PIT 2/20: Contemplation
Points In Time
Aftermath
6/20/09
2:45 PM
Do I really love Barbara?
Did I really love Lita?
Thinking of Lita, knowing she had a bi-racial problem, wondering how this problem might manifest as they grew older.
Did I ever ‘truly’ love my wife?
Thinking of his wife, he remembered the many times while looking at Marsha’s nude body, or even while fucking , Mitchell remembered the many times thinking Peggy Lee’s song: ‘Is this all there is’?
How’s about Elizabeth?
Knowing Elizabeth had an ‘eating’ problem, looking at her nude body, wondering: What will she look like as we grow older?
‘Susan’!
Looking at the gray sky, seeing nothing above or below.
Barbara flying eastward.
Mitchell flying westward with four and a half hours to think.
Four and a half hours to contemplate his past and future life.
Do I really need a woman in my life? I know that I’m an odd duck that likes the permanency of marriage. I like waking up alongside of my wife… Alongside of someone that I love. Of someone that I know loves me…
‘Nice!’
But do I really need them? The women I loved, or the women I ‘thought’ I loved became noting more than memories within time… Sometimes a short time.
Do I really love Barbara?
Realizing… Having come to the conclusion that unless some sort of miracle occurs regarding Barbara’s lifetime commitment to her mother and sister– Actually Mitchell had dismissed any sort of long term life with Barbara because there was absolutely ‘nothing’ he could do about it… And was relieved that he’d quickly come to that conclusion.
‘Susan’!
Four and a half hours to think
The imperceptible sense of movement.
The imperceptible hum air, the imperceptible sounds of people…
Mitchell’s eyes closed… Opening, absently gazing out the port, seeing nothing but gray…
Closing again, shortly… Shortly reaching that slumberous place where while not quite awake, where while not quite asleep scenes and thoughts rush his mind with the rapidity of the ruffling of cards.
Marsha near age thirteen, he near age fifteen and their spontaneous kiss on the firefly lit nigh.
Susan on the kitty corner stool in Evanston.
Susan telling him her parents would not allow her to see him.
Once again finding Marsha years later.
Thoughts flashing. Scenes flashing.
Standing before a Rabbi, marrying Marsha.
Working hard to fuck Marsha…
Finally able to fuck Marsha.
Flashing… As ruffling cards...
First sight of Elizabeth.
Fucking Elizabeth.
Deserting Elizabeth in the attorneys office.
Flashing… ruffling...
Lita as she waded nude into the Elysium pool.
Fucking Lita.
Watching Lita as she drove out of his life.
Marsha rushing after the ‘Red Cap’ at LAX.
Meeting Barbara.
Fucking Barbara.
Watching Barbara as she walked out of his life.
Mitchell’s eyes opening…
Did he really love any of them?
Susan!
Not a single day in the fifty-eight years since the last sight of then sixteen year old Susan Friedman had the scene of…
Chicago, Illinois
June 21, 1952
“Jambalay’an’a’crawfish pie an’a’fila’gumbo!”
He hadn’t seen Susan since saying goodnight to her after they’d gone to dinner to celebrate his graduation with his family.
The night before, when they had spoken on the phone and made plans to spend Saturday at the beach, Susan had told him, “Mitchie, don’t come up. My mom and dad are still really hurt and they don’t care to see you right now.”
“Sue, you know that I like your mom’n’dad, and it bothers me that they’re still mad at me. I think if I can just talk to them, I’d be able to get them to understand why I did it. Why I had to lie.”
“No...” she answered “...I think it’ll be better if you just let it be a while longer.”
“Okay, if you think it’ll be better that way.”
“I do!”
“Whatever you say, baby… Pick you at eleven, okay?”
“Yes. That’ll be fine.”
“Susan…”
“Yes, Mitchell?”
“I love you.”
“…I love you, too, Mitchie.”
June 21, 1952
“Jambalay’an’a’cawfish pie an’a fila’gumbo…”
It was a beautiful Saturday, and taping his hands on the steering wheel, Mitchell sang along with Hank Williams.
As always, his heart quickening at the first sight of her, Susan was there, sitting on the stoop waiting for him.
Pulling to the curb, leaning across the seat, “Hi, beautiful!” he said through the open window.
Standing, Susan walked slowly to the car.
Rather than a bathing suit and a beach robe, she was wearing blue jeans and a blouse.
“Hey...” looking at her “...where’s your bathing suit?”
Susan’s skin was sallow, the flesh around her eyes puffy
and as though she had been crying, her eyes glassy and bloodshot.
“Susan, what’s wrong?”
Opening the door, “I have to talk to you.” She sat down.
“Sue?” He attempted to put his arms about her, but, resisting, she held both hands, her fists clenched, against his chest. “What’s the matter?”
Staring out the window, she didn’t answer.
“For God’s sake, Sue...” becoming alarmed. “...what happened? What’s wrong?”
“Mitchie…” Opening her hand, she looked down.
His eyes follow her eyes. On her palm there was a gold ring. “Sue?” His mind not yet accepting what his eyes saw, lifting her other hand he looked for a like ring, a ring with adhesive tape wrapped around the shank, a ring that looked exactly like this ring… that should be on her finger… but wasn’t. “Oh, God! Susan, no!”
