Chapter 17 – You’re Lost Little Girl

In December of ’75, Keith “acquired” two tickets to the Packers/Rams game. He said since I had never been to a game, I didn’t owe him the cost; which was great, because I was trying to save for Christmas. On prior Sundays, I’d hog Diane’s TV to watch the Rams play. Which during the mid-70s, they were red hot, grabbing my attention away from the Packers (who were having some miserable seasons). Deep down, I hated to see the team I grew up watching get annihilated 22-5, but the Rams were so good that year. A sense of pride came over me to be in a city with such a great team.

My dad would have disowned me if he knew I went to the game in a blue shirt rooting for the Rams. And I certainly didn’t tell him of the atrocity. Jenny was the only person who’d go with me to the Coliseum to see the game. She was also the only person I really wanted to go with anyway. Jenny understood my passion for the game, how much of it was wrapped in my inner weaving, yet I didn’t require any expectations for her to like football. The only games she purposely watched was the ones I was playing in. She’d be in the bleachers, wrapped in my letterman’s jacket, cheering my name. Somewhere else in the stands was Mom and Dad.

The day after the Packers’ loss, they called and suggested flying to California to see me for Christmas. I mentally noted that they didn’t say they wanted to see me and Jenny. It didn’t sound like a great idea but they seemed pretty set on it. As I figured he would, my dad asked me about the Rams/Packers game. When I told him I went, he asked how it was.

Trying to fake a disgusted tone, “Oh, it was brutal, Dad. The Packers just got slaughtered.”

Dad growled over America’s phone lines, “Coach Lombardi would be rolling in his grave. I’ll be rolling in mine if I know you’ve become a damn Ram fan.”

Lying, “Oh, no way!”

Once off the phone, I waited two hours for Jenny to get back from work. For once, she got some afternoon shifts yet was still working many days I was off and vice versa.

Given her pale complexion, gathering sweat, and wiped look upon her face, I barely knew her when she walked through the door.

“Jenny, are you alright?” My eyes surveyed her appearance.

She slurred out, “No…” Her hands trembled like she was shaking them dry.

“What’s wrong?”

Right there on the caramel vinyl, she fell sharply to her knees and threw up. Her hair fell over her face, covering the shame. I took her by the right arm and led her to the couch. Once down, I put a damp cloth on her head and made her drink some soda water. By the time the mess was cleaned, Jenny was out like a light. So much for telling her about Christmas, but these struggles were nothing I hadn’t already been through before. But it never got easier seeing her in this state.

Hurting myself over the contrast, it was just two years prior, she lay so peacefully in bed at the Holiday Inn. Her soft, tiny body seemed at peace for once in her life. In this moment, all this time later, her peace and stability seemed as unreal as the Holiday People she claimed made it all possible. As I pondered the irony of it all, I looked to my right where Diane’s small, fake Christmas tree sat. She had done a great job decorating it with tinsel, bulbs, and ornaments her mom made her. In some ways, I was jealous of the relationship I knew they had. It was something Jenny never did and I couldn’t go back to. Then I also felt bad for Diane, who had a present under the tree for her son who she wouldn’t be able to see.

And as the hours rolled on with Jenny still out, Diane had come home and, as a rare treat, made dinner. Expecting Jenny to wake, we set her a place at the table, but she remained adrift in the unconsciousness. Regardless, it made for a quiet spot at dinner that Diane and I got to talk, despite the white elephant in the room.

“How old is he now?”

“Andy just turned nine.”

“It’s got to have been a while. When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Eric, it’s been too long for a mother to deal with. You know, unless his dad flies him out here from Connecticut, I don’t know when I’ll see him again. He’s just not willing to compromise with me.” Diane poured her third glass of wine and taking a page from Jenny’s book, she changed subjects on a dime, “You know, it’s funny, remember when you mentioned Steppenwolf to me? This is maybe a week or so ago. Well, later that day, I thought of when I saw them on Ed Sullivan’s and when he asked one of the band members who their favorite band was, he said the Fugs. Sullivan almost flipped because he must have thought he said Fucks. He must have asked him three times what he actually said.”

“That is pretty funny.”

“Every time they repeated “Fugs,” it really did sound like “Fuck.” I don’t think I ever listened to the Fugs, but I do know that they were not the band for Sullivan’s format.”

“Too much of an uptight old man.” Still thinking of Andy, my eyes wandered to the Christmas tree, “What did you get him?”

“Um, a train set. He likes trains. I’m praying he still does. Ever since he rode one to visit, he’s been fascinated.” Knocking back the rest of her wine and began picking up the silverware, “Gonna help me or what?”

