Anniversary

“Oh Jack, do you remember our first date?” Estelle asked, but for me this was a dangerous question fraught with many dangers, a minefield if ever there was one.  Our anniversary was coming up.  My blood chilled when I thought I had forgotten it was today, but then my brain cells quickly assured me that it was not. 

“Sure.” I was sitting at the kitchen table with my cup of coffee and Corn Flakes.  I had had a bowlful of Corn Flakes each morning since I lost my first tooth, but my memory failed me when it came to details of our lives together.  It was a shaming thing since I had treasured my life with Estelle since our first date nearly forty years ago.  It’s just I do not remember where or when this momentous event occurred. 

“Nooo you don’t.” She nearly sang it.  When you are with somebody so long, you can’t get away with even the smallest of white lies. “It was forty four years ago this very day.  My sister Rhonda set us up, remember?”

“Uh-huh.” Knowing I was in hot water whenever her name arose in the conversation. It was the golden age of disco and all the cool guys were wearing wide collars and lots of gold chains.  I deferred and detested this fashion trend, however and stuck to jeans and a flannel shirt open neck revealing an United States Army t-shirt.  This choice instantly put me in the Uncool Crowd, but this affiliation was not an unwanted one. 

I had been just discharged from the army where I had spent some time in Vietnam in the final year of the war.  We had decided to bury the inventory in Saigon rather than waste space on a C-141 as we evacuated the country in 1974.  A few of the sergeants were a bit bat shit crazy once we were back in the USA, but you learned to ignore it as much as possible. 

When I got home, I rented out my parent’s attic and drove a Dodge Charger.  It was a power car that got lousy gas mileage just about the time of the oil embargo.  I got a job as a shoe salesman while I went to the community college.  Rhonda was a student academic advisor when I showed up to apply in my military uniform.  Rhonda already had a boyfriend, but her younger sister, Estelle was unattached.  

I do remember it was at a Freshman dance in October where I finally met Estelle after constant urging from Rhonda.  It was a Halloween gig and Estelle was a vampire while I wore my Army fatigues.  She made it quite clear that she was interested in me as she kissed me after the last dance of the evening.  

“It was a place called Porgy and Bess’” Her memory was unfailable while mine had quite a few holes here and there.  

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” I sipped my coffee thinking about how I had to mow the lawn later in the day.   

“What did we have?” She asked, wiping off the counter. 

“Dinner.” I shrugged.

“We had barbeque.” She tried not to smile.

Porgy and Bess was a Gershwin musical the restaurant was named for when it opened in the 1940’s and managed to stay in business until 1992 serving all kinds of smoked and barbecued meats. While blackface was not considered racist at the time, the walls were filled with pictures of blackfaced actors and actresses including Al Jolson in the Jazz Singer. For reasons I cannot begin to understand, I remember that all the pictures had been removed when I took Estelle there since by then having such pictures hanging in a public place was considered racist.   Replacing Al Jolson and the crew were photographs of local interest including photographs of miners whose faces were black from the coal dust.  Most of the subjects in the photographs were probably victims of black lung which always made me sad since my father Harold was one of them.  Despite the decor, Porgy and Bess served hearty meals to the hard working miners.  By 1990, the last coal mine closed and two years later so did Porry and Bess. I still can understand how I can remember all of that, but I can’t remember our first date.

I guess some of the events surrounding our first date were not as memorable.  A month after my date, my father passed away and my mother soon followed as she could not seem to quit her two pack-a-day cigarette habit.  Our first date was also not very romantic as I recall.  Time has a way of distorting some of the major details, softening the harshier reality of the moment and creating a much more pleasant outcome than was originally experienced.  

My memory was one of walking her home hand in hand, but then having to face her father as he sat on the porch of their home, glaring at me as if I was Jesse James coming to rob his bank.  He already knew I was a veteran and his view of veterans was that they were only after one thing.  Estelle went inside, but Mr. Erwin Philpotts wanted to have a word with me and that word was anything, but nice.   

When I walked back to my boardinghouse, a few blocks away, I did not have any intention of calling Estelle again.

