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

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“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 for 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 or 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 her house for a while! ‘Big deal’!” He glared at her, but Marsha had turned back to the window.

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The Second Day of Their Lives

Twinkies, Meatloaf & Sex

Seagate, New York —

December 19, 1955: 12:28 PM

Potatoes, tomatoes, onions, a head of lettuce, oranges, apples, bananas.

Marsha pushed the cart. Mitchell walked alongside.

White bread, chocolate chip cookies and, of course, Twinkies. She dropped a box of Cream of Wheat into the cart and then a box of Shredded Wheat.

They hadn’t spoken for about thirty-five minutes and their silence was deafening.

Napkins, paper towels…

“Marcie.”

….Toilet paper.

“What?” answered without looking at him.

“Look, baby,” draping his arm about her shoulders. “I’ve been thinking and I guess you’re right...”

He ‘really’ didn’t think she was right however and although he still felt that she was ‘making a mountain out of a molehill’— so he thought regarding his mother yesterday. —And like yesterday he found that he could not stand having her angry at him.

“...I ‘should’ have asked you first. I’m sorry and from now on, before I make any arrangements that involve us, you and me, I’ll try to remember to talk to you first. Okay?”

Potato chips, pop cornkernels.

Still silent… still…

Until passing through the candy aisle and taking his hand. “All you have to do is remember that it’s not just Mitchell anymore; it’s ‘us’, you and me: Mitchell ‘and’ Marsha.”

Relieved that Marsha had forgiven him and she was talking to him. “Okay,” he said as they were walking through the candy aisle. “Look...” taking a box off the shelf he dropped it in the basket, “...they’ve named a candy after us: ‘M&Ms’.”

Salt, pepper, cinnamon. Milk, butter, eggs.

The multitude of staples was filling the basket.

Face soap, scouring powder, steel-wool pads, a floor mop and a dust mop. Writing paper along with envelopes and a small, round bottle of ‘Carter’s Indelible Blue/Black Ink’.

Approaching the meat counter. “Any idea of what you’d like for dinner tonight?”

“Actually,” Mitchell said, “I thought we’d go out for dinner tonight. I’d like you to see Times Square, and there’s this ‘great’ Chinese rest…”

“No...” making the decision—by herself—“...I want to make dinner tonight. Tell you what!” Making another decision while picking up a one-pound package of ground chuck, “You like meatloaf….”

Unsure if she was asking or telling him.

“…I’ll make a meatloaf!”

“Have you ever done it before; make a meatloaf?”

“I’ve got a cookbook. What could be so hard about making meatloaf?”

By now needing a second shopping cart, into which also went the few items needed by Aunt Ida.

Mayonnaise, mustard, two types of salad dressings, catsuit, flour and sugar. They got aspirin, Band-Aids, cough syrup and a thermometer.

Glancing at Marsha, a thought passing between them. Remembering something he was rather sure they’ll be needing, soon, ‘very soon’; Mitchell put a small, round bottle of ‘Vaseline Petroleum Jelly’ into the cart.

****

“Wow...” Loading the last of the bags onto the back seat because the trunk still held some of their transported household items. “...that sure cost some dough!”

“Sorry, Mitch, but when you don’t have ‘anything’, you need ‘everything’.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not your fault things cost so much. But, ‘Jesus’, almost sixty bucks!”

**** 

The woman sitting behind the desk, ‘Miss Eunice Doupe’, asked, “What kind of an account?”

Neither ever opening a bank account.

“What do you mean?” Marsha asked.

“ ‘Checking’? ‘Savings’?”

“Oh, yes. A ‘checking account’, please.” Marsha said.

“A ‘joint’ account?”

“What do you mean?”

Becoming a bit peeved at these — in her opinion — two childish semi-adults. “Do you wish to have a checking account in ‘both’ your names?” Asked in a feigned, ‘tired of talking to you two’ tone.

Taking the initiative: “ ‘Yes’!” Mitchell said rather curtly.

Ignoring Mitchell. ‘Knowing’ who — literally — held the purse-strings in this minuscule family. “How much do you wish to open your account with?”

