

Except for the melodious sound of Marsha’s breathing, the room was perfectly quiet.

Luxuriating beneath the comfort of the feather quilt. Feeling the warmth of Marsha’s body he had an all but uncontrollable urge to press against her and his hand actually ached for the feel of a breast...

And his penis, swelled with desire and a ‘very’ full bladder and ‘oh yes’, how he wanted to wake Marsha to see if he could get her to do to him what she had done to him at the planetarium.

But knowing — to say the least — that it would not be nice to wake her and besides, he was rather sure she wouldn’t.

Wondering if she was sleeping nude too — but rather sure she wasn’t — moving closer, realizing she was wearing her flannel pajamas, nonetheless his penis nesting, snuggling even closer…

Waking again. It was an hour later and though he’d had to urinate earlier, now he ‘really’ had to.

Leaving the comfort of the bed and the warmth of Marsha, going into the bathroom he closed the door and — so long as he was up —Mitchell brushed his teeth, took a shower and shaved.

Coming from the bathroom nude, going to the bottom drawer of the dresser—the only drawer he kept for himself—he took underwear and socks then a sweat-shirt and a pair of jeans off hangers in the closet. Dressed, put his coat on and quietly opening and closing the door, went downstairs.

****

Most of the gifts and clothing having been sent ahead—part of a gift of luggage from one of Marsha’s aunts—there were two suitcases in the trunk with the remainder of Marsha’s clothing that Rhea and Eli had brought to Skokie yesterday. The balance of his clothing, some of it folded and some on hangers, were laid out on the back seat.

****

Stepping through the plate-glass door. squinting against the glare of brilliant sunlight reflected upon a world of snow, Mitchell breathed deeply of the invigorating, salt-tinged, cold air then ran across the recently plowed street, through a knee-high snow drift that lay upon the winter lawn, up the five weathered wooden steps and through the outer foyer door of Aunt Ida’s house.

**** 

In the ‘1920s’, the home of Meyer and Ida Charney had been one of the showplaces of Seagate. But when Meyer passed away in ‘1939’ leaving little but obligations, in time Ida had been forced to convert the imposing three-story, wood frame structure into three separate apartments.

Ida now lived in four rooms on the first floor.

****

Knocking on the door. Stamping his feet on the hairy, kapok mat. “It’s me, Mitchell!”

“ ‘Mitchell’!” Taking the security chain off the door, Ida opened it. “Come in! I was worried about you because of the snow.”

At age seventy-eight, not prone to stooping, Ida still carried her tall, thin body upright. Her gray hair was intermixed with wide strands of black. The skin of her face was comparatively taut for a woman her age and only Ida’s liver-spotted hands and arms reflected her true age.

Coming out of the vestibule into the overly heated, musty-smelling apartment. “Hi! I wanted to let you know we got here okay.”

“I knew you were driving yesterday and hoped you’d have sense enough to stop when it began snowing.”

“Actually, I didn’t. We got here about four.”

“So, all’s well that ends well.”

Invited to the wedding, however never having flown Ida declined due to the long trip in mid-winter.

“Tell me, how’d the wedding go? How’s your bride and where is she? Your mama and papa, they’re well?”

Smiling at the barrage of questions. “Aunt, Ida, the wedding was beautiful and except for you not being there, everything went great. Mom and dad are fine and Marsha’s still in bed.”

“Good, Mitchell. I’m glad everything went so well.”

“I’ve got to unload the car and just wanted to let you know we got here okay.”

Looking forward to, and happy to have her grand-nephew and his new bride living close by.

“Mitchell, when your Marsha gets up, I want you to call me and bring her for breakfast...” Looking at the clock on the wall, “...or lunch. Let me know which when you call, okay?”

A bit uncomfortable due to the heat. “Sure, Aunt Ida. I’ll call here as soon as she gets up.” Backing out of the room into the vestibule he ran down the stairs and across the street… Opening the trunk he hefted the two suitcases out.

Her feet bare. Wearing a pair of slacks that had been sent ahead and a bra she’d found in one of her drawers... Hearing the door open, “Hi!”

The sofa-bed closed and the door to the bathroom open.

“Hi.” Putting the suitcases down. Unzipping his jacket. “When’d you get up?”

Standing in the bathroom doorway—the thought that Marsha was ‘really’ here still unbelievable—he watched as she brushed her hair.

“A few minutes ago… Where’d you go?”

“Over to Aunt Ida’s to tell her we got in okay. She wants us to come over for breakfast or lunch, whichever you want and told me to call when you got up.”

