A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “To Dream No More”
Des Plaines, llinois
November 19, 1963
“Lizzy, I love you!”
3:47 a.m.
Her cramps coming on…
“Lizzy, I love you!”
…Unable to sleep, her eyes snapping open staring into the darkness.
“Lizzy, I love you!”
The sound of his own voice awakening him, his eyes snapping open staring into the darkness. Did I really say that? he thought, or did I just dream I said that?
Laying perfectly still, listening for the sleeping sound of his wife’s breathing. But, outside of his beating heart that sounded as a drum in his chest, he heard nothing.
Laying perfectly still, no longer hearing the sleeping sound of her husband’s breathing.
Now putting one and one together. Now able to ‘put her finger on it’.
“Mitchell.”
The sound of his name coming from the lips of his wife sounding as a rifle shot in the silent room.
“Mitchell.”
Pretending not to hear. Pretending sleep…
“I know you’re awake.” Hesitating a moment, bluntly asked, “Have you been seeing Elizabeth?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t pretend! I know you’re awake and I want to know! Have you been seeing Elizabeth?”
“ ‘Elizabeth’? Marsha, no!”
“Do you love her? I heard you! Don’t lie to me!”
Not wanting to wake the children, attempting to keep her voice down.
“You said you love her! Have you been seeing her? Do you love her?”
“In my sleep?” Trying to stay calm. “You heard me say something in my sleep and you’re mad at that?”
“ ‘Yes’.” Turning the lamp on, “You said, ‘Lizzy, I love you!’ And now it makes sense.”
Blinking his eyes at the sudden brightness. “Because I said something in my sleep, now ‘what makes sense’?”
“The way you’ve been treating me.”
“ ‘The way I’ve been treating you’? What way have I been treating you?”
“Like you don’t give a damn, Mitchell! You don’t touch me anymore! You don’t talk to me anymore!”
Remaining uncharacteristically calm, especially under these circumstances.
Leaning over him, staring into his eyes, “I know when you’re lying to me and I want to know: have you been seeing Elizabeth?”
All of this time, since his first liaison with Elizabeth, Mitchell had been concerned because he was afraid his secret would be discovered by some outside source, or there would be a telltale sign on his person. But ‘his’ mouth? From his ‘own’ mouth… While asleep? Okay, he thought, now’s the time. If I want out of this marriage, now’s the time
His stomach tightening, however, “ ‘No’!” he said emphatically. “I have ‘not’ been seeing Elizabeth!”
Snarling… but notsmiling. “I don’t believe you! I know when you’re lying and you’re lying now! Aren’t you?”
Silence…
Staring at him, “Answer me, damn-it!”
His eyes downcast, Mitchell said nothing.
Getting up, “The kids don’t have to hear this!” Marsha went into the hallway and closed the children’s bedroom doors. Returning, she closed their door also.
Wanting an answer! “Have you been seeing that fat ass bitch?” Demanding an answer, she slapped him. “You want a divorce?”
Not expecting the slap, the direct question, however, throwing him, thinking, Do I want a divorce? Do I want to live away from my children? Rubbing his cheek, “I don’t know what I want,” he answered.
“Well I know what I want!”
Needing time to think away from Marsha’s direct gaze, moving to the far side he sat on the edge of the mattress.
“I want you out of here!”
Turning, he looked at her. “What?”
“I said, ‘I want you out of here’!”
“This is my house, too, you can’t…”
“Yeah, I ‘can’! You hate me and, umm…” thinking a moment, “I’m afraid of you and I want you out of this house!”
“ ‘You’re afraid of me’?” Looking skyward. “Oh, I get it. Here we go again, huh Marsha?”
Mimicking, “Yeah, ‘here we go again’, Mitchell!”
“And I ‘don’t’ hate you and you know god-damned well that I’d never hurt you!”
“You’ve hit me before and you do hate me and I… To tell the truth, Mitchell…” Her lip curling, bringing forward her, by now, very familiar show of disgust, “…I hate you, too! And I’m glad this happened so I can be rid of you.”
