A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Two Birthdays”
“You and that wife of yours must think we’re really beasts!” His anger apparent. “Do you ‘really’ think your mother and me want to see our son and grandson out in the street, or living with that bitch of a mother-in-law of yours? Don’t be ‘stupid’! Of ‘course’ you’ve still got a job!”
****
“Mother, we had a’ horrible’ fight tonight!” Omitting the ‘whore’ part, but telling everything else.
****
“Myra, I’m calling to tell you that your son just had a heart attack,” Rhea said calmly, then hung up.
****
Strangely, no one called to find out if in fact Mitchell had.
________________________________________________
Chicago, Illinois
February, March and April, 1958
As so often happens, when a young man and woman marry they will gravitate slightly, or occasionally not so slightly to one or the other’s family, and/or to his or her circle of friends.
In many cases the choice becomes the decision of the woman.
Well remembering her childhood. Still feeling the effect of the years of neglect and verbal abuse by her mother, and the neglect and ostracism of her aunts and as Mitchell’s relatives on both sides of his family seemed to like her— and to show it. Because of her need of acceptance Marsha found it easy and did not have the slightest compunction about swinging away from her family and allowing herself and her son to become more so members of her husband’s family.
When Marsha wasn’t hounded by the ‘mom syndrome’, then she, too, allowed herself to relax and— forgetting the ‘coffee cup incident’, would feel an affection ‘of sorts’ for Myra.
Although the strong attachment she’d had for her father-in-law early in their relationship never returned, she would feel a slight affection for Walter also.
In fact, Marsha was fond of most of Mitchell’s relatives. True, she could do without his older cousin, but Marvin had delusions of grandeur and was rarely at family functions anyway. She loved Morris, Mitchell’s grandfather, and although she thought Jennie was a ‘kvetch’, (one that complains), she liked his grandmother, too. As for her attachment to Mortie and Larry: in her mind the boys were as her own brothers and Marsha’s love for them was evident whenever they were together.
After three days of icy stares and cold, clipped words — and this only because working together they must occasionally speak to each other, Mitchell and his parents formed a truce of sorts and short of ever mentioning Marsha’s name, the relationship between the parents and son came back on track, more or less.
Besides, by this time a few of Mitchell’s freezing and broiling days walking the streets of Michigan Avenue had paid off as occasionally a call would come into the studio asking for Mitchell and — more than merely covering his draw, at the end of the month there would be an additional commission check.
True to her word, Marsha not only allowed Mitchell to take Michael to visit his grandparents at least once a week, but often had to prompt her husband to do so.
Occasionally permission was even granted for her child to be left in the care of Myra and Walter overnight.
Seemingly— at least for the time being, Myra and Walter were able to live with conditions just as, and such as they were.
Though inborn stubbornness prevented her from showing or saying so, Marsha did miss the family functions and the time she no longer spent with her adopted aunts, uncles and grandparents. Most of all, she missed Larry and Mortie.
However Marsha definitely was able to live with conditions just as, and such as they were.
Myra by this time had convinced herself that the dissolution of relations between herself and her daughter-in-law was fully the fault of Marsha and this gave her the reason and—so she thought—the right to proclaim her daughter-in-law as the ‘wrong’ one...the bad one and she the ‘wronged’ one—the good one.
In her need for justification and attention, Mura began an immediate campaign of ‘My ‘dear’, ‘sweet’ daughter-in-law had the ‘nerve’…” And ‘My ‘dear’, ‘sweet’ daughter-in-law said’…”
And did… And said… And did…!
By the time Myra was through, because, after all, she was one of them, the family that had liked and accepted Marsha as a member of the family no longer did.
For the first few weeks—once the anger between Mitchell and his parents had been resolved—Mitchell had felt obligated to bring his son to, and spend at least one day a week at the home of his parents.
Soon, though, without his wife, that one day a week began to have a core of loneliness and he no longer wanted to spend an entire day without his wife, because without his wife…
To spend an entire day without having Marsha to kiss… To spend an ‘entire’ day without Marsha’s hand to hold and, yes, now and then her tush to pat… To spend a whole day without the feeling of well-being… Without the sense of comfort Marsha gave him by just being nearby…
Even with his family, without Marsha, Mitchell felt alone.
Even if his mother, father and wife ‘were’ able to live with conditions just as, and as such as they were, Mitchell Lipensky…?
If, because of this family separation all ‘mom’ pressure was removed.
If, because of this family separation his wife no longer said, ‘Your mother did or said this’! … ‘Or that.’
If, because of this family separation his mother no longer said ‘Your wife said or did that’!
If he was relieved of this mother/wife pressure, why then did he always feel so damned hollow? Why then was he so damned miserable?
Why? Because his family was not simply ‘his’ parents and brothers on Saturday or Sunday and Marsha on all other days. His family was ‘his’ family! His family included all whom he loved: his parents, his brothers and, most of all, his son and his wife!
****
On the fifth Sunday, he said, “Mom, I hate the way things are now, and would really like to have this thing ended between you’n’dad.”
Well aware of whom her son was speaking, and the unequivocal fact that Marsha would never do it, “Well...” she responded, “...if your ‘dear’, ‘sweet’ wife wants to apologise to your father and me for what she said, ‘maybe’ we’ll consider forgiving her.”
Yeah! Sure! Talk about a snowball’s chance in hell!