“Mitchie… Mitchell, I…” Her chest heaved. Tears welled in her eyes. “I…” The words catching in her throat, barely able to whisper… “I… Oh, God. Mitchie, I can’t… I…” taking a deep intake of breath “... can’t see you anymore.” Turning her face forward, she closed her eyes.
“No! Sue, you can’t…!” His eyes stinging, feeling a constricting of his throat, and within his heart, “Susan, you can’t mean that!”
As if afraid to look at him, Susan’s eyes remained closed.
“They did it! Sue, don’t let them! Please, don’t let them do this to us!”
“Mitchie, I’m sorry… Oh, God!” She looked at him. “Mitchie, please, if you love me…”
“If I love you? Oh, God, Sue, I love you more than anything!”
“If you love me like you say, then please don’t try to see me, or call me again.” She stared at him, as though committing his face to memory. “Please, Mitchie… Oh, God!” Putting the ring on the dashboard, Susan stepped out, and without looking back hurried from the car.
Looking at her through a mist of tears, “Susan!” calling after her, as… “It’s because of college,” she disappeared through the entry door… “isn’t it?”
Susan was gone.
Gone? There was no memory of life before Susan.
‘Susan’!
The thought of that time. The remembrance of that specific time had become inbeded within the mind of Mitchell Lipensky and there was ‘not’ a day from that time forward that – As Susan was but sixteen the last time he had seen her, there was ‘not’ a day from that time forward, this she is was not visualized in the mind of Mitchell Lipensky as...
A sixteen year old girl resembling the then young Elizabeth Taylor.
As Susan Friedman is visualized as a sixteen year old girl, the fact that she is – to this day a seventy-three old woman, is beyond the comprehension of Mitchell Lipensky, or even the possibility that Susan is no longer alive.
Although the thought had occurred to Mitchell that were they to accidentally meet, most probably they would not know each other.
6/20/09
The deep love for Marsha for Elizabeth for Lita, and for Barbara…
Watching Barbara board the plane had been hard, ‘really’ hard! However, giving himself time to think about it – and it did not take more than a few minutes to realize that Barbara was a ‘lost’ cause so now even his love of and for Barbara was questionable.
In need ‘of’’ of having a woman to love? In need of having a woman ‘to’ love him? Sexually starved? Lonely? Mitchell Lipensky truly did not know!
However...
Mitchell Lipensky’s love for the memory of sixteen year old Susan without doubt.
July 3, 2009
Westlake Village California.
1:35 PM
“We’re taking my boat tomorrow?”
On their patios, Milt Abrams and Mitchell speaking from either side of their six foot high property barrier wall.
“Yeah…” Milt said “... you’ve the BBQ.”
“How we doing with the steaks?”
“Found a couple of great looking ‘rib eyes’ at ‘Costco’.”
“How we doing with gin?”
“Could use a bottle.” Milt said.
“Okay. I’m heading out for groceries, so I’ll pick up a bottle… ‘Vermouth’’?”
“Nah. Between you and me, ‘Vermouth’ lasts a long time.”
“Olives?”
“Yeah, may as well.”
“Toothpicks?”
“ ‘Schmuck’! Yeah, I got toothpicks!”
2:05 PM
Pushing the basket from aisle to aisle, dropping butter, milk and eggs, then a tube of pork sausage, and a pound of hamburger.
I’d been walking two or three yards behind a lady dressed in a lime colored sleeveless blouse and knee length denim shorts.
The ladies strangely streaked gray hair hanging mid-way down her back, with every movement thick blobs of hanging flesh slithered from beneath her armpits.
Obviously someone that had given up worrying about what people thought, the center seam stretching from side to side to show white thread as the seat of her knee length shorts strained against the thick semi-circular cheeks of her ass.
Obese? Or just really fat? ‘schmuck’, I thought, what’s the difference? Further thinking. She’s kind of the way I’d pictured Barbara before meeting her.
Never in position to see her face–not that I wanted to see her face, turning down one aisle and me another heading to the liquor department.
From experience, ‘well’ aware of how much gin it tales to supply Milt’s coffee pot and how little vermouth was added to displace the gin, plucking two bottles of ‘Beefeaters’ off the shelf, I placed them in the basket.
Heading over to the ‘nosh’ aisle, I took a large bag of thick cut ripple potato chips to go along with the onion dip Milt will be providing.
I found myself standing directly behind the – to say the least, ‘heavyset’ lady in the ‘day before the 4th of July,’, slow moving ‘check out’ line.
Her back still to me, I watched as she pulled a copy of ‘The Enquirer’ from the magazine rack alongside the check out counter.
“Oh, Jesus! Damn British royalty! Who really gives a shit?”
Apparently a lady that does not care what people think of her appearance, also not caring who was standing close enough to hear what she had to say.
Something about the ladies voice and mid-western dialect hitting a chord of remembrance.
“Excuse me…” lightly tapping her on her shoulder “...you wouldn’t happen to be from Chicago?”
“Turning. Staring. The ladies eyes opening widely. “Oh, my, God!”
If one were able to draw a beautiful, green-eyed face on the moon….
Next PIT 2/21: Two Down