“You really mean that, huh? You’re ‘really’ throwing me out, again?”
“Oh, yes! I am! ‘Again’! And maybe the third time’ll be the charm and I’ll be rid of you, ‘really’!”
“Yeah, Marsha, this is the third time you’re doing this, you know: wrecking our marriage.”
“ ‘Me’?” said indignantly. “ ‘I’m’ wrecking our marriage?”
Cowardice? Fear of the agony of going through a divorce? Fear of losing his life with his children? What he’d wanted—to spend his life with Elizabeth—now within reach.
Now wanting to hold his life together. Now grasping at straws,
“Yes! Let’s talk to someone to see if we can find a way to…”
“To ‘what’, Mitchell? Talk to ‘who’?”
“A rabbi! Someone…”
“We don’t have a rabbi! And to talk to someone so you can tell them what a shitty wife I am?”
“No, Marsha. To see if we can…”
“Mitchell,”—said through clenched teeth—“I don’t know how to say this so your stupid brain will understand, but I ‘hate’ you!” Her voice lowering, “I hate you with all of my heart and I want you out of my life and out of my house!”
Staring at her, “You really mean that!”
“Yeah, I do!” Her voice rising once again, “I ‘really’ do mean it! Tell me...” Marsha asked, “...when were you fucking her? When you were supposed to be working?”
Silence…
“You know...” lowering her voice, “...one call and I could get both of you fired! But I’m not going to call Transco. because I don’t want you to lose your job because you’re going to need money…”
“Marsha…”
“…to support us—the kids and me—and, though I don’t really give a damn, for wherever you plan on living.”
“The kids…”
“I want you to take whatever you’ll need for a few days and get out of here, now!”
“What’ll we tell the kids?”
Still speaking in a somewhat calm tone. “ ‘Me’, not ‘we’! Tomorrow morning I’ll tell them that you and me are not going to live together anymore and that you’ll…” hesitating, fighting tears, “...still be their daddy and that you’ll see them in a few days.”
“Where am I supposed to go now?” Glancing at the clock, “It’s four in the morning.”
“I don’t care!” Her voice rising, “Go to your parents!” Her voice lowering again, “Go to that whore! Just get out!”
Waiting for him to move… When he didn’t, going from the bed to the walk in closet. Taking a large suitcase from behind a row of hanging clothing.
“Go live with Elizabeth!” Slapping the suitcase onto the bed, she opened it.
Going to his dresser, pulling the top drawer open, grabbing handfuls of underpants, T-shirts and socks, she threw them into the suitcase.
“Take whatever the hell you think you’ll need for a few days and you can come back on Saturday, if you want, so you can see the kids and take whatever else you’ll need.”
His wife’s making mountains out-mole-hills temperament always a mystery to Mitchell, but now actually a bit dumbfounded at her somewhat calm attitude.
Thinking it best to leave before hysteria and possibly another — so he guiltily thought, deserved slap that he might physically respond to… which was something he certainly did ‘not’ want to do.
Dressing, “Okay...” he said, “...I’ll leave now because I don’t want to bother the kids. But you be sure to tell them that this has ‘nothing’ to do with them, please.”
“Don’t you tell me what to tell my children! I know this is going to hurt them, and you should know me well enough to know that I’m not going say anything to hurt them any more than you have.”
This day being Monday and knowing he had an appointment with a major customer later that morning and knowing he had to, at least, see the customer.
Selling envelopes or ‘anything’ on this day was the very last thing he wanted to do.
Laying a pair of dress slacks as neatly as possible onto the mound of his underwear and socks, he added a pair of chinos.
Tempted to say, ‘You walked out on me three times, so I guess it’s my turn now’. But knowing how quickly Marsha’s fragile facade of calmness could shatter, he wisely thought, Better not.
Laying a dress shirt and tie along with two sport shirts and the dress shoes he worked in, then going into the bathroom he took his razor and toothbrush.
In a way being somewhat relived at the calm way this was ging, “When I come back on Saturday, we’ll go to the store. Anything you need now?”
