The Hendrixes

Herbert-

“Are you coming tonight Eleanor Hendrix?” I shouted.

Her voice sounded muffled over the sounds of my speakers, “It’s tonight?”

I sighed and wondered how she could forget our big night out. “YES!” I boomed back up at her!

“Ok, sure. You go ahead and get ready first.”

I take a sip of scotch, and smile as it burns its way down my throat. The feeling pulses through my arms and legs and I run up the stairs; I’m so alive! Entering the bedroom, I eye the outfit I’ve been planning all day: my new denim jeans, pressed grey shirt and black velvet sneakers that are so suave I don’t even know how to look at them. I take another sip before I get in the shower, steam thickens the air, and I sing like a wild cat as I scrub myself clean. 

Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself in time to the music. As carefully as I can, I pull my clothes over my freshly laundered body and shake my head in satisfaction. My feet slide into my black shoes like warm peanut butter. I cough as I spray my cologne one too many times.

As I leave the room, I take one last look in the mirror. I smile; I clench my fists; I pump the air; I sigh with anticipation. Everyone will be there tonight. I can picture the roars of laughter, the jokes, the people, the colour. My stomach feels like I have swallowed a big bag of popping candy; the excitement I feel is that alive. 

“ELEANOR, BATHROOM IS ALL YOURS!” I shout, as I run downstairs for another drink. 

Eleanor-

I feel the music quivver through my feet as I stare blankly at my closet. Breathing slowly, I lament that today was our night out- ugh how could I forget. Finding the stillness of the closet door with one hand, I sift through my clothes with another. Stretchy black trousers and a soft grey cardigan call out to me, but I settle on a stiff black dress and some golden shoes that rub my small toes. 

With one finger, I flick on the shower water, and sit on the floor waiting for the hot to come. Steam soon fills the shower cubicle, and I step in, closing my eyes, trying not to worry about the inevitable small talk, the sweaty handshakes and quiet moments. I want to stay in this foggy paradise for as long as possible, but somehow I pull myself out of the mist. I shove on my clothes. The hairdryer beckons me and I stare at it with dread. Herbert loves to see my hair smoothe, straight and silky, but I personally feel like drying and straightening hair could be likened to slow forms of torture. So, I wind my damp hair into a twist, and hope to avoid the disappointment in his eyes.

 He calls out to me, “Eleanor let's have a drink.” 

“I'm coming,” I say, flustered and hot, hoping he wouldn’t recognize the stress in my voice.

“Woohooo” I could hear his footsteps on the floor, moving in time to music that sounded like a broken appliance.

I swipe makeup across my face, and hurriedly decide, “That will do.” Pressing my feet into their golden coffins, I bid adieu to the feeling in my toes. In the mirror, I see my face, and decide it necessary, as a final touch, to add some enthusiasm.

The Hendrixes:

Herb and Eleanor got in the car. Electronic music blasts out of the radio and Herb pumps the air with his fist before driving out from the rotonda. Eleanor pushes her face against the glass of the window and takes a deep breath. She watches as her breath forms a haze over the window, and takes comfort in the coolness of its pane. 

“What’s wrong honey?” Herbert brushes a golden lock behind her ear.

“Oh nothing! I’m really excited,” her voice began to give her away.

“Look, if you didn’t want to come, why did you not say.”

“I wanted to come!” She retorted, her voice cold and snappy. 

“Then cheer up!” 

Eleanor looks up. She feels the burn of being misunderstood in her chest, the tears crawling up into their ducts, waiting for another word that will push them over the edge. 

Herb sighs, “Why do you always have to be like this?” 

She bites her lip. The ducts give out, and wet wobbly tracks of mascara begin to wind down her cheeks. Turning to face the window, she lets the tears fall onto her black dress. They disappear into stiff caverns of fabric.

“You don’t understand how it is to feel like me. I want to go, it's just hard for me.”

Herb scowls. He turns up the music and feels the steering wheel twist through his clenched fingers. 

Herb:

When we arrive at the party. I decide I am not going to let her mood ruin my night! She always has to make things hard. “If you don't want to go, don't go,” I thought. Sitting down next to my friends, I saw anxiety twitch through her eyes. I get her a drink, hold her clammy hand and watch as she tries to blend in with the furniture. I swig my beer and survey the party. The food is stunning, the music is pumping, all my best friends are here and everyone looks like they are having the time of their lives! 

Over the course of the next hour, I make Eleanor a couple of stiff drinks. She is relaxing and she’s even started talking to some of the other girls. I go outside and clap hands with all my buddies. We laugh so hard when Erine tells us he didn't know how to tell his wife he had spent 1000 dollars on a lawnmower. Sandra starts telling us about her trip to Italy, “Oh the damn pasta,” she exclaims, holding out her hands to emphasize how much weight she’s put on. We toast each other with flaming shots of tequila, open hearts and memories. 

Eleanor

I can see from the outside that the house is bursting with people. There are so many people moving inside that it looks like a colony of insects. Sucking in my stomach and my breath, I stare as Herb pushes the door open. Everyone inside is moving with purpose; they know what to do, who to talk to, how to behave. I go back through my rehearsed set of stories, and rearrange my toes in their golden coffins. Herb has brought me a gin and tonic, so I take a long sip and close my eyes. Courage begins to comfort me. 

Eventually, after two of those delicious drinks, I start to feel better. I stop caring. The ladies sidle up to me and start asking me questions about my children. I assess how many questions they have asked me and try to ask the same number back. I try so hard to find a balance between being interesting but not desperate. I don’t want Herb to see me alone and comfortable; I don’t want to ruin his night with my inadequacy. Because this is hard, I keep loading up on courage. Four drinks is usually when I just stop counting. 

Herbert

I check on her every now and again. She looks happy. The girls are around her and she’s laughing; she’s asking questions; she’s starting to dance. I don't know why she always thinks she’s going to hate parties. Bernard gets up to get another drink and accidentally falls backwards and we all crack up as we see he has ripped the seam of his pants in the act. Harold tells us that his wife has decided they should cut back on the meat, and we all laugh and pass him the bowl of pork crackers. He throws them up in the air and snorts like a pig as he crushes them between his teeth. The party is just heating up when someone says, “Eleanor is wasted.”

Ugh. I look over at her as she staggers towards the bathroom door. Her cheeks rosy, her eyes glassy, she looks at me and smiles. 

“When do you want to go home?” 

“Babe the party just got started, you want to go home already?”

“No! Not at all!” She says, closing the bathroom door quickly behind her. 

But, I know we will have to go home soon. Wondering why the hell she didn't just stay at home, I wait outside the bathroom door for her. 

As she staggers out, she smiles and hugs me. 

I tell her we can go home, and I look back at the party. My friends wave at me and then carry on with their conversations; someone sits in my chair, and everyone continues as If I'd never been there. I hold Eleanor's arm across my shoulders and put her in the car. I look at her pink cherry lips and her soft golden curls, and the sigh of her shoulders as they enter a drunken slumber. 

I wonder why she got so drunk, she was having such a good time.