Points In Time

March 18, 2010

 Los Angeles International Airport

   11:56 AM

  “My, God, Marcie!”

  Beautiful! Marsha thought. My God, he looks as though he hasn’t aged a bit!

  Walking to him…

  Coming closer.

 Coming to within touching distance.

 So beautiful! The back of his hand caressing her lightly lined cheek. “Marcie, you’re beautiful!”

 Coming to within kissing distance.

 Taking his hands into hers. “You, too, Mitchie!

 Within kissing distance...

 “My, God, Marcie!”

 ...They did.

 Marsha and Mitchell kissed.

 A star-lit night might be beautiful, but made more-so with the passing of a dark cloud from the face of a full moon.

 A blue skied day might be lovely, but made more-so with a jasmine scented breeze.

Within the surging crowd.

 Oblivious to all but the woman within his arms. Oblivious to all but the man within her arms.

Yesterday and the fifty-five years of yesterdays no longer in existence.

Today and tomorrow and how many ‘tomorrows’ are decreed by God to be theirs, will be met by the passing of a cloud’, or the scent of jasmine on a summer breeze.

The white haired woman and the silver haired man stand within the surging crowd oblivious to all, kissing the kiss of two that are long since young, but yet charged with powerful surge of newfound love emerging from the debris of their past fifty-five years.

More than soft lips.

More than caressing tongues.

The very air they breathe, the very air they breathed from one to the other, as though a sense of resuscitation….

Within these moments…

Within this resuscitation there came forth a love ‘sorely’ tested by one, but never forgotten.

Within this resuscitation, for the other there came forth a love that had remained 

deeply below the surface, never to  be allowed freedom.

“Mitchie…” Marsha’s cheek against his “… I love you.”

He feels a growing wetness upon his cheek. Cocking his head back he sees tears from Marsha. The only time in the thirty- one years of their marriage he’d ever seen his wife cry was at the time of the murder of her father in July of 1959.

“Why, baby?”

Backing to two chairs, sitting.

“Since getting rid of Stan, I’ve had ‘lots’ of time to think…” Rubbing both hands over her eyes… “...and ‘finally’ to grow up.”

Other than eyeliner that remained, there was no smudge of makeup, as there was no makeup, only Marsha’s slightly age lined, lovely olive complexion.

“Mitchie, the other day, when I called you… My, God! ‘Everything’! My whole life has changed in only three day... And I never really expected to be here, with you…” lightly wiping her eyes once again “...and I’m ‘so’ glad to be here with you!”

“Me, too, Marcie.” Standing, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s get your bags.”

Heading towards the ‘American’ luggage carousel.'

“ One bag.”

Carrying the ‘carry on’. “ ‘One bag’? You didn't plan on staying very long?”

“Mitchie, I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

“What if it’s forever?”

“I’ll fly home…” stopping, turning to him “... Mitchie, like I told you, from now on, baby, you’re ‘home’. So I’ll fly back to Chicago, get my stuff packed and try to sell… or give away...

“Don’t be to quick to sell whatever new stuff you’d bought…”

“Whatever ‘new stuff’ I’d bought is twenty-four years old now.”

“You might want to see what I’ve kept before getting rid of what’s in Chicago.”

“There…” Marsha said “...the brown bag.”

Grunting as he pulled the large brown suitcase from the revolving carousel.

12:35 PM

Stepping outside, Marsha sighed as she smelled the warn, Jasmine and gasoline scented Southern California air.

“If you want to wait, I’ll get the car.”

“No…” remembering what had happened the last time he’d said pretty near those same words “...ain’t letting you out of sight this time.”

Carrying Marsha’s ‘carry on’ in his left hand, Marsha pulling her rolling suitcase with her right hand, her left hand held in his right hand, they crossed into the ‘American Airlines’ parking area.

Approaching. “That’s it!”

“The gray and red Lincoln?”

“Yes.”

“Nice car.”

“Thanks.” Opening the trunk, putting the carry on inside, he then hoisted the suitcase into also.