“Eight…” Stopping, thinking, Better ask, he looked at Marsha, “eight hundred okay?”

“No...”—making the decision—“...let’s make it nine.”

“That’ll only leave us about a hundred. We’ll need money for… Excuse me, Miss, uh,” looking at the nameplate on her desk, “uh, ‘Dopey’?”

She’d heard it at ‘least’ a million times. “The ‘correct’ pronunciation of my name,” the thin-faced, middle-aged lady said impatiently, “is ‘Due-pay’!”

“Oh. Yeah! Sorry, Miss Due… Uh, ...pay. Excuse me.” Holding his hand in front of Marsha’s ear. “This is supposed to be our honeymoon,” he whispered, “and we’ll need cash for spending ‘cause there’s lots of places I want to take you to see.”

“Okay’ We’ll make it eight hundred.”

Looking at Miss Doupe, “Can we write a check today?” Marsha asked. “We’re on our way to buy a television, and…”

“Yes!” Miss Doupe answered curtly. “So long as you’re depositing cash, I’ll give you some temporary checks to use until yours are printed. Until then, ask whomever you give a check to, to call here for confirmation… Now, what name would you like on this account?”

“Lipensky,” taking Marsha’s hand, “Mitchell and Marsha Lipensky. ‘L-I-P-E-N-S-K-Y.’”

**** 

“Know what?” Taking his eyes from his driving, looking at her,

“What?”

“That lady back at the bank—she’s a bitch.”

“Yeah, she ‘is’ a bitch!”

“You said ‘bitch’.” Laughing. “You’re learning!”

“And if she wants her name pronounced ‘DOU-PAY’, then’ damn-it’, she ought’a spell it that way.”

“Wow, a ‘damn-it’ too, eh!”

“ ‘Big deal’; you taught me to swear.”

**** 

“The guard on shift recognizing the car from when it had passed through better than two hours earlier, “You permanent residents here?”

“Yes, ‘Lipensky’,” Mitchell answered. “We’re at 2915 Neptune.”

Consulting the clipboard, “Got’ch’ya! Hold on.” Opening the desk drawer and making a notation on the clipboard, the guard handed Mitchell a numbered ‘Seagate’ decal. “When you get home,” he said, “put it here,” tapping the upper left corner of the windshield.

****

Marsha carried an armful of bags into the building as he ran across the street, bringing Ida her groceries. Mitchell then began the ‘many’ trips to and from the elevator, as Marsha — enjoyably — began to put it all away.

“Marcie, why are we putting all this stuff on shelves, if we’re just going to have to take all off to line the shelves?”

“Mitchie, I am ‘so’ glad to be here in ‘my’ kitchen in ‘my’ home with ‘my’ husband here with me…” hesitating, in thought, “... I don’t know why, but his is the way I want to do it.”

****

Cold foods in the refrigerator. Boxed and canned goods on the shelves in the kitchen cabinet designated as the ‘pantry’. Cleaning materials beneath the kitchen sink and medical items in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and...

...Because Marsha thought, When we need it, we’ll ‘need’ it! the small, round bottle of ‘Vaseline Petroleum Jelly’ went into the top drawer of the dresser along with the writing paper, envelopes and the small, round bottle of ‘Carter’s Indelible Blue/Black Ink’.

As Marsha finished in the kitchen, returning downstairs with a cup of water, Mitchell soaked the Seagate decal and pasted it on the inside, upper left-hand corner of the windshield.

**** 

They compared prices in three stores, then returned to the first and purchased a fifteen-inch, blonde-wood veneer, ‘Crosley’ console television set.

The carton didn’t fit in the now empty trunk so Mitchell lowered the top and — the salesman lending some muscle— the two men put the box onto the back seat before raising the top again.

It was becoming dark and snow was starting to fall as they parked in front of the building.

With Marsha now lending some muscle, the two were able to wrestle the carton out of the back seat of the Ford into the lobby into the elevator and into their apartment.

****

Marsha studied the ‘Niles Township, Jewish Congregation Sisterhood Cookbook’ given to her by Myra. Following the instructions ‘step by step’, she put the ground chuck into a bowl, as…

Mitchell cautiously unpacked the television set.