“Just leave some money! If I need anything...” she said harshly, “...I’ll go to the store with Paulette or Eileen.”
Marsha sitting on the edge of the bed, Mitchell standing alongside.
“I want a divorce!”
Anticipating his life with Elizabeth…
“You mean that, Marsha? You ‘really’ want a divorce?”
“Oh, yeah! I do!”’
The remembrance but as a flash in the mind..
“I guess then, that we made one big fucking mistake back then.”
Thinking a moment.
The remembrance but as a flash in the mind.
“Yeah, Mitchell, I sure guess that we ‘did’ make one big ‘fucking’ mistake back then.
Retrospective 29
Chicago, Illinois: 6/24/57
Leaving their baby in care of her mother, Marsha left the apartment at 1:40, walked to Sheridan Road, and took the south bound bus to Devon Avenue, where she walked the half block to the ‘El’ station. She then took the ‘Loop’ elevated to Randolph Street, walked the two blocks to LaSalle Street and the ‘Cook County Court House’..
Each second bringing her closer to the time, each step bringing her closer to the place, Marsha’s unbending resolve began to bend, and...
If only he’d…? If only I’d…?
Compromises for her heretofore uncompromising reasoning coming to mind, Marsha became fearful because of what she knew was about to happen!
And because she was about to see Mitchell and because ‘truly’, she did not know what her reaction would be when she did see him, beads of sweat prickled her hairline and the palms of her hands became damp.
Arriving at the courthouse twenty minutes early, expecting to bump into her husband at any minute, Marsha breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator door opened and she stepped inside.
Coming off the elevator on the fifth floor. Looking about the crowded, dingy hall. Still not seeing Mitchell, looking for the courtroom, she walked first in one direction, than the other.
Finding room 508—somewhat reminding her of the ‘Public Health’ waiting room in New York City—Marsha sat uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench outside the courtroom, apprehensively waiting, watching for her lawyer… and her husband.
***
Leaving the house at 1:45, it took a few minutes short of an hour to get downtown, where he parked the car in the lot across the street from the County building.
Even though he’d conditioned himself into thinking, Fuck it. Waiting for the elevator, searching his jacket then his pants’ pockets. Finding the letter from Don Hoffman, glancing at it while expecting to bump into his wife at any moment. As the door opened, breathing a sigh of relief he stepped inside.
Glancing at the elevator operator. “Five, please.”
Coming off the elevator, turning right, he began to walk, and…
She saw him… Oh, my God!
He saw her… Oh, my God!
Walking: 522… 520… 518…
She felt the prickling sensation on her head as, again, droplets of perspiration pushed their way through the pores of her scalp. As…
Walking: 516… 514… 512…
Feeling the thumping of his heart, wiping his suddenly wet palms on the sides of his slacks. As…
Tempted to look away, to pretend she didn’t see him, Marsha forced herself to look directly at him. As…
510…
Through layers of tan, the shock of seeing each other once again turned her complexion to… khaki? and his… auburn? And…
Thinking, Fuck it! Looking directly at her, smiling a smile that could successfully adorn a toothpaste ad, coming abreast, “Hi’ya, ‘sweetie’!” he said facetiously. And…
In the eye locked seconds it took him to come alongside, Marsha noted that he’d lost a few pounds, which she liked. And his tan, made even richer by his blush, brought out the green of his eyes and the white of his teeth and, Damn! she thought, whys he always got to look like a god-damned movie star?
And though his appearance and the smugly spoken ‘Hi’ya, sweetie’! bugged the shit out of her, she did feel a thawing in her heart. But…
As always, Marsha had her unbending stubbornness and she couldn’t… just ‘couldn’t’ give in! So, dredging up the remembrance of her anger, she forced an exaggerated ‘You’re a maggot and you disgust me’ lip curling kind of snarl to form on the right side of her mouth. That…
Apprehensive, to say the least about seeing his wife—and for the reason they were there—as he approached his smile had been forced, but in the eye locked seconds it took for him to come abreast and pass, Marsha’s snarl was so absurdly overstated that he couldn’t help but smile in earnest. And…
Doing all she could do to ‘stay tough’, Mitchell’s smile completely disarmed Marsha. As…
Passing, he stood about six feet beyond her on the other side of the hall staring at her in profile, thinking…
Marsha could sense that he was looking at her and, ‘Oh, God’, how she wanted to turn her head to the left and stare back at him. But with an extreme show of self control, Marsha Lipensky looked straight forward.