“Tell you what; soon as I’m done, I’ll call Aunt Ida and introduce myself. So, in the meantime...” looking at his reflection in the mirror, “...why don’t you bring another load up and when we’re done eating, you’n’me’ll schlep the rest… How’s come you look so cute?”

“Me? ‘Cute’? ‘Really’?”

Coming closer, looking at himself over her shoulder. “What’s so cute about me now that’s cuter than usual?” Wrapping his left arm about her bare stomach and bringing his right hand up, beneath her bra, holding Marsha’s left breast he hugged her…

“Mitchell,” squirming, “your hands are ‘freezing’!”

Well aware. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Releasing his hold about her stomach, but not her breast. “So, what’s so cute about me?”

Each looking at other’s reflection.

“Yeah...” trying to sound stern, “...I’ll just ‘bet’ you’re sorry!” Turning to him. “On second thought ‘nothing’s’ cute about you.” Placing her arms about his neck. “Your face, you big jerk! Your cheeks are so red you look like a pixie.”

“Yeah...” looking at himself in the mirror, “...you’re right! I am ‘truly’ an adorable person.” Bringing both hands up, pretending to grab hold of both breasts…

Squirming away. “Mitchell, don’t you dare!”

Opening a dresser drawer, taking a sweater and carefully pulling it over her head. “By the way, even though almost ‘everything’s’ got to be changed”—actually, she’d expected to find everything still in boxes—“you did a pretty good job of putting our stuff away. Thanks.”

Passing on the backhanded compliment. “You’re welcome.”

“How’s it outside?”

“Beautiful. Cold. Sunny. There’s maybe six inches of good-packing snow on the ground, and I thought that later you’n’me’ll make a snowman.”

“Maybe tomorrow, but today we’ve lots of stuff to do.”

“Like what? What could ‘possibly’ be more important than making a snowman?”

“ ‘What could be more important than making a snowman’, huh?” Taking a pair of rolled bobby-socks out a drawer. Sitting on the sofa. “How’s about shopping for groceries?” Putting a sock on. “Looking at your big, fat, tubby belly…”

Looking down, he sucked a non-existent gut in.

“…you sure don’t look like you miss any meals.”

“Yeah, that’s true , I ‘never’ miss a meal!”

“And between the money we had and what we took from the wedding, we’ve been carrying more than a thousand bucks around, so we’ve got to open a checking account.” Pulling the other sock on, “And also...” she laughed, “...I know how much you enjoy watching ‘The Mickey Mouse Club’, so we’d better buy a television someplace.”

“Yeah!” Singing. Spelling, “M-I-C-K-E-Y, M-O-U-S-E!”

“And it that’s not enough...” ticking them off on her fingers, “...we’ve ‘got’ to go to Aunt Ida’s for breakfast, and we’ve ‘got’ to line the cabinets and drawers, and the shelf in the closet and put everything away where it ‘really’ belongs… We’ve ‘lots’ of stuff we have to do today!”

“Yeah, okay, I guess we’ve lots’a’stuff to do.” Pretending to pout, “But do we gotta do it ‘all’ today? Do we ‘gotta’?”

“Yeah, little boy, we gotta!” Standing, “Go on, get another load… Where’s Aunt Ida’s number?”

****

Still on the phone when he returned with an armful of his clothing... “Yes, okay, Aunt Ida, we’ll be there in a few minutes… Bye-bye.”

Looking at Mitchell, “How do I look? Think I ought to put some makeup on?”

“For ‘Aunt Ida’?”

“Yeah, for Aunt Ida, and you, too!”

“As far as I’m concerned you look ‘great’ without any.” He did— Mitchell ‘truly’ liked how Marsha looked without makeup.

“Thanks,! But I’m going to put some on anyway.”

He watched as she applied eyeliner and a bit of lipstick.

Turning, holding her arms from side to side. “Okay?”

“Yeah. ‘Okay’.” Grinning. “You’re ‘beautiful’! Let’s go all ready; I’m ‘starving’!”

“Okay, okay, already! Let me get my coat.”

Besides her pink leather coat with the black fur collar and fur-lined, calf length boots—spotting it on the back seat with his clothes— Marsha also wore Mitchell’s ‘N’ baseball cap: the ‘N’ for ‘Niles Township High School’, but she referred to it as his ‘nudnik’ hat. ‘Nudnik’: as in ‘pest’; as in ‘nag’; as in ‘one that annoys’. “So,” she finally asked, “aren’t you ready yet?”