The ‘Niles Township, Jewish Congregation Sisterhood Cookbook’ book: 1-½ lb. ground beef… It’s only a pound, Marsha thought, so I’ll put a little less of everything in. As...

Mitchell positioned the television set…

The book: 1 t. salt I’ll use three-quarters of a teaspoon. As...

…in the right hand corner, to the left of the long closet…

The book: ½ t dry mustard. Uh-oh, don’t have any dry mustard. Oh, well, we’ll have to get along without dry mustard. How much difference can there be? So in went a half teaspoon of ‘French’s Prepared Mustard’. As...

…and plugged it into the wall socket.

The book: ½ t ground pepper. Oh, almost a teaspoon ought to do it…Marsha’s eyes drawn to the next ingredient. The book: 2’ T’… As...

“Marcie,” Mitchell called, “this about where you want it?”

“Uh...” her concentration broken, she looked up. “Yes, Mitch, that looks about right.” Remembering the next ingredient: 2 t pepper. Eh, I’ll use one and a half. Filling a tablespoon she sprinkled it over the meat, then another half, as…

Mitchell turned the set on, and…

The book: 2 T chili sauce.

Oops, don’t have any chili sauce either but catsup ought to do. As...

…the black and white picture erupted into a series of squiggling horizontal bars.

The book: ¼ cup water. Marsha thought, just as little water. As…

Looking in the carton, Mitchell found the rabbit-ears antenna and…

The book: 2 eggs. Marsha cracked two eggs and dropped them into the bowl. As...

…attached them to the terminals behind the set. And…

The book: 1 cup ‘corn flakes’. They hadn’t bought ‘Corn Flakes’ so, shrugging her shoulders, Marsha crumbled ‘Shredded Wheat’ into the bowl. As...

…the squiggling lines solidified and as he turned the rabbit ears: squaring at the corners, the picture become the ‘six o’clock news’.

The book: Beat eggs and water, add seasoning, blend well and put into a cooking pan.. Uh… The eggs and water already laying upon her pound of ground chuck... oh, well Having washed her hands before beginning…

Other than soft, hard or scrambled, Marsha had never prepared ‘anything’ that even resembled something ‘anyone’ might even ‘consider’ eating, so…

Closing her eyes, Marsha haltingly put her right hand into the bowl of ground chuck, salt, pepper — lots of pepper— ‘French’s Prepared Mustard’, catsup and crumbled ‘Shredded Wheat’ and, squishing and straining through her fingers, Marsha ‘blended well’.

****

An hour later, lying on the floor nibbling potato chips while watching ‘I Love Lucy’. “Marcie, that smells ‘fantastic’! You sure I can’t help set the table or something?”

“Tomorrow, maybe…

This being Marsha Lipensky’s very first prepared meal in her very own home...

...But tonight I want to do it all myself.”

In addition to meatloaf, Marsha had made mashed potatoes and a fresh salad, and had warmed up a can of peas.

Setting the table with ‘Melmac’ dishes given them by Morris and Jennie. “Mitch, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, honey.”

“How come, do you think, your grandparents got us dishes these colors?”

Thinking a moment he came up with the only possible—though not too logical—answer: “It makes sense if you think about it.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“You got them at the shower your aunts threw for you in October, right?”

Having no idea what he was getting at. “Yes.”

“Halloween’s in October. If they got them for us now, in December, they’d probably be red and green.”

Thinking a moment. Coming up with the same ‘illogical’ answer. “Yeah, I guess,” she said, adding, “Okay, it’s ready! Come and get it!”

“Marcie,,Baby! that looks ‘wonderful’!”

Aligned perfectly: Two orange dinner plates were directly across from each other... To the right of the orange dishes were black salad bowls... To the left of the dishes was a folded paper napkin and upon each napkin a stainless steel knife, fork and spoon. Directly in front of the orange dishes were clear, twelve-ounce plastic glasses filled with ice cubes and strawberry ‘pop’ in Chicago, in New York, ‘soda’. At one side of the table, a large pad of butter melting in the middle, was a black bowl filled with mashed potatoes. At the other side of the table, with butter melting within also, was an orange bowl with peas. Next to the orange bowl with peas were black and orange salt and pepper shakers... Alongside the black bowl were the two bottles of salad dressing. At the exact center of the table, steaming on an orange platter, looking picture perfect was Marsha’s meatloaf…

Of which she served her husband a ‘man-sized’ helping, along with peas and potatoes.

