Patchwork People VIII Snowballs in paradise
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Patchwork People III-Today Is Your Birthday free porn video
III. Today is your birthday.
"So what are you doing tonight anyway?" Grace asked as they closed the Blue
Cat for the day. "Please tell me you have something planned. That you aren't
just going home and watching reruns of House."
"You know I only watch reruns on the Food Channel."
"Then tell me you're doing something more special than that."
"I really don't think I could bear anything more special than that."
"Let me at least take you out to dinner. I promise I won't tell the waiter
to put a sparkly candle on your parfait or have the kitchen crew surround
the table to sing happy faux birthday."
Faux birthday was what Grace called the day that she designated as Marcia's
birthday since Marcia adamantly refused to divulge the actual date of her
birth.
Marcia knew that resistance was futile. Grace meant well. To deny the woman
the chance to do something nice for her would be downright churlish.
"My choice?"
"Your choice."
They went to the only middle-eastern place within fifty miles of Hope
Crossing. Hummus Heaven was about the most un-birthday place Marcia could
think of. It was basically a take-out joint with an open grill and a handful
of uncomfortable tables scattered on the worn linoleum floors. Marcia
ordered the falafel platter; Grace, the lamb gyro. As a special Faux
Birthday treat, Grace insisted on ordering the sigara borek as an appetizer.
Tubes of delicately fried phyllo, they were rolled like little cigars
stuffed with a mildly spiced cheese. Marcia slowly munched through two of
them waiting for their entrees to arrive.
* * *
Grace was true to her word. There were no sparkly candles, no singing of
"happy birthday," no mention of birthdays at all, faux or otherwise.
Conversation had been light, inconsequential, mostly about the food and the
Blue Cat, its enduring characters and its occasional customers. Too full for
dessert, they ordered a couple of squares of baklava to go, and had the
uneaten portions of their dinners wrapped up for leftovers.
All in all, it was an enjoyably low-key faux birthday.
"Come in for a cup of coffee?"
Marcia had pulled up in front of the snug old house where Grace had lived
for the last sixty years. Her late husband built it based on a design that
Grace herself had furnished.
The porch was paramount, expansive, columned, wrap-around. The house
attached to it was anticlimactic, almost an afterthought. Modest and neat,
it was a gabled affair, not without a breath of romance, but more functional
than fanciful. Nonetheless it was her dream house, as Grace was fond of
saying, and Herman had hammered it into reality with his own two hands. She
had lived there for the last twenty years without him and would never think
of living anywhere else. In the back, not visible from the street, was the
small carriage house that Grace rented to Marcia.
"No one's going to pop up from behind the couches shouting happy birthday,"
Marcia asked, only half-joking.
"Would I do something like that?"
Marcia squinted at her sideways.
"Okay point taken. No surprises, I promise. Just a cup of cup of coffee on
the porch. A pleasant summer night. A sympathetic ear."
* * *
No true culture was conceivable without a front porch; that was Grace's
well-considered opinion. A front porch was essential to one's spiritual
well-being, the development of one's philosophy, and a guarantor of one's
general peace of mind. Sitting on Grace's porch in the summer twilight,
sipping their coffee, nibbling Turkish pastry, it was hard to argue her
point.
Grace had made the porch a sanctuary of tinkling wind-chimes and hanging
leafy plants. The furniture was white-washed wicker, broken-in to comfort,
and upholstered with brightly colored cushions. Conveniently placed tables
were at hand upon which to set a bracing beverage or a much-loved book. From
such a perfect vantage, it seemed one might almost gain the perspective
necessary to solve all the big questions of life.
A few houses away, a man was washing his pick-up in the driveway, the last
of the sun making iridescent rainbows in the spray of his hose. A group of
children, boys and girls too young yet to know the vast gulf soon to open up
between them, were racing their bicycles up and down the block together,
shrieking with sheer joy. And across the street, a woman in a floppy red hat
and wide shorts was crab-walking up the walkway weeding impatiens. She
looked up to acknowledge Grace and Marcia, raising a claw-like rake in
greeting.
Marcia took another sip of coffee.
Grace had made it extra strong tonight. In deference to their middle-eastern
meal, perhaps?
She watched a pair of white butterflies dance in an upward spiral from the
riot of scarlet snapdragons Grace had planted at the foot of the porch. A
lawn mower started up from somewhere, perhaps blocks away.
They'd sat in silence for the last ten minutes. Hushed, they'd been, by the
sudden appearance of an electric green hummingbird which had shown up as if
from out of nowhere, to suck the honeyed water from the feeder hanging from
the porch eave. As quickly as it appeared, the hummingbird vanished, as if
disappearing into a pocket to another dimension, leaving them almost
wondering if they'd really seen the pixie-like creature at all. They might
have dreamed it.
"Tell me," Grace said, as if it were a mystery somehow connected to the
hummingbird. "What's been bothering you today. Aside from it being your
birthday?"
Grace waited, sipping her coffee.
Down the street the lawnmower shut off. There was the clang of a ball on an
aluminum baseball bat and a shout of suburban awe. The unseen splash of
someone jumping into a pool.
Marcia didn't bother to contest the birthday assertion. "It's a long story,"
she said.