“ ‘Aren’t I ready’?” Going to her. Taking her face in his hands he kissed her.

“What’s that for?”

Thinking she looked adorable in his ‘nudnik’ hat. “Just ’cause you’re so damned cute.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I said it to you.”

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re ‘not’ so damned cute.”

Taking the elevator down. Hand in hand, “My, God!” Walking outside, Marsha’s eyes partially closed against the brightness. Stopping on the top step. “What a ‘beautiful’ day!”

“It’s ‘really’ pretty here, isn’t it?”

Looking at the mix of older and newer well-maintained houses across the bare-limed tree-lined street. “Lovely, just ‘lovely’! And the air…” breathing deeply through her nostrils, “...smells wonderful!”

“We’re on the tip of a tiny peninsula, remember? And what you’re smelling is salt air.”

Starting down the stairs, Mitchell ran his hand along the concrete ledge filling it with snow which he compressed into a ball and— looking wickedly at Marsha— conveyed the thought that…

“ ‘Don’t you dare’!” Running towards the Ford with Mitchell purposely only steps behind she scooped a double handful of snow off the hood and, turning quickly, flung it in his face.

Not expecting this. Snow in his hair, on his eyebrows and running down his face. Stopping cold, “Why, you…” pinning her against the fender with the weight of his body, pretending he was about to mash the ball of snow onto her face, instead, his snow-flecked, cold lips found hers and her soft, warm lips responded.

Parting, looking into his eyes “Lets not make war.”

“Yeah, baby,..” he said seriously, “...let’s make love, please!”

“Soon, baby,” she said just as seriously. “I promise, soon.”

**** 

“Come in, Marsha, ‘come in’!” Holding the door open, Ida stepped aside.

“Aunt Ida, how nice to meet you finally.”

“Mitchell was right.” Taking hold of Marsha’s hands. “You are lovely!”

Feeling tiny pinpricks of hair on her cheek as the old lady kissed her…

“Thank you.”

“It’s going to be so nice having you here, my dear.” Leading then into her overly-heated kitchen, “How do you like Seagate?” Motioning to the chairs around an old oak table, “Sit, please.”

“Thank you, but we got here too late…”

“Or too early.” Mitchell interjected, holding a chair for Marsha.

“…For me to see much of anything. But what I’ve seen so far, I like. It’s ‘beautiful’ here.”

“Yes, ‘here’. But outside the gate things are changing.” Reflecting a moment. “It used to be so lovely here—it still is, inside—but outside? Coney Island and Brighton Beach, I mean.”

He had seen Coney Island and Brighton Beach in daylight and the signs of decay, that Mitchell vividly remembered from the west side of Chicago—but still, not even remotely understanding the reasons for—were conspicuously visible here.

“So,” going to the refrigerator, “you want breakfast! You like bacon, sausage?” Knowing Mitchell would eat just about anything, Ida posed the question to Marsha. “Or maybe you keep a little ‘kosher’?”

“ ‘No’.” Surprised, though, that Ida didn’t. “I’m not kosher at all, not even a ‘little’.”

Seeing the questioning look on Marsha’s face. “ ‘Meyer’, my husband, ‘alav ha-sholom’...” —may he rest in peace—“...liked ham, so when we were married I asked, ‘Meyer, you want to keep kosher?’ And he said, ‘maybe a little,’ so we ‘never’ did.”

“That’s kind of how it was with my mom and dad, too.”

“The little I remember of Walter, your papa, I ‘thought’ he wasn’t the kosher type.”

****

“You want another bagel, more tea, maybe?”

“No, Aunt Ida...” putting her cup down, “...this is plenty, thank you.”

“Living so far from your family, you don’t think you’re going to miss them, your mama, papa?”

“No...” glancing at Mitchell, “...he’s my family now...” Changing the subject. “It must be very nice here in the summer, living so close to the beach and Coney Island. I ‘love’ the beach and it’s going to be ‘perfect’ for me here... Of course I’ve got to get a job, but even so, I know I’m going to love it here.”

Sopping up the last of his egg yoke with a piece of bagel. “Aunt, Ida, maybe you can help us.”

Looking at him over the rim of her cup. “Of course! If I can.”

“We’re going shopping today for groceries, and we want to buy a television and we’ve got to open a checking account. Can you tell us the best places to go?”