Marsha then served herself.

Watching the look of pride on her face. Waiting for her to finish serving… Now, the look on her face changing, “Marcie, what’s wrong?”

“Mitchie,” blinking her eyes, “I feel like crying.”

Actually... “What’s the matter, baby?” ...he could see that she ‘was’ crying.

“Nothing’s the matter. It’s just that I’m so happy. I still can’t believe that we’re really married and here...” motioning about the room, “in our own home, and that I’ve just made ‘our’ very first meal.”

“Marcie, I love you!” Holding his glass of strawberry ‘pop’ forward. “May this be the first of a million meals together.”

Lifting her glass, the plastic ‘klunked’as the rims touched.

Looking at each other, each felt the emotion of this once-in-a-lifetime memorable moment.

Putting their glasses down, Marsha watched for Mitchell’s reaction to her meatloaf as he cut a large piece of it with the edge of his fork... Speared it... put it into his mouth and chewed a second or two until, “Ulp!”

Marsha got his reaction, as...

“Ulp!” Taking a forkful of mashed potatoes he shoveled the potatoes into his mouth also.

“What’s, the matter?”

“Uh. It’s...” forcibly swallowing, “...nothing, it’s…” swallowing again, “...great.”

Watching her watch him, he took another piece of meatloaf—a ‘much’ smaller piece of meatloaf. Before bringing it to his mouth, however, he swept the fork through the mound of mashed potatoes on his plate loading his fork with mashed potatoes and then, putting it to his mouth, “ ‘mmmm, it’s ‘great’!” he — once agai —said through pursed lips before taking swig of strawberry pop to wash it down.

Puzzled, Marsha cut into the meatloaf, put it into her mouth, and… “ ‘Ulp’!” Rushing into the bathroom and bowing her head over the toilet, “ ‘Yaght’!” spitting it out... “Don’t eat it!” she yelled. “It’ll ‘kill’ you!”

In the kitchen, Oh, God... looking skyward, … ‘thank you’!

Still in the bathroom gargling with mouthwash. “Don’t know what I did wrong.”

Returning to the kitchen. “I followed the directions.” Taking the cookbook from their makeshift pantry, opening to the meatloaf page, scanning the directions. “Uh-oh...” Marsha said, “...guess I made kind of a ‘little’ mistake.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “What kind of a ‘little’ mistake?”

“The book says to use a half-teaspoon of ground pepper for a pound and a half meatloaf and I thought I’d use about a quarter-teaspoon, but…” she said sheepishly, “I used a...”—remembering at the time it did seem just a bit excessive—“a tablespoon and…”

“A ‘tablespoon’! A ‘full’ tablespoon of pepper?”

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t all.”

“You used ‘more’ than a tablespoon of pepper?”

“Well, yeah. Actually, I used a tablespoon and a half.”

“A tablespoon and a ‘half’ of pepper for a one pound meatloaf?”

“Well, no.”

“Well no, what?”

“I used a ‘heaping’ tablespoon and a half…”

“For a one pound meatloaf?”

Biting her lower lip, “Yeah,” blinking her eyes rapidly.

“Poor baby.” Coming to her. Kneeling before the chair. Putting both arms about her waist. Hugging her, “It’s okay, baby.”

Putting her head on his shoulder, “Oh, Mitchie.”

“Look at it this way, baby...”—tempted to say ‘almost’—“...anyone can make a meatloaf.” His hand flat upon her back, feeling Marsha gasp. “And if this meal were perfect...” patting her back. “...sooner or latter we’d forget about it. But this way your ‘very’ first meal... uh... it’s kind of, uh, memorable and we’ll ‘always’ remember it.” Feeling her gasp again, and again, “So please, honey, don’t cry.”

