Jennifer Wright
Resurrection
When you are less than five minutes away from Easter dinner at your parents' house, your boyfriend of 10 months -- the one who has recently talked about marrying you and having babies -- tells you that his old girlfriend is coming from Virginia to stay with him for a week. Think about Easter. About Jesus and the Resurrection. Understand that it can be difficult to find comfort in the reappearance of those who have been left for dead.
Pretend you haven't heard him. Say, "What honey?" in a cheery tone -- one that reflects none of the personal rancor you are feeling right now. Sincerely hope that you misunderstood what he said the first time.
"Lily's coming for a week," he will say very quickly, almost impatiently, as he shifts his handsome face toward the side mirror and merges into the left lane so that he can turn down your parents' street. Look out your own window, read the print on the passenger-side mirror, "Objects are closer than they appear," it says.
Think about Lily, the former model and professional dancer who came just before you. Hold your breath. Remember what your ex-husband used to say to you, "Baby, you'd be pretty if you just wore more make-up." Chap Stick is the only cosmetic in your purse right now; finger it nervously. Don't bother reapplying.
Arrive at your parents' home forcing your best bare-lipped smile. Your attractive mother will pucker her Plum Sheen-colored lips and kiss the new boyfriend eagerly on the cheek. Your father will shake his hand. After dinner, the boyfriend will play chess with your nine-year old nephew and win the heart of your older sister, who was a cheerleader in high school and has applied a fresh coat of Rose Mist since dinner.
Later, in the car, the boyfriend will put his hand on your leg and rub it persistently along the length of your thigh until the tiny hairs at the nape of your neck stand straight up. When you get home, let the boyfriend run his excellent body parts all over yours. Wonder how you can still have an orgasm when you feel this bad. Think about whether or not you have betrayed your body, or your body has betrayed you.
When you tell your best friend about Lily's impending visit, she will ask why you didn't cry, why you didn't say to the boyfriend, "Is this because you don't love me anymore?" Liken yourself to a VCR, tell her you record unpleasant emotions and responses for viewing at a more convenient time, say, perhaps, when you are alone in the car with the windows rolled up and the radio is blasting. Remind her that members of your family, your father in particular, regard self-control as an art form. Sometimes, your best friend will say, she can't believe what an idiot you are. Later, one of your male friends will tell you it's time for an ultimatum: you or Lily. You are familiar with ultimatums, the way they ensure the abrupt end of almost any relationship unless a great deal of money is involved.
Don't ask for any more advice. Instead, take inventory. You are 37. You have been divorced for 10 years. Your ex-husband still lives with the diminutive Japanese woman he left you for -- you see her in the grocery store almost every week. You, yourself, have been through a number of boyfriends since. The last two had the same first name, which has been more confusing than you would have imagined. Especially since you and first Pete are still good friends -- this despite the fact that he, too, developed a penchant for 85-lb Asian women and is currently on his third. Though you are thin and of average height, you have, by way of comparison, come to think of yourself with some malice as a "big white chick." Recently, you watched Three Days of the Condor again, in which Robert Redford ends up with Faye Dunaway after the CIA has killed his tiny Chinese girlfriend. Worry briefly about the possibility of latent (or not-so-latent) racist tendencies, but know that you are decidedly happy to see Bob give a big white chick like Faye a chance. You actually take comfort in the fact that the second Pete left you two years ago for a nurse who looks so much like you that your own mother might not be able to tell you apart.
You have seen pictures of Lily. Mostly in old dance magazines. She is taller and whiter than you, possessing longer legs, modest implants, and an amazing face. She is 29, wears make-up, owns a curling iron, and has never driven a pick-up truck or had a dog. She cries easily, the boyfriend has said. Understand that a man's relationship to a woman's crying is complicated. That while the man will always say he hates it, the absence of crying in a woman makes him suspicious.
Two days after Easter, get off the jagged little merry-go-round in your head long enough to tell the boyfriend in a very calm voice that you are not happy about Lily's impending visit, that you are concerned it could hurt your relationship with him. He will be surprised. As if a response like this had never occurred to him. After all, he and Lily are just friends now, and he loves you so much. You are the best, so level-headed, so understanding. Like when his ex-wife calls in the middle of the night from Europe to say her purse has been stolen, and you help him cancel all her credit cards.
Your male friend who suggested the ultimatum will recognize that you are not capable and encourage you to spend Lily's week with second Pete, who has since left the nurse and now calls frequently. Think about second Pete, how he's the only man who's ever said you were beautiful. How when one of your dogs died last year, he was the first person you called and the only person who cried. Know that, technically, you probably could secure such an invitation. Dangle the possibility of it around in your mind in the same way a cat plays with a mouse that is not quite dead. Not surprisingly, second Pete will call the week after Easter to tell you he still loves you and assure you that, "Someday, you'll realize you were the one." Remind him gently that he's the one who left; suggest that his speech, while strangely compelling, is non sequitur. Don't say no when he asks if you'll have dinner with him next time he's in town.
Get out your road atlas. Look at the map of Wyoming and think about a trip to the Tetons. Huge, jagged mountains that look as if vital pieces may have been torn from them. When the boyfriend finds the atlas open on your desk, he will ask where you're going. Say you don't know; it's the truest thing. Tell him you won't be here when Lily is. He will say you are making too much of this visit, remind you again that Lily's just a friend. Think about how your ex-husband's friend is still living with him now. How second Pete's nurse was just a pal from work. Shrug your shoulders. You're the VCR; the record button is down.
Two days before Lily's visit, the boyfriend will take a call from her on his cell phone while he is driving you home. Lily is crying -- she's lost her job at the ballet studio and might want to stay more than a week. The boyfriend will glance at you nervously as he says, "Oh sweetie, don't cry, sure!" and asks if he can call her back. Remember what you said to him on your third date, "Do I seem like I need saving?" Understand you do, and that it's an inside job.
Ask him to drop you off; don't say another word as you slam the car door. Think about Jesus and the Resurrection. Pack your truck. Load your dog in the back. Strap your canoe on top. Turn the radio up. Take comfort in the reappearance of a girl you almost left for dead.
©2006 by Jennifer Wright
Jennifer Wright is a freelance writer, who shares her Bay Area home with her dogs Ernie and Scout. Her fiction has most recently appeared in Roman Candles, and she is currently at work on a number of scientific writing projects and a novel.