"Start at the end."
"I have a daughter."
"I see. A surprise ending. A very good beginning, too."
"It's the middle of the story that's the problem."
Grace nodded, took a sip from her cup. "It so often is. But it's often the
most interesting part of the story."
"I should have told you about having a child. It was wrong of me not to."
"Why?"
"Because leaving it out makes it look as if it didn't matter to me. As if I
didn't care."
"Is that the case?"
"No of course not."
"Well, I didn't think so. It's often the things that effect us the most that
we can't talk about."
"I tried to be a parent to Phoebe. It was the most important thing in my
life. I would never have transitioned if she gave me any indication that she
needed me to stay around and be a father. But the fact is it came to the
point where I hardly ever saw her anymore. Maybe we'd get together once or
twice a month. Maybe we'd spend an hour or so together at some restaurant.
The other 95% of the time, I was by myself, living a false life, pretending
to be someone I wasn't. For who? It would have been hard enough if I were
doing it for Phoebe's benefit. But was she really getting that much out of
that ninety minutes a month that it warranted me sacrificing my whole life?
Parents make sacrifices for their children, that's nothing special. But to
sacrifice yourself for nothing at all. That's just stupid. I'd sit there
weekend after weekend alone after she'd canceled another visit wondering for
what and for whom I was even living."
"It's difficult to make your life mean anything to anyone else when it means
nothing to you."
Marcia flashed back to the darkest of those dark days. Without realizing it,
she had folded her arms protectively against her body. It was as if a
graveyard wind had blown in from the past. Marcia kept the insides of her
wrists hidden as best she could. But working alongside of Grace for so long,
she was bound to have noticed. If she had, and she almost certainly, Grace
had the tact not to mention it.
"I'm so sorry," Grace said. "For both of you."
"Perhaps I should have stayed just to serve as a reference point. Even if
she were never actually visited me, she would have know I was there, like
the North Pole, a point to navigate by."
"Let me tell you something, Marcia, and please take it as the gift I intend
it to be. My birthday gift to you, even though you insist this isn't your
actual birthday and won't accept any gift from me or anyone else. But please
accept this one. You can put it in the back of your closet or under your bed
or into storage if it doesn't suit you now. But one day it will suit you, it
will come in handy, and you'll come across it and realize it fits you
perfectly. Until then, just hang onto it, no matter how unfashionable it may
look or how badly it fits at the moment. Okay?"
"Okay," Marcia said.
"It is not Walt's approval, or mine, or your brother's, or even Phoebe's
that you're looking for. It's your own. I know it seems like it's been you
against the world for as long as you can remember, but ultimately it's not
other people who are your problem. You are your own problem."
Marcia was quiet a while. "Well, I can't say it's the best gift I've ever
gotten, but I guess it's the thought that counts."
"Wait. I haven't finished."
Marcia grimaced. "The gift that keeps on giving..."
Grace ignored the attempt at light-hearted sarcasm. "You won't find any
peace and happiness in this world, nor will you do yourself or anyone else
any real or lasting good until you learn to accept yourself. It's really
just as simple as that."
"And just as impossible."
"Not impossible. Not easy either. But entirely worth a lifetime of effort."
* * *
They sat together on the porch for what seemed a long time after that, long
enough for it to grow dark. Lights snapped on behind windows up and down the
street. Crickets filled the silence that had been left behind. The
neighborhood had suspended its activities and called it quits for the day.
Each family onto itself, retreating each behind their own front door.
It was the growing chill that alerted them that it was time to go inside.
One of them started a conversation, some bit of gossip, some commonplace
question about what to do with something or other in the kitchen, or what
had to be done at the Blue Cat the next morning. But nothing more serious
than that was discussed. No more was said about Phoebe.
When Marcia kissed Grace on the cheek goodnight, she thanked her for dinner.
When she hugged her, she meant it to imply that she thanked her for
everything.
"I really mean it. Thank you. I didn't mean to seem ungrateful."
Grace patted her arm. "I understand. You're most welcome."
"See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
* * *
On her way back to the carriage house, Marcia thought about what Grace had
said. She hadn't judged Marcia, but that wasn't Grace's way. The problem was
how could Marcia keep from judging herself? How could she forgive herself?
No the gift that Grace had given her didn't suit her at all. It was as if
she'd gotten a magic box but not the instructions on how to make it work.
Marcia let herself into the carriage house. She was going to the kitchen to
put away the container of leftovers. She realized she was still hungry. She
decided then and there to indulge herself at least just this once. Bingeing.
She took a fork from the drawer, opened the Styrofoam container, and,
standing there in the dark by the counter, started in on the leftover
falafel.
It was a special day, after all.
Grace was right about at least one thing.
It was her birthday today.
* * *
Author's Note: This novel was originally made available as an Amazon Kindle
ebook, where it can still be purchased in its entirety for $2.99. My
decision to post it free here on Fictionmania was based on the hope that by
doing so it would find its widest possible readership. I will continue to
publish a chapter here every week until the novel is available here in its
entirety.
For more of my writing and art please visit my blog Sissypop! at
sissyforlife(dot)blogspot(dot)com.
Thank you!
Mckenna
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