Marsha was not crying, really—she was laughing.

The Third Day of Their Lives

December 20, 1955

All Day

As Marsha had stated: On this day we have ‘lots’ of stuff to do 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 to do today!”

On this day, the third day of their lives Marsha Lipensky transformed a one room apartment into ‘home’.

The Fourth Day of Their Lives

December 21, 1955: 9:42 AM

Spreading cream cheese on a toasted bagel, “Know what I’d like to do today?”

“Yeah,” she looked at him, “go to the city and show me the sights.”

“No, ‘wise guy’! It’s so beautiful out that I feel like going for a long ride, maybe even getting lost someplace.”

Taking a spoonful of ‘Cream of Wheat’, speaking in her Yiddish dialect, “Dot drive ve took hon Sunday, it fussant long enough for you, Mister La-pish-ky?”

“Yeah,” laughing, “but that was three days ago. Tell you what, Marcie, how’d you like to see Long Island?”

“Sure. Vitch’hever vey ve go, hit’s hokay vit me.”

Dropping the dialect, “My period’s over.”

The smile leaving his face. “Huh?”

“Yeah. You heard me. I’m not bleeding anymore.”

“God, Marcie, that’s ‘great’!” Taking both her hands in his. “But I don’t understand. You said it would take six days.”

“It started Friday night, and sometimes this happens; it’ll start when it shouldn’t and end early.”

Standing, “Marcie...” going to her, dropping onto his knees before her, “...let’s do it now, honey! I’ve waited all my life to make love to you. ‘Please’, let’s do it now!”

“Mitchie...” holding his face within her hands. “...I’ve been waiting all my life, too. And you know I’m just as anxious as you, but I’ve been thinking about it, and because this is the first time for both of us, I think it’s real important that we do it right, and in a way that we’ll both remember all our lives.”

“ ‘Believe’ me, Marcie...” said with passionate enthusiasm, “...I’ll remember, no matter ‘how’ we do it!”

“I know, baby...” speaking seriously, “...and so will I. But making love, ‘really’ making love for the first time, I don’t think should be done at...” glancing at the clock on the wall, “...ten o’clock in the morning on a bright, sunny day.”

“Okay...” purposely missing her point, standing, “...I’ll pull the drapes.”

“No, Mitchie!” Holding him back. “We’ve both waited so long; all our lives. Let’s wait just a little longer. Let’s wait till later when it’s nighttime and I ‘promise’...” smiling seductively, “...you ‘won’t’ be sorry ‘cause I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

A ‘surprise for me’? What kind‘a surprise?”

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise, will it?”

“I’m sure I won’t be sorry no matter when we do it, but…” Looking into her dark eyes. “A ‘surprise’ huh?... Okay, honey, if that’s how you want it, we’ll wait till tonight.”

“Thank you.” Knowing his ‘intent’ might not be as strong as his ‘drive’. Also knowing that once they were outside he’ll have no choice but to wait till later.

Carrying her cup and dish to the sink. “Give me a minute to straighten up here, then let’s get lost someplace.”

**** 

They drove east on the Shore Parkway to U.S. 687. Went north to U.S. 495 and east to U.S. 295… north to ‘25A’ and east through ‘Little Neck’ to ‘Great Neck’, then north to ‘King’s Point’.

At King’s Point they had a romantic, leisurely lunch at a restaurant overlooking Long Island Sound.

They drove through King’s Point Park where Mitchell tried to get lost but now —because he wanted to — for the first time in his life couldn’t and somehow the Ford kept finding its way back to the main highway.

They held hands. They hugged. They kissed. They talked.

But the thought of ‘later’ and what ‘later’ held was never far from the minds of either Marsha or Mitchell.

God’s Carrot

Throughout most of the evening and now, because it ‘was’ later… And ‘almost’ time, each felt the monumental stress caused by this long day’s anticipation of the start of the act which by now was ‘anything’ but spontaneous; anxiety over the act itself and tremendous, possibly undue expectation because of the—in their minds— act’s ‘legendary’ climatic completion.