“For a bank, I use ‘Coney Island Federal’; it’s on ‘Neptune’, just past ‘Ocean Parkway’. For groceries, try the ‘A&P’ on ‘Brighton Beach Avenue’ and for a television…? Probably it would be best to go to ‘Bensonhurst’. Try under the el tracks; you should be able to buy anything there. Also,” looking at Marsha, “Bensonhurst would be the best place for you to find work… You worked in Chicago? You didn’t go to college?”

“No, I didn’t want to go to college.” Finishing the last of her bacon, “I wanted to work, and was in training to be a ‘corsetiere’…”

“She’s a ‘meat packer’!” Mitchell interrupted again, using Marsha’s joke but was ignored by both women.

“…and I figure with my training selling women’s undergarments I shouldn’t have any trouble finding a job.”

“Then Bensonhurst is certainly the right place for you to look, and it’s so easy to get to. All you do is take the bus outside the gate and it’s a ten-minute ride to the subway. ‘Brighton Beach’ is the end of the line, so you can only go one way and it’s two stops to Bensonhurst.”

“Thanks, Aunt Ida. That’s where I’ll look, then.”

“I’ve a ‘great’ idea!” Looking from Marsha to Ida. “Why don’t you come with us today? If there’s anything you need from the A&P, or anyplace else, we’ll take you. Then you can come along with us when we get the television, and you can show us Bensonhurst.”

“Maybe Aunt Ida would rather not go out in this weather.” Turning to Ida, “If there’s anything you need, though, we’ll be glad to get it for you.”

“Thank you.” Looking at Mitchell, “I could use a few things, but Marsha is right, old people do not like snow. You never know what’s under it and it’s too easy to fall. And at my age you do your best to never fall.”

“You’re sure, then?”

“Yes. but I’ll give you a list and, if you’d be kind enough, I’d appreciate it.”

****

Driving slowly, Mitchell pointed whatever sights of interest there were on this winter’s day. But quiet and unresponsive, Marsha merely looked out the window.

“Marcie,” glancing at her, “why so quiet? Anything wrong?”

Not looking at him. “No, ‘nothing’s’ wrong!”

Sensing a tightening in his stomach. “I’m getting to know you and I know when something’s eating you. What’s wrong?”

“Mitchell...” turning in his direction, “...you are ‘not’ one person anymore! You are ‘not’ single! You ‘are’ married!”

“Yeah...” the tone of her voice angering him, “...I know that I am ‘not’ single! I know that I ‘am’ maried! So?”

“So? You don’t act like you know that!”

“What the hell’s wrong? What in the ‘hell’ did I do now?”

“How’s about ‘before’ you make a decision that involves ‘both’ of us...” she said harshly, “...how’s about discussing it with ‘me’ first!”

“ ‘Decision’? What decision? Discuss ‘what’ with you first?”

“Your aunt Ida!”

Thrown by this, silent a second. “ ‘Aunt Ida’?” Looking at her questioningly. “What about Aunt Ida?”

“As far as I’m concerned this is our first real day together.”

“Yesterday wasn’t?”

“Yesterday doesn’t count because we ‘had’ to do that! Today’s the first day we’re together doing just what ‘we’, the two of us want to do!”

“Uh, we’re not doing ‘exactly’ what I wanted to do, but, yeah, ‘so’?”

“You didn’t ask me if I wanted to have breakfast with Ida!”

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay, I didn’t mind that. As a matter of fact I enjoyed it and I’m glad we did it and I’m glad we live across the street from her and I’m ‘sure’ we’ll get along just fine. But then…”

“So what in the ‘hell’s’ the fu... uh, problem?”

“You ‘had’ to ask her to come shopping with us! To buy a TV with us! To even open a bank account with us!”

“But she ‘didn’t’ did she? She’s ‘not’ here, is she?”

“No, she isn’t! But that’s not the point!”

“Jesus! So what is ‘the point’, then?”

“The point is, before you go making plans for us—for you and me—how’s about remembering that there is an ‘us’ and that ‘maybe’ I’d like to be asked and given a choice!”

“Are you telling me that before I do ‘anything’, before I say ‘anything’, I’m supposed to get approval from you first?”

“No, not ‘everything’, Mitchell! But if it affects me too, then ‘yes’! I’d like you to use your head ‘once in a while’ and talk to me first so that ‘maybe’ I can voice my opinion, too!”

“ ‘Use my head once in a while’? ‘Shit’! I didn’t know I was making a life and death decision there! I only accepted breakfast for us! And so long as we were going anyway, I asked an old lady if she wanted to get out of her house for a while! ‘Big deal’!” He glared at her, but Marsha had turned back to the window.

 Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: “Twinkies, Meatloaf & Sex