“You were so romantic on our first date.” Estelle romanticized, “You pulled out my chair for me and put the napkin in my lap.”

I did.  It was how I was raised.  Manners were important for two reasons my mother taught me; one to show proper upbringing, and two, to impress a young lady with your superior breeding. It came natural after your mother beat it constantly into your head.  

“I was a gentleman.” I hid my reddening face behind the Sunday newspaper.

On my way home to my boardinghouse, I was angry after talking with Mr. Philpotts and some goon stepped out of the shadows.

“You were in Nam, right?” He blocked me from advancing any further.

“Yes, I was.” I sighed.

“You kill any babies?” He asked and I noticed his hair was long and he wore what I would classify as a hippie costume, but he was not spreading love and peace.

“None.  Not a single one.” I answered rolling my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah you did. You ain’t nothing, but some lyin’ no good baby killer.” He sneered at me.  I never saw his first punch, but I did see some stars.  Staggering a bit, I got in the next blow and he went all rubber legged.  The next thing I know he was laying on the sidewalk, out cold.

Mrs. Van der Maas was smoking cigarettes watching Gunsmoke on her flickering black and white television wearing pink curlers in her gray hair and her big old fluffy bathrobe sitting in her oversized chair when I walked into the boardinghouse.

“So what happened tochu?” She asked.

“Nothing.” I answered.

“That’s quite a shiner ya got there.” She pointed, “Wan’ some ice.”

One thing about her was that she understood the rough knocks of life and right now, I needed some tender loving care.  She was once a nurse, so she made sure I got what I needed at no extra cost to my rent. 

“I laid him out.” I explained as she put the cold pack on my eye.

“Hey, I got no doubt, Jack.” She laughed.

“So why aicha called my sister?” Rhonda caught me on my way to class at the community college.

“She’s not into me.” I shrugged.

“Are you some kind of mental?” She shook her head, “Estelle has been sitting by the phone waiting for you to call her.”

“Really?” I blinked.

“Really.” She put her hands on her hips.

So I called.  That’s where my memory begins, because we talked for over two hours.  All the blood in my arm was drained when I hung up the phone.

“So who was that?” Mrs. Van der Meer asked with a know-it-all grin.

“Just some girl I met.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. 

“Sounds like you got a lot in common.” She did not move her eyes off her television set as Carol Burnett was on.  

“I guess we do.” I admitted. 

With the lawn mowed and the chores done, I went up to the bathroom to take a shower.  Estelle was already primping herself since we had dinner reservations at Faisen Bleu, a fancy French restaurant where we had dinner reservations to celebrate our first date.  Estelle did not hold as much value to our marriage anniversary as she did to our first date.  There are reasons for that and the biggest reason was that we did not bother with a formal wedding, we just went down to the Justice of the Peace, got our wedding license, and with a single witness exchanged vows. It was all over and done with, in an hour. 

Estelle wore a paisley print dress and I wore a collar shirt and tie since she was already about four months along with our first boy.  We did not let Mr. Philpotts know about the whole affair as he was vowing to kill me for my transgression against his youngest daughter.  But once we put Maynard, his grandson into his arms an hour after he was born, all was forgiven.  

I managed to take a Polaroid of him holding his grandson that hangs proudly in our family room back home.  The walls are filled with our memories in those single moments that are so meaningful to us. 

“Jack, how are you doing?” She asks me as she carefully puts her earrings in place.

“Fine.” I answer as I carefully move the razorblade along my chin line.

“You are still the most handsome man I have ever met.” She smiles as she speaks.

“And you are still as beautiful as the day I met you.” I make sure she knows this.  It’s the truth as far as I am concerned.  No one else could ever take her place.  I am a fortunate man.

“I have heard this Faisen Bleu is really fancy.” She checks her face in our full length mirror in the bedroom.

“If you like French cooking.” I chuckle.

“What’s not to like?” She plays along.

“Maynard called earlier.” I let her know. “They will be by for dinner tomorrow with the kids.”

“Oh, I really miss them.  Audry and Caitlyn.” She smiles. “They both adore you.”