****

For Marsha, sexual intercourse was something she’d thought about with mild curiosity throughout most of the last several years— but in the ‘abstract’ rather than the ‘personal’, both, because of her hatred of her mother’s promiscuity and also because she had never known anyone whom she loved enough to even imagine herself being in any type of ‘truly’ sexual situation with—until Mitchell.

As for Mitchell Lipensky; he ‘truly’ believed that God was against his ‘ever’ completing the act of physical intercourse.

The thought of ‘now’ and the expectancy of ‘finally’ completing the act ‘tonight’ was almost more than he could fully comprehend and Mitchell was ‘positive’ that ‘somehow’, ‘someway’ something was bound to happen and as much as he was looking forward to being with— for the very first time— a fully-nude Marsha, and just looking at her and touching her and ‘actually’— veritably entering and physically becoming a part of her body… Of becoming a part of Marsha.

…Mitchell Lipensky could not help but wonder, What’s going to happen now?

****

Since dinner and throughout the early evening the husband and wife sat closely together; solicitous of each other’s slightest inclination.

Each wanted to ‘get on’ with it but suddenly— for unknown reasons— both felt ‘shy’ and what had earlier been ‘impulsive’ and ‘instinctive’ now became…? ‘Obvious’ and both prayed for some motion by the other that would initiate the stimuli for spontaneous action.

**** 

Finding the words at nine-thirty, standing, stretching, “Think I’ll hop in the shower.”

“Good idea.” Glad he finally made a move, “I’ll go after you.”

Taking his robe, going into the bathroom he closed the door.

Within five minutes the shower went off. Within another five minutes, also having shaved, brushed his teeth and hair. Coming from the bathroom wearing his closed and belted robe, “Sorry, I got it all steamed up.”

Marsha had opened the sofa and made the bed.

Looking at him, thinking, We’re going to be together! ‘Really’ together!

The knowledge of what she ‘knew’ was soon to happen, ‘truly’ happen, ‘soon’. registered on her mind and because Mitchell would— literally —be within her, Marsha’s heart began to pound. Afraid her voice would betray the thrilled yet fearful emotions she felt,…

Saying nothing. Taking the imitation lizard case along with her, going into the bathroom Marsha closed the door.

Removing his robe Mitchell lay upon the top of the blanket, nude.

Within a few minutes he heard the sound of the shower.

Simultaneously feeling erotic anxiety and nervous apprehension, knowing—having learned a bit about his wife in the last four days—that without a doubt it would take Marsha, at the very least, minimally a half-hour, yet, staring at the door, Mitchell waited for it to open.

The television was on, but his visual concentration was so focused on the bathroom door and his mental concentration so focused on what he knew was soon to happen, truly happen, God willing, soon, maybe, that he was not aware that the television was on or of the flickering shadows he saw from his peripheral vision.

We are going to do it! Actually going to do it! I am going to be inside Marsha! Nothing bad is going to happen! Nothing is going to stop it… ‘Nothing’!

These thoughts did not necessarily come as statements of fact, but more so as a confirmation of what he was ‘trying’ to convince himself as ‘unalterable’, iron-clad facts.

Marsha and me, we’re ‘really’ going to make love! Mitchell no longer thought of the word ‘fuck’ in relation to his wife. When he thought of intercourse with Marsha, he thought ‘it’ or ‘make love’. But when he thought of himself individually, he still thought ‘fuck’.

I ‘am’ going to get fucked! Closing his eyes, trying to make himself think of this as a categorical fact, I am going to put this—holding his limp penis—inside Marsha! I am going to be inside Marsha!

Holding himself. Imagining himself inside Marsha’s vagina, he manipulated himself until he was no longer limp…

Opening his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Since he was fifteen God had dangled that carrot in front of him and always pulled it away…

But ‘No’! Nothing was going to happen to stop it now…

‘Nothing’!

Coming off the bed, he stood before the dresser mirror.

At twenty-one years of age Mitchell’s face was youthful and handsome. His eyes were clear and his hair shone with a healthy sheen. His chest and arms solid. His stomach and buttocks tight. His calves and thighs muscled, and…

Next “Becoming” excerpt in sequence: “Becoming”: God’s Carrot