July 15, 2020 … Wednesday (Day 2,456,987,456,345 of Covid-19 and not an end in sight.)
Here is one of my favorites from my writing portfolio … purely fiction, my friends!
Leaf Pile Perfection – March 19, 2007
“Leaf pile perfection!” I heard that exclaimed – accompanied by giddy laughter – through the grogginess of post-nap re-entry. Re-entry into the real world … the world of laundry and schedules and a dog needing grooming.
I opened my eyes and it took me a second longer for my surroundings to register. I was on my son’s bed … book in hand. I let my eyes skim over the remnants of his childhood … stuffed animals and dinosaurs, countless books, his keychain collection, an E.T. poster. I was enveloped in the cocoon of his youth – safe and warm, wrapped snuggly in innocence and trying to remember why I was there.
It was the end of autumn and earlier that morning I had taken my car to the shop as I needed new tires – with winter and snowy roads in the near future it was time for the change. After dropping off my car I walked to my office at the university where I teach Cinema Studies. It was such a perfectly crisp autumn day that I decided to take my work home instead of staying in my cramped, windowless office. The streets in our area are cobbled and I felt like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain as I practically danced my way home along the leaf-littered streets through the falling leaves.
Once home, the prospect of work seemed less inviting – so I decided to catch up on a little class reading in my son’s second floor bedroom. We always said he had the most comfortable bed in the house and the best view of the yard. I was watching the leaves flutter from the large, red maple and apparently fell asleep on his bed. I awoke from my nap and haziness – still with the unopened “Mastering Symbolism in Film” in hand. I could hear chatter and laughter coming from the yard and was perplexed … who would be in our yard … in the middle of the afternoon … on a weekday?
And there they were … in that leaf pile of perfection … reenacting the beach scene in From Here to Eternity … no, not Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr, but my husband, Jim, and his intern – Bambi. Her name really wasn’t Bambi, but at the moment that could have been her name – those doe eyes fawning over him. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them even as I felt the bile rising in my throat. They were lying in the leaves – our leaves – kissing like I hadn’t been kissed in ages – ever? Hands groped and felt their way to places they shouldn’t have been. I wanted to stop, to scream out, but I was mesmerized … like when you pass an accident scene or watch a horror flick and you want to turn away, you know you should turn away but you are paralyzed in the moment … transfixed with horror and fear and awe … and you watch, raptly.
I stood over them – how could they not hear my approach? Bambi (who, by the way, was wearing a very pretty, purple, satin and lace demi-bra) was the first to notice me. That look of … what was it … not quite fear, not quite guilt, not quite sorrow . .. conquest? I don’t think it was that either … but she was saying his name so many times I don’t know how he couldn’t have heard her – maybe he needed a hearing aid? And yet he kept mumbling, “Baby. Baby. Baby … ” I’d give him that – she was a baby! All of what? Nineteen? Twenty? Old enough to be his daughter … young enough to be his daughter. The bile rose again.
I wanted to ask her if she knew which pharmacy to pick up his Viagra prescription from – for future reference. It now seemed like she’d need to know more than I would. And was this a good time to mention his receding gums and soon to be receding hairline? In a strange and totally absurd way I felt a kinship with this lovely – yet morally corrupt – young woman … how could I deny her him? Jim was irresistible. He was model handsome. He looked far younger than his age, he was in great shape, he was charming … and I’d do the Fatal Attraction number on him if circumstances were different and if given the chance. I just hoped she’d never seen the movie.
I was feeling like Carrie at the prom … of course, I had nothing dripping off of me except dignity … as I watched them, in slow motion, untangle their limbs and lips. Jim was the first to stand up – and ever the gentleman – gallantly leant a hand to the concubine – who, much to my dismay, looked even better with twigs and leaves in her hair than without – helping her to her Manolo Blahnik clad feet. (Who wears those with jeans? Who wears those in a pile of leaves? Who wears those?)
Jim stammered … “I’m confused – your car’s not here. I thought you were at work.” I shot back (with more force and venom than I knew was possible), “I’m confused. I thought you were faithfully married.” Bambi somehow extricated herself from the leaf pile (of perfection) and slowly backed away from our little cluster and headed for the backyard gate. As she laid her hand on the latch she called out … “See ya!” All I could think of was Clueless … the movie and adjective.
Jim and I stood facing each other and all of a sudden I was astronaut Frank in 2001 … A Space Odyssey … floating off into the abyss of space. I looked at Jim’s face … the face that I loved, the face that I had awakened to for more than 27 years … and realized I’d seen that face before …
It was the face of guilt and anguish and secrets. I’d seen it before; but I thought it was the face of fatigue and stress and overwork. This was the face I’d seen after so many, so-called late night department meetings, out-of-town conferences, spur-of-the-moment seminars.
This was not the first time for him; just the first time he’d been caught. He looked so resigned, so much older; but oddly, not sad. Had he looked sad I would have felt and acted differently. Without much discussion he agreed to leave–immediately. I told him I’d pack a suitcase for him and he could pick it up on the front porch later.
I knew what I had to do. I dragged up the largest suitcase I could find in the basement and took it out to the backyard … and proceeded to hand pick the leaves from the leaf pile of perfection and fill the case. Winter was in the air – and it was time for change.