It is funny how memories pop into your head at the weirdest times, sometimes beckoned by music, a photo, or sometimes by nothing at all. Those thoughts strung together create a story. This story is constructed of such random memories. They didn’t come in chronological order, so dates are added to create a logical thread.
Fall, 1964. (age 10)
The minute I walked into class at Rock Ridge Elementary School and laid eyes on Elizabeth, I knew I wanted to be her friend. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen – a sunshine bright blonde with green eyes, a real beanpole with an angel face. I was new in the school, and it was my first day in fifth grade. We spoke a little bit each day, but both of us were shy. After nearly two weeks, I found out she lived only a few blocks from me. I got up the courage to ask her to come to my house after school. My mom fixed us cocoa in big white mugs, and we talked for hours until she had to go home for dinner. That’s when I found out she was new to the school, too. She moved from Oregon, and we moved from Washington. Both of our fathers had been transferred to Tucson by the same company. Our parents became friends, and we were inseparable. She was the tallest one in class, even taller than the boys, and I was the shortest. Mutt and Jeff, my father dubbed us after the cartoon characters. Elizabeth became Lizzie to me.
Spring, 1991 (age 37)
We sat on the shaded patio of Liz’s house, listening to our kids laughing in the family room as we shared a bottle of summer wine. Our children had grown up like brother and sisters, and whenever they got together, it was a party. Liz’s son, Greg, was 17, and so was my daughter, Ellen. They had been born only two weeks apart. Sara, my other child, was nearly 15. Our family lived in a different part of town from Liz’s. Even so, we spent so much time at each other’s homes that the kids met each other’s friends and felt comfortable in the neighborhood. Raleigh (Liz’s husband) and Brent (my husband) were playing golf and coming back for barbecue.
“Mom, can we go get ice cream?” Greg called. Typical teens, finding any excuse to leave the ‘growns’ behind and drive a car.
“What do you think?” Liz turned to me. “Do you trust his driving?”
“He’s your son. You’ve been driving with him. What do you think? Can he be trusted?”
“Yeah. He’s pretty good, and it’s a short way.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, Greg. Be careful and come straight back. We’re barbecuing burgers when your dad gets home.”
“Got it. Thanks.” Off they scrambled, taking Liz’s extended-cab truck.
“Em, have you ever cheated on Brent?” Liz’s question was completely out of the blue.
“In my heart or in the flesh?” I retorted, laughing.
“I mean, really, have you ever been to bed with anyone else since you’ve been married?”
“Liz, you would have been the first to know if I did. Nothing that big would have happened without me calling you immediately and blabbing. You’ve heard every secret I’ve had since fifth grade.”
“Have you wanted to?”
“Yeah, I guess it crossed my mind on a few occasions, but it didn’t seem worth all the problems. I don’t keep secrets very well, and I certainly don’t want to end my marriage. I love my husband. Brent is the only guy I’ve bedded. Sometimes I feel like a semi-virgin. He was the first, and I’ll probably die with him as the only. I’ve definitely been curious about what could be out there.”
“What if you really fell in love?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Well, sometimes it happens.”
“Who would want this middle-aged body, saggy boobs and ass?”
“Emma, you’re in better shape now than when you were twenty-five.”
“You have a point, but that’s because I was pregnant for eighteen months out of three years.”
“We do yoga twice a week, and you’re on that running kick two or three times a week. You’re in great shape.”
“I’d still have to keep up a lie, and I don’t have that kind of memory or willpower. I’m not looking for trouble. Things like that can get out of hand quickly.”
“What if it came to you… unintended, when you least expected it?”
“Liz, are you trying to tell me something?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Are you having an affair?”
“No, don’t be silly. I’m talking midlife crisis stuff. Didn’t you watch Oprah last week? It was all about what happens to people in their 40s when their lives are static. She recommended some books. I remember one about surviving a mismatched marriage, but I don’t remember the name.”
“Do you think you and Raleigh are mismatched?”
“Well, it was a rebound marriage after Ben dumped me. Raleigh doesn’t want to travel and see the world like I do. He’s stuck in Tucson forever.”
“I thought the ‘Ben thing’ was mutual. Your breakup. You knew Raleigh wasn’t an adventurer when you married him. We even talked about it. He’s always been clear about that as long as I’ve known him. You two have been married as long as we have. Nobody’s ever 100% compatible. Look at me and Brent. He’s a golf-clubbing, high-maintenance, extroverted salesman, and I’m a book-reading, earth-hugging hippy, but we manage. He has to buy a whole new, bigger house every time a light bulb needs to be changed, and I simply want to plant a garden and stay to reap the results.”