Opening the passenger side door, then gently closing it after Marsha slid onto the long bench seat.

12:50 PM

Coming off a South bound exit on the San Diego Freeway, onto northbound US-101… Melding into the light flow of afternoon traffic.

“Mitch, can I ask you something?”

His hand atop her knee… “Sure.”

Her hand never leaving his… “Where the hell we going?”

“ ‘Where we going’? Home, of course!”

“You never said…”

“What, ‘I never said’?”

“Where’s home?”

Angling onto the ‘Ventura Freeway West’.

“You’ll love it, Marcie.”

“It have a pool?”

“No… Well, yeah, kind of.”

“We living in a gated community?”

“You thinking of places like ‘Hidden Valley’ or ‘Lake Sherwood’?

”

Giggling… “Yeah, kind of.”

Never heard an old lady giggle before.

“ ‘No’! Not Hidden Valley or Lake

Sherwood. But you’re getting close.”

“ ‘Getting close’? How?”

“From line to line they touch.”

“Don’t remember all the cities that far out.”

Approaching ‘Woodland Hills’.

Seeing the upcoming street sign.

“Want to stop, to see our old place.?”

“No, Mitch. I really want to forget all that old stuff. As far as I’m concerned our lives started when my plane landed.” Squeezing his hand. “So where the fuck we going?”

The word ‘fuck’ sounding strange coming from this mature, white haired lady.

“Westlake Village.”

“You live in ‘Westlake’?”

“No, ‘We’ live in Westlake.”

“Pretty fancy place, Mitch… How long you live there?”

Glancing to his right, “Twenty-four years.”

“You bought it right after our divorce?”

Thinking he knew what Marsha ‘might’ have been thinking. “No, not righ atfter. Sometimes there’s an advantage being a real estate salesman. I had to work a deal until the place in Woodland Hills closed and I got my half, so I rented for six months, then closed escrow.”

‘If’ the thought had passed Marsha’s mind that ‘possibly’ he’d ‘crunched some numbers that should have been part of their divorce, which Mitchell ‘had’! However – looking out the window, passing familiar, remembered places.– Even if he had, Marsha ‘truly’ did ‘not’ care because ‘anything’ he might have done was as a pee in the ocean compared to what she had done to him.

“I remember someone saying that Westlake Village was like Beverly Hills twenty years earlier.”

“And now it’s even longer than that and it’s still beautiful and a great place to live. But it’s gotten a lot more commercialised: some office and light industrial complexes; You want a hamburger, we got McDonald’s and you name it, along with three different super markets. But still got lots of open space and multi million dollar homes with mountain views... and ‘Westlake Lake’.”

 “Where do we live?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“You’re a bachelor, living alone...You ‘lived’ alone?”

“Had a couple of ‘overnight’ stays but, yeah, you could say I’ve always lived alone.”

“Okay…” fishing, wondering why he’s being so secretive “... but ‘still’, living alone, and getting the place right after our divorce it wouldn’t be…” thinking, one bedroom, one bath? “...very big.”

Teasing her. Wanting to see her face when they get there.

“You’re right, it isn’t ‘very’ big.”

“Big enough, you think?”

His right arm across her shoulder, urging her even closer. “For you and me?”

Enjoying the weight of his arm and the touch of their outer thighs... “Yes.”...along with the light banter.

Turning his head, kissing her cheek. “You’ll see.”

Westlake Village, California

  1:15 PM

 The Los Angeles and Ventura county lines, fifteen miles west of Woodland hills on the ‘101’.

Passing through Calabassas andAgoura, 

then off at a north bound freeway exit and an immediate left, to the first street taking a right turn onto an old oak tree lined street.

Passing a golf course on the right then a ‘mini’ ‘L’ shaped strip mall.

Driving a quarter mile through tree lined neighbourhood streets…

“Here we are!”

Pulling onto the garage driveway of ‘2821 Waterview Lane’, the car stopped.