“What’s not to adore.” I laugh. It took Maynard a while to find himself as he walked through the hell of addiction in school.  He’s been clean and sober for over ten years.  While they both met in rehabilitation, Maynard and Melody are doing quite well, they seem to hold each other up.

I guess that’s what Estelle and I have done.  When I got home from Vietnam, I went through a lot of struggle with the way things were.  I don’t like to talk about it much, because it’s all in the past, but sometimes I am reminded. It’s little things.  Could be the backfire of a car engine or some plane going overhead, but suddenly I am back on the streets of Saigon again.  The psychiatrist called them flashbacks, but they are becoming less frequent.  I just wish I could remember some of my memories as readily as I am drawn back into that nightmare, but as I said before, I am a very lucky man.

It was almost twenty years ago when we had Stephanie.  She nearly killed Estelle as during the delivery a blood vessel was cut and our daughter went several minutes without sufficient oxygen.  In the end both managed to survive, but Stephanie would suffer developmental and cognitive impairment. Now as she approaches her twentieth birthday, she is still living with us.  While she has made substantial progress, it is doubtful she will ever be able to live independently.  

Many of our friends pity us for having to be so burdened with her, but when I look at her, I feel it is we who are blessed to have her in our lives. That horrible night still lives in my memory when the priest called me into her room so he could give her Last Rites.  Rhonda held my hand through the entire ordeal.

We get into the car to meet our reservations and we pass by where Porgy and Bess used to be.  It is now a Starbucks and a fancy clothing store, but if you walk in, you can still smell the thick aroma of smoky sauce still hovering like a ghost in the air.  I can’t say I am a big fan of Starbucks, but Maynard is and I just enjoy the subtle ambiance.

Up the hill we drive.  The hill overlooks our small town where so much of our lives have taken place.  Faisen Bleu or Blue Pheasant has only been in business since a few years ago when a land developer saw the aesthetic beauty of the place. Matradees buzz about the place like bees in a hive, some of them carrying trays with drinks or pepper mills as the tables are filled with hungry patrons and the aroma of food cooking in butter and garlic hang heavy in the air.  

“My name is Henri and I will be your server tonight.” A man dressed in formal attire that includes a starch white shirt and neat bow tie smiles as he leads us to an empty table.  He pulls out Estelle’s chair and places a menu in front of her as he pours water.  He does the same for me, menu and then water. “Can I get you an appetizer?”

“No thank you.” Estelle smiles.

“I’ll have a beer on tap.” I tell him.

“Very well, sir.” He partially bows and scurries off.

“Very fancy.” Estelle notes as she looks around.

“Glad you are enjoying yourself.” I open my menu.

“Are you happy you married me?” She asks sincerely.

“How could you ask such a question?” I shake my head.

“Because I thought you’d never call me after our first date.” She opens her menu.

“I had my doubts in the beginning.  The evening was not very good to me.” I smiled.  

“And yet here we are.” She put her hand over mine on the table clothed with the linen white tablecloth. “You weren’t exactly my type, but my sister kept insisting. You were a bit crude, but when you spoke, your voice was so gentle, I felt like I was listening to Gershwin again.” 

“I’m glad I took the chance.” I put her hand in mine, “I never dreamed that you would be the love of my life, but life never follows the script in your head.”

“No it doesn’t, but that’s what makes it so worthwhile.” She reached into an open bag that for whatever reason, I did not see her bring into the restaurant.  Inside the bag was a wrapped package that she handed to me. “This is for you.”

She handed it to me.  I removed the ribbons and peeled back the wrapping paper.  It was a black and white photograph in a frame. I held it up to see it.  Tears filled my eyes almost immediately.

“I found it stuffed in a drawer.” She said softly. “It was us.  I had the woman at the clerk’s office at the Justice of the Peace take that when we got married.”

“I remember.” I managed to say with a catch in my throat.

“I don’t know why I didn’t do this sooner.” She confessed as the waiter put a mug of beer next to me as I wiped the tears from my eyes with the cloth napkin.  

“It’s perfect.” I looked into her eyes that I had looked into for the past forty four years and knew that perfection is always as we make it out to be.