“Oh, never mind. Let’s not get on this subject. It’s depressing. When are the guys supposed to get here?” Liz got up from the patio chair and walked across the flagstone toward the back door. “Brent said they’d be through golfing about 4:30. Shall we start fixing the salad? Have some more wine. Have you started getting Ellen’s stuff together for college in the fall?”
A nagging feeling fell over me. I couldn’t imagine Liz with a stranger, not Raleigh. The guys were great friends. Liz and I had never been closer. Our friendship as couples and families was a fundamental part of my life, but it felt like she was trying to tell me something.
Late Summer, 1972 (age 18)
“I can’t believe you’re going to be so far away,” I said. We were at her house, taking a break from packing her trunk for college. Lizzie was leaving the next morning for Pennsylvania. We sipped iced tea in her parents’ sunny kitchen while her mom made lunch.
“We will write, and I’ll be home on school breaks.”
“It won’t be the same,” I said.
“I know. I’ll miss you too.”
“Bucknell is another world, another universe from Tucson. You’ll end up all east coasty and I’ll be left southwesty.”
“Emma, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to change; I just have different experiences. I’ll make sure we share some of them.”
“Why did you have to be so smart?”
“I’m not smarter than you, silly. I want different things, and leaving Tucson is one of them. I want out of here. The world is big, and I want to see all of it.”
“I know. You’ve been saying that since fifth grade. So now is your chance. Go for it. I’m proud of you, and I’m happy to be staying here close to home at the U. of A. I love Tucson.”
As we finished packing, I took a pocket-sized book of Eighteenth Century English Love Poetry from her trunk and slipped it into my purse without her seeing. I wanted to have something of hers after she left. I told myself I’d make something up about finding it and give it back when she came home for Christmas break.
Lizzie came home for Christmas that year, but I clung to the book. I knew I’d return it someday and we’d laugh about it.
January 1977 (age 23)
“Guess what?” Liz’s voice was clear and excited on the long-distance call.
“What?” I sat in my apartment on campus, drinking warmed-over sludgy black coffee that I had made the night before.
“We’re engaged.” Liz’s voice bubbled.
“Is it Ben?”
“Of course, who else have I dated for two years? He gave me a ring last night before we had dinner with his parents. They came over from New York for the weekend. Ben told them he was going to ask me.”
“Great. Congratulations. Does that mean you’ll live in Philadelphia the rest of your life?” I really longed for her to be closer than two thousand miles away.
“Or New York or Geneva or Rome,” she sang.
“Wow. At least I’ll have cool places to visit on vacation. So, are things going better with his mom?”
“She’s still on my case to convert. They aren’t thrilled to have a Catholic daughter-in-law, old family traditions and all. They want me to study Judaism and think about converting before the wedding.”
“How are your folks with that?”
“They’re pretty much Easter and Christmas Catholics themselves, but I do think they are leery of my converting to Judaism.”
“When is the date?”
“We’re planning next November, before Ben leaves for his assignment in Switzerland. I’ll get to go with him.” Her excitement was palpable.
“You’re still coming back home to be my maid of honor in September, right?”
“Yes. I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be there for your graduation too.”
“And I’ll be at Bucknell for yours, Miss Cum Laud. Can you believe it? We’ve done four years of college. It really went fast.”
“I’m sure Brent had a lot to do with making the time go faster for you. How are things between you two? Any signs of strain with your wedding coming up?”
“Not really. My mom took on most of the planning. I need to concentrate on finals first, then the wedding.”
Summer 1992 (age 38)
I felt under my bed for the barrette that had dropped and bounced from the nightstand. I felt something else and pulled out a diamond tennis bracelet. I don’t have much jewelry, and certainly not a tennis bracelet. Then I recognized it. It was Liz’s. She must have dropped it when she was here changing after our hike last week. I wondered why she hadn’t mentioned it. The diamond bracelet had a heart-shaped pendant engraved with “R + E “. I remembered when Raleigh gave the bracelet to Liz on their thirteenth anniversary. Liz loved jewelry, and Raleigh, a successful homebuilder, worked hard to give her the things she treasured. I called her.
“Hey, Lizzie. I have something of yours.”
“What?”
“Your tennis bracelet. Haven’t you missed it? You must have dropped it when you changed after our hike last week. I found it under the bed. Why did you wear it hiking?”
Liz was quiet at the other end of the line.
“Liz?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“What d’you mean maybe?”
“Maybe it’s mine.”
“It has the inscription from Raleigh, and you’re the only one who’s been in my room except me and Brent.”
“Then it must be mine. I hadn’t missed it. Bring it with you to yoga class. I’ve got to run. See you tomorrow.”
The next morning, as I began my day, I received her call. “Em, could you do me a huge favor?” Liz sounded breathless on the phone.
“Sure, shoot.”