Wanting Marsha to enter through the front door, I did not open the garage door.

Coming from the Lincoln, taking a few seconds to look about.

Each unit with a different frontage, hardly recognisable as attached units. 

The landscaped front of 2821 Waterview Lane’ beautifully planted with decorative water saving California plantings

“Baby…” looking about, smelling the crisp air “... this is some nice neighbourhood!”

“It’s really pretty here, Marcie, and wait till you see inside. Unlocking the door, I stood aside.

“Mitchie, ‘my God’...”

Seeing the view from the Spanish foyer, through the living-room – that she barely glanced at – and the kitchen/family-room/office – through the glass wall looking past the redwood deck to the water of West Lake Lake and the shadowed mountains far beyond.

“...this is ‘beautiful’!”

“You like it, honey?”

“ ‘Like it’?” Walking through the foyer into the kitchen-family-room area. Her head turning from right to left. Stepping to the glass slider leading onto the deck and opening it, walking outside. “I ‘love’ it!”

Going to the rail and looking across the lake to the distant northern range of the Santa Monica Mountains, and down the slight embankment. “My, God! We’ve even got a boat!”

Following Marsha as she passed through 

 to the outside. His arms about her waist. His chest tight onto her back. His head onto her shoulder. His cheek onto her cheek.

“Think you could live here the rest of our lives?”

Turning. Hugging. Kissing him. “Oh, yeah, baby…” she said “...I could live here with you forever!”

“Come on in, take a look at the rooms.”

Immediately inside is the family-room.

To the far right is Mitchell’s old desk that he’d picked up years ago at a garage sale.

Attached to the wall three feet above the desk is a fifty-two inch ‘Sony’ flat-screen television.

Seven or so feet before the desk is a comfortably upholstered sofa with a 

leather recliner to either side and a large, glass-top coffee table centred before the sofa and chairs.

Coming in from outside is the…

“Nice kitchen!” The built in microwave, oven, and counter-top stove. Everything in colour sync... Marsha thought ...except… 

“The refrigerator! You kept our old refrigerator?”

“Well, yeah. It was working – and still is, so figured ‘why buy a new one’?”

“That thing’s ‘got’ to be, ‘at least’ thirty-five years old.”

“You know, like they say on ‘TV’. ‘Kenmores’ just keep on ticking.”

“Yeah, I know.” Looking to the stainless steel sink, laughing “...I can ‘not’ believe you still have these.”

On the ‘L’ shaped counter alongside the sink are four, various sized orange and black ‘Melmac’ dishes standing within a plastic dish-rack.

“You didn’t keep the whole service, did you?”

“Nah. Just service for four. Gave the other six to ‘Goodwill’.”

Author’s Notation

  Seagate, New York

  December 19, 1955

  Marsha’s first home made dinner:

Setting the table with Melmac dishes given to them by Morris and Jennie, Mitchell’s grandparents on his mother’s side:

“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 talking about, “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!”

Westlake Village, California

  March 18, 2010

  1:40 PM

“Actually the kitchen’s pretty good, but…” 

questioningly “...the refrigerator?”

Realizing there’s no kitchen table. “Where do you eat?”

Jerking his thumb towards the family room. “In there sometimes on my desk, but mostly on a folding snack table.”

“Why?”

“That way I don’t have to carry dishes and stuff from the table to the sink.”

Holding back laughter. “Mitchell, that makes no sense at all.”

“Don’t worry, Marcie. I got two tables.”

“You kept Melmac service for four people! Why?”

“In case I ever have company.”

“Yeah. Okay. But you still only have two snack tables.”

“But I never have company for meals.”

“In case you did?”

“Did what?”

“Have company.”

“I’d go in the garage and get two more.”

Remembering this. Loving their comedic ‘back and forth’ that had been enjoyed by both when newlyweds.

“Come on, Marci, I want to show you the rest of our mansion and then  if you want, we’ll take a boat ride.”

Next PIT 3/9: The Lake