Staring at her in profile, She’s skinnier than ever, he thought and, to him, then, wanting to hate the very sight of her, Marsha’s nose appeared longer and the flesh tone of her face looked to be more green than tan. Yes! He had been concerned about what his reaction might be when he saw her, but now thinking, She looks really shitty!
For the first time since their separation Mitchell truly believed he did hate her, thinking, So far as I’m concerned she can go drop dead! They won’t keep me from seeing my kid! Fuck her! Other men get divorced and they see their kids and I will, too! Fuck her! Who the hell needs that ugly, skinny bitch? Working himself into a hateful anger, he considered calling her name, and telling her to ‘Go fuck yourself’!
However, looking beyond Marsha, approaching, he saw both attorneys, his and hers, together… Together? Stepping across the hall, he stood a pace to the left of Marsha.
“Hi, kids!”
As Hoffman and Mitchell shook hands, “You may not remember,” Berman said, “but Don and I sat at the same table at your wedding.
Although remembering that Berman and Hoffman sat at the same table while attending their wedding, however, now seeing them together both Marsha and Mitchell felt something akin to betrayal.
Glancing at his watch, “The judge’ll be hearing your separation petition in about fifteen minutes,” Hoffman said, “and we’d like to talk to him before we get started, so why don’t you kids relax out here a minute and we’ll be right back.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mitchell went back to his place on the opposite wall and Marsha once again stared into space.
****
Opening the door, Berman motioned them to come inside.
Marsha and Mitchell found seats on opposite sides of the small courtroom.
Mitchell had been to traffic court on two occasions. She, though, had never been to court and was surprised and embarrassed to see that there were fifteen or twenty scattered spectators that would be hearing their motion for separation and possibly the reasons for their separation, that, with each passing day somehow seemed to be less and less important.
“The court will stand,” the bailiff said. “ ‘‘The Honorable Charles A. Bankston’ presiding.”
The judge, taking his seat at the bench…
“The court may be seated.”
“ ‘Lipensky versus Lipensky’!”
Oh, God!
Oh, God!
Rising, going beyond the banister, sitting on either side of their respective attorneys, the two took seats behind a long table.
The judge, a tall, slender, white haired man in his early sixties, seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time studying the file before him… until, “ ‘You two’!” pointing first at Marsha than Mitchell, “come with me!” Standing, Bankston came from behind the bench and, with a flurry of his black robe, went through a doorway into his chambers.
The two looked at each other, then their attorneys, who nodded their heads affirmatively.
Rising, they apprehensively walked to the front of the room and, Mitchell allowing Marsha first entry, through the doorway into the judge’s chamber.
Sitting behind a desk. “You, here!” The judge motioned to Marsha by crooking his finger, waited for her to come forward then, “There!” Pointing, he positioned her at a place just to the left centre of the desk. “You!” Crooking his finger at Mitchell, “There!” he positioned him at a place just to the right centre of his desk. “‘Now!” Using the forefingers of both hand.
Glancing at each other, Marsha and Mitchell, haltingly moved…
“ ‘Closer’!” Bankston said, forcing a thin smile. “I don’t want to get a crick in my neck talking to you two.”
Standing side by side. Their arms and hands but an inch apart, as in a field of radiated energy, as though touched by static electricity, the ions of each were felt by the other and both foreheads prickled with sweat.
“Lipensky...” directing his gaze to Marsha, “...you’re here to petition this court for a legal separation, are you?”
“Yes, ‘sir’!” Marsha said emphatically. “I ‘am’!”
“And you?” Bankston asked, looking at Mitchell.