“Could you not let on to Raleigh that I missed yoga tonight?”
“Why aren’t you coming to yoga? What’s going on, Liz? This is the third time you’ve bailed. “
“I’ve met someone, and I’m going to see him.”
“I can’t lie to Raleigh.”
“Don’t lie. Just don’t say anything next time we’re all together. He’ll assume I am with you, and unless you tell him otherwise, it won’t come up.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Liz had been talking more and more about how unhappy her marriage was, but nothing concrete. Raleigh seemed unaware of any problems.
“No, but I’m doing it anyway. Raleigh’s probably sleeping around, too.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. He adores you. Liz, Raleigh is my friend, too. I don’t want to be in the middle of this.”
“Emma, I’m begging you. This is important. I’ll tell you all about the stuff with Raleigh later. It hasn’t been good with us for a long time. Please?”
“Okay, this time, but you’re buying trouble you don’t really want. You have to promise we’ll talk soon.”
“Fine. Thanks, Em.”
“Liz”, I paused, “Is he married?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Is he?”
“Yes.”
“You’re really messing up, girl.”
“We’ll talk.” She hung up.
October 2001 (age 47)
I curled up on my sofa at eight o’clock on a cool autumn night, a steaming mug of chamomile tea in hand. In the background, a mix of my favorite country songs pulsed from the CD player. My brass floor lamp shed a warm glow over the book I was reading for book club. All was well in my little world. The phone rang. It was Liz. Eight years had passed since we last spoke, eight years of tumult, recrimination, resolution, and recovery. Now she wanted to come over to see me. ‘Why?’ I wondered.
Once upon a time, Elizabeth and I were best friends with all that could mean in a thirty-plus-year relationship that began as children. We knew each secret of our formative souls and the giddy girlish highs of women-to-be. For years, every moment of the day was discussed and examined in detail. She was my diary and I hers. We shared our experiences of the first blood of puberty, the angst, the disgust, the wonder. We shared the excitement of our first boyfriend’s kiss, the first love of each heart. Plundering the mysteries of religion, we sought to understand who we were in the world and what we really believed. As mad Anglophiles, we planned a trip to London, a city we both yearned to see. Our post-college ambition was to live in Europe, either as diplomatic interpreters or high-class escorts.
Those teen daydreams were never realized, as our lives trended toward traditional roles. We settled into suburban married lives as friends. We were counselors to each other through marriage, husbands, and children. We encouraged each other through pregnancies, experienced the miracle of giving birth, and faced the challenges of raising children. I kept her secret and went with her when she had an abortion and didn’t want Raleigh to know about it.
There were no taboo subjects. We were closer than sisters with no sibling rivalry. We never had a fight. We understood and tolerated the bitchy days, allowed space for moods that demanded solitude or, at least, unconditional love. I knew everything about her. I knew when she started cheating on her husband. Our paths began like parallel trails through the woods; side by side, then diverged as the undergrowth of other relationships grew denser in between us, so we did not see each other with the same clarity. But the knowing was there. Until it wasn’t.
Why did she want to see me now? A wise therapist, years ago, reminded me that even though you don’t forget, you can forgive. Forgiveness takes the burden from your soul, not necessarily the memory from your heart. Heart wounds heal, leaving scars. Maybe I’ll return her book of old English love poetry.
September 1977 (age 23)
We both came home from college with a young man in tow, feet firmly set on paths to happily ever after. We spent the last night before my marriage together. Our last slumber party as maids at my parents’ home. We giggled, drank cocoa my mom made like old times, and talked about the import of being a wife and not losing ourselves in the transition.
“I have something to tell you before tomorrow, but I don’t want it to screw up your day, so please tell me it won’t,” Liz said, putting down the white mug.
“What’s the matter?”
“Ben left this morning to go back to Pennsylvania. We called off our wedding.”
“For good or for a while?”
“It’s over. I think watching you and Brent, we both realized that our relationship is not right. He really wants a Jewish princess in his life, and I can never be that. There was pressure from his folks and I…”
“I’m so sorry. I know you were looking forward to all the world travel, being part of Ben’s lifestyle. You must be devastated.” I put my arms around her.
“Actually, I’m not,” she said, patting me on the back and pulling away. “Maybe it’s not set in yet, but I think it’s the right decision. I’m going to get a job here in Tucson for the time being and rethink my options.”
September 1977, 10 days later (age 23)
“Welcome back. How was the honeymoon?” Liz walked into the living room of our tiny apartment.
“Lovely. I’ll show you pictures from Butchart Gardens. Some of them still need to be developed. Canada was beautiful.”
“I have something to tell you.” Her voice vibrated with suppressed exhilaration.