“Mom, that’s ‘not’ what I said! I said I ‘hate’ the way things are now and that I’d like to see this thing over with. And by now you know Marsha well enough to know she’s ‘not’ going to apologise!”
Reluctant to further inflame the situation, he did not say what he was thinking and this ‘certainly’ was still a large part of the problem between his parents, himself and his wife. He never told his mother and father what was really on his mind, which now was:What in the hell’s Marsha got to apologise for? You’n’dad started this whole damned thing! This whole thing is your fault!
****
“Honey...” he said to Marsha shortly after he and Michael came home that fifth Sunday, “...I miss you when I’m not with you and really hate having to go to my parents without you.”
“Sorry, Mitchell, but that’s just the way it’s got to be.”
“Look, they know they screwed up royally and my mother told me to tell you...”—lying through his teeth—“...she’s sorry about what happened and if you want to…”
“Well...” cutting him off, “...I ‘don’t’ want to ‘anything’, Mitchell! Forget it, Mitchell! I hate both of them and so far as I’m concerned I don’t care if I ‘ever ‘see them again!”
“Not ‘ever’ Marcie? Not ever is a long time!”
“If you want to have a fight with me, Mitchell, keep it up, Mitchell!”
“No,” he said quietly, “I do not want have a fight with you.”
But hurt because she didn’t care about his feelings also quitely angry because she’d flatly refused to consider even a ‘sometime in the future’ reconciliation he did not— except when absolutely necessary speak to Marsha for the rest of the evening.
And because he didn’t talk to her on Sunday, she refused to speak to him on Monday.
Though there was a definite absence of tension in his life due to the lack of contact between these two strong willed women. Stupidly not realising how much better his life would be if his wife and mother did remain apart, the thought of a truce between these two was never far from Mitchell’s mind and soon—really stupidly—putting this thing between his parents and wife that he apparently had ‘no’ control over became a full blown obsession.
Also, alas, the seed of the thought the son had planted in the mother’s mind soon become a growing notion of Myra’s also and as weeks passed, knowing her daughter-in-law wanted nothing to do with her became something Myra wanted to change also—however, this did not stop her ‘disparage Marsha campaign’ and she, too, became obsessed with receiving what she knew she’d never receive: an apology…
Which, of course, Mitchell never mentioned to his wife.
As more time and weekly visits passed, Myra told her son to tell his wife that she—very magnanimously—was willing to allow Marsha back into her home without an apology.
Then, within the course of another week, her estranged daughter-in-law became as her long lost daughter and Myra tearfully told her son how much she missed Marsha and if only she’d relent and become a member of the family again.…
Although until that time she had only ‘spoken’ to her son about it, now, once again, relentless nagging began over something Myra had to know Mitchell had absolutely no control over.
Through all of this, Marsha’s ‘not as a snowball’s chance in hell’ attitude towards a reconciliation with her in-laws remained rock hard.
Finally—although too late—realising he should have left well enough alone, Mitchell Lipensky once again placed himself between a rock and a hard place.
March 22, 1958
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Mi-key! Happy birthday to you!”
Because that year the 23rd fell on Sunday, Cricket…
“Walt...”Myra said laughing, “...get a picture of that!”
…got the chance to lick the glop of mashed chocolate and whipped cream from Michael Lipensky’s birthday cake off the one year old’s cheek at the home of his grandparents in Skokie on Saturday, the 22nd.
March 23, 1958
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Mi-key! Happy birthday to you!”
One year old Michael Lipensky got to stick both hands into another birthday cake, and rub the vanilla cake and whipped cream glop over his face in the home of his other grandparents in Chicago on Sunday, the 23rd.
Mikey’s mother did not attend her son’s very first birthday party in the home of her in-laws’ on Saturday, but rather sat home, depressed, by herself.
Mikey’s father— retribution playing within his mind, at the last moment he did decide to attend his son’s true first birthday in the home of his in-laws on Sunday, rather than sitting home alone.
Monday, April 7, 1958
Reluctant to ask, he’d been quiet since coming home from work.
Aware… So aware of his moods: knowing that at this time this seemed to take precedence over, even, his mostly one sided conversations about sex, or the lack of sex; knowing full well where his mind was, Marsha waited for him to say…
Playing with his mashed potatoes, “Marcie,” watching the white, gloppy furrows squeeze through the tines of his fork, working up the courage. “Wednesday’s my dad’s birthday, and my mom’s having everyone over on Sunday, so please... ‘please’, baby, let’s end it. Please come with Mikey and me!”
Taking a long moment, drawing her feigned attention from her meal. “No!”
“Marcie, come on! You can’t keep this up forever,” he said pleadingly. “My mother’s promised it’ll be like nothing’s happened and you’ll come in the house and they’ll say ‘Hi’ and it’ll be over.”
“Mitchell...” speaking through clenched teeth, “... ‘I- said- no’!”
Never knowing when to quit…
“They want to make up, Marcie! They really miss you!”
Slamming her fork onto the table. “Leave me alone, Mitchell!”
In his highchair, startled, Michael began to cry.
“Marsha, why?” He said angrily, “You’ve won! Why go on with this? What in the hell do you want from them?”
“What do I want from them?” Standing, going to the cabinet beneath the sink, Marsha dumped her unfinished meal into the garbage can. “I want you and your god-damned family to ‘leave me alone’!”
For once, thinking it best to just drop it, Mitchell, ‘very’ wisely, dropped it.
Next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Scotch And Guns”