“Yes, ‘sir’,” said no less emphatically.
“You are, huh?”
Turning his attention to the array of smoking paraphernalia on the desk, taking his time—letting the two stand closely apart—the judge selected a pipe from the rack, rooted the bowl with a tool then opened the lid of the humidor and, taking a pinch of tobacco, stuffed and tamped it into the bowl of the pipe, struck a wooden match and sucked the tobacco to life.
Looking at Marsha and Mitchell through the haze of aromatic smoke. “Young man...” he said, “...here in court, in this room you ‘must’ answer honestly! So let me ask you just one question!”
Stopping, sitting back in his overstuffed, leather wing chair, taking another deep draw on the pipe, tilting his head back and exhaling he watched the gray smoke swirl over his head.
His eyes coming forward again, he forcibly asked, “ ‘Do you want to see your wife in the arms of another man’?”
“ ‘No’!” Shocking himself with the vehemence of his soul felt answer. “ ‘I do not’!”
Her body stiffening, Marsha’s head snapped to the right.
“ ‘And you’...” pointing the stem of his pipe at Marsha, “ ...’do you want to see your husband in the arms of another woman’?”
No less shocked, “No, sir! I don’t!”
One arm lifting upward, the weight of their inadvertent, honest answers moved the other arm of the scale downward, and suddenly each feeling the substance of their love. their two hands came together, their ten fingers entwined and the touch of each to the other was as soft as fresh fallen snow, as solid as a rock of granite.
“Okay, then, I want you to stop wasting the court’s time!” Bankston said, feigning anger. “I want you to get the hell out of my courtroom and I never want to see you here again! ‘Understand’?”
Mere seconds ago each had felt but loathing for the other. Now, both hearts swelled to near breaking with renewed love.
“Do you understand me, Lipensky?”
Not sure which Lipensky the judge was referring to, utterly confused by the roller coaster ride from the pit of their hatred to the peak of their love, barely able to pull their thoughts together, let alone speak them. Motioning his head backward, “Uh, what’ll we tell our…”
“You don’t have to tell them anything. I’ll let ‘em know you’ve changed your minds. You don’t even have to go back in there.” Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, to another doorway. “This’ll get you kids out’a here the back way.”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“Mrs. Lipensky… Marsha, you can thank those two in there,” nodding towards the courtroom. “But not now. Go on, kids, get out!”
Anxious to be alone, hand in hand they started to the door.
“Oh, yes, one thing more!”
The door open, stopping, the two looked at Bankston.
“Among other things, wearing this robe, being a judge, gives me the obligation to give advice, so I’m going to do it. I know it’s going to be tough, but you kids have got to live your own lives! So when they, your parents… whoever starts making you nuts, you tell ’em the judge told you to tell them ‘to go to hell’, and it’s up to you two to do what you know is right, not what they think is right! Go on now, beat it!”
In the empty passageway, the door closed behind them.
Instantly in each others arms, their lips pressed together, unwilling… unable to break the magnetic hold of their kiss I love you! Their commingled thoughts, though unspoken, were heard… were felt by the other, I love you! The silent words transmitting from mind to mind, from soul to soul… I love you!
“I love you!”
Des Plaines, Illinois: 11/19/63
Anticipating his life without his children…
“You mean that, Marsha? You ‘really’ want a divorce?”
“Oh, yeah! I do!”
He stared at her until, feeling tears welling in his eyes, folding the sports jacket over his arm, lifting the suitcase he opened their bedroom door quietly.
Tempted to look in at his children, but afraid of awakening them—walking down the five steps, going into the kitchen he put some cash onto the counter.
Hearing him, Mercy came up from her bed in the family room.
Stooping, taking her muzzle in both hands, “I love you, my puppy.” Choking up, he pressed the Dalmatian’s head to the side of his face.
Going to the hall closet, putting a winter jacket on and taking his overcoat, opening the front door quietly, Mitchell Lipensky left what had been his home.
Next FBOW excerpt in Sequence: “Awaking to Reality”