“Sit down, have a cup of tea, and give me the news. Brent will be home in a little while from work.” I had my new tea set from one of the wedding showers sitting on the coffee table.
“I’m married,” she blurted out.
“You’re what?” I sat down hard on the sofa.
“Raleigh and I got married while you were gone. We went to Vegas.”
“Are you crazy? You met him at our wedding, just ten days ago. Don’t get me wrong, I think he’s a great guy, but that was pretty sudden. You just broke up with Ben.”
“I know. I know. I know. It was a whirlwind, but I’m happy, really happy.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as well as me.
“Raleigh’s not the kind of guy who’s going to take you to live in foreign capitals. He’s a local boy, he works construction, and he likes it. What happened to all those big dreams?”
“They melted along with my heart. He’s terrific. I’m in the kind of love I didn’t know could happen. He’s so good to me.” Liz gushed.
“What did your parents say?”
“We haven’t broken the news. We went to Vegas for a quickie wedding and came right back. I’m still living at home. I’ve got a line on a job. I’ll move out, and then we’ll tell them and Raleigh’s folks when I move into his apartment.”
“They’re going to be mad, especially your mom. You cheated her out of her only daughter’s wedding. She’s like my mom, really looking forward to the experience.”
“Dad will probably be glad, less expense. He went on and on about how much your dad shelled out for your wedding.”
“Well, I’m mad. I was supposed to be your maid of honor. Remember that was a promise we made a long, long time ago. I kept my part.”
“Don’t be bitchy. Be happy for me.”
“I’m stunned, that’s all. It’s hard to believe you went from breaking up with Ben to being married to Raleigh in only a few days, and you didn’t even let me know.”
“Hey, you were on your honeymoon. I’m not putting my life on hold until I can clear things with you.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m happy if you’re happy. Call him up. We’ll have dinner together. He and Brent were buddies in college. Brent will like the idea. I don’t think he was all that crazy about Ben. This is super. We won’t have a long-distance friendship, after all, like the last four years. You’ll be right here at home.”
September 1993 (age 39)
“Let’s move the party outside. It’s cooled down now, and the night is beautiful. We can play cards on the patio,” Brent suggested.
“I’ll go out and light the patio lanterns,” said Raleigh, going to the kitchen to get the long-handled Bic lighter. He felt as much at home in our house as in his own.
I placed the handmade ceramic wine goblets that I purchased at Pier One earlier that day on a wooden tray. As I started out of the French doors to our patio, I looked up. The lights in the room turned the French door windows into mirrors, reflecting the dining room. In slow motion behind my back, I saw Brent put his fingertips to his lips, pass by Liz, touching her face and mouthing the words, “I love you”.
The goblets crashed to the floor, and with quaking knees, I walked through the kitchen, down the hall, and into my bathroom, slamming and locking the door. I crumpled to the floor, my world collapsing around me, the debris of infidelity.
“Em, Em, what happened?” Liz’s voice called from the hall.
“Emma, are you okay?” The voice of my husband from outside the bathroom door. He tried to open it.
In that slow-motion second, I realized Liz’s married lover was Brent. The lies were double-edged. Liz hadn’t lied to Raleigh. She didn’t have to. I had been the perfect foil. She lied to me. Brent lied to me without words. I didn’t cry, I couldn’t. I struggled to take a breath. How do I navigate through the waves of pain that accost me, moment by protracted moment? How do I survive the tsunami of torment that overwhelms me, sweeping away the foundation of who I am? l was paralyzed on the shifting sands of my identity. Unsteady, bereft. What I always believed to be true is not. Who am I?
Brent pounded on the door. “Emma, what’s the matter? Are you hurt? Are you sick?”
Through clenched teeth, suffering the knot in my throat, I whispered, “Tell them to go home. Tell them to leave. Now.”
“What in God’s name has come over you? Come out here or let me in.” Brent sounded panicked.
“Just do what I said. I saw you. I saw you and Liz. I know what’s going on. Your late-night business meetings. Her tennis bracelet under our bed. I returned it to her, never thinking she’d been in my bed with you. Her – missing yoga class, not wanting me to mention it. It’s you, it’s you, and her. Now get them out of here.” My throat tightened with each word.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“Don’t lie anymore. I know what I saw. I can’t believe you would do this to us – to all of us.”
“Emma. Open the door now. Let me talk to you.”
“Tell them to go.”
“I’ll be right back. Please calm down. We need to talk.”
I listened to the sounds of Raleigh and Liz leaving, the thudding end of friendship.
The origin of this story was a prompt to write a short story that reveals the plot by alternating present and past scenes. I read a book recently, Broken Country by Clare Leslie Hall. She used that device to write a mystery, going back and forth in time. It was a good story that kept you guessing who was guilty until the end.
wonkagranny 