I respected Diane’s privacy and left it at that. We kept talking as we started to put dishes away. I was surprised to see Diane drink so much. Maybe too much on her mind? She took the plates and I got the glasses, taking her wine away. We stood side by side at the sink and she noticed her glass in my hand.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

“You’ve had too much.”

“No I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have.”

“I bet you don’t tell her that she’s had too much,” nodding her head toward the couch.

Facing the task at hand, she washed, I dried.  Though I’d like to deny that claim, Diane was correct. And rather than admit it to her, I changed the subject and got the weight off my chest somehow, “My parents want to fly here for Christmas.”

           “Really? That’s nice.”

           “Yeah. I wanted to tell Jenny but…”

“She can’t be doing this while they’re here.” True.
“Well, if they want to stay here they can. I don’t mind.”

An hour later Jenny awoke, looking much better. She explained to a worried boyfriend that the cause of her illness was not from a drug, but food poisoning from something at work. Jenny was surprised to hear Diane had cooked, but couldn’t bring herself to eat. I could barely bring myself to share my news.

“My folks want to visit for Christmas.”

“I hope you told Santa what you want.”

Luckily, the Christmas experience went smoothly. My parents flew in the weekend before and left that Sunday the 22nd. Though we didn’t have much for them, Jenny and I both received nice gifts and was treated to dinner. I had been nervously anticipating my parents to initiate the conversation, but we were not questioned about school or Jenny’s ring (which she still wore very proudly). And above and beyond all the makings of the Twilight Zone, my parents actually hugged Jenny before the cab picked them up for the airport.

Diane went to her mom’s Christmas morning, leaving Jenny and I by ourselves. In the dim light of morning, we lit the tiny tree, shared presents, and had some eggnog with our own additive of rum. I turned on the radio where I was met by carols and festive tunes on few of the stations. Back home it was probably snowing, and in Los Angeles it was in the low 50’s. Mom and Dad were probably at a friend’s party. And here, Jenny and I snuggled together under a flannel blanket with a nice cool breeze coming in through the window.

Winding up her new music box I gave her, replaying the minstrel strums of Greensleeves, Jenny told me she had been practicing and wanted to make me breakfast. Sissy’s mentoring must have paid off because she made me some delicious French toast, bacon, and eggs Benedict. Her accomplishment came with great pride. Jenny stopped eating her food just to see me take a bite and be amazed.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Wow. This is better than that pancake house we go to.”

“I wanted to make this for so long. I’m so thrilled it came out right. Do you want any more?”

“Mmm…hmmm.” My reply satisfied her so much. I kept stuffing more in my mouth as she poured me more milk.

“I wanna keep making you more meals…if you’re okay with that?”

“Of course.”

“Good, I need the practice.”

Though we were both full, we made love and took an afternoon nap together. When Diane got in that evening, she continued the fun by sharing her brandy with us that Agnes gave her. In the laughter and conversation, the lights of the tree streaked in my vision and the music faded into a quiet hum. I felt happy and numb.

They stayed up talking as I sat cozily on the couch sipping more brandy and enough caused me to doze off into dream. I found myself walking into a huge open living room. Dress shoes, which I never wear, audibly collided with the hard wooden floor. To my right was a giant Christmas tree, so ornate it looked like it came from a Montgomery Ward showroom. I heard laughter followed by the short drum of little feet. Two little kids, the boy maybe five and the girl six, wrapped their arms around my legs, saying in unison, “Merry Christmas, Daddy!” I instinctively reached down to hold them. When I straightened myself upright, I saw an attractive woman setting a dinner table. Trying to make out her facial features, the children tugged at my hands, telling me, “Come eat, Daddy. Mommy always makes such wonderful meals!”

I sat at the head of a long wooden table covered with a silken, red and gold laced table cloth. Three lit candles sat in the middle, next to bowls of mashed potatoes, corn, beans, spinach, carrots, and bread. Inhaling all of the “wonderful meal,” my eyes struggled to see passed the candles, which obscured the woman now in the kitchen. Two small faces, who could barely see over the table, were smiling at me. I could feel so much warm and joyful love from them. Just as I got lost in their emotions, the woman stood next to me holding a platter. Before I could look up, she asked, “Would you like to cut the turkey, love?”

I knew her voice in an instant. Looking up, it was Jenny. She was older, mid-thirties. Her hair was pulled back in a tail, her long dress was covered by a red cooking apron. She laid the platter on the table, to my left, and handed me the cutting utensils. Once I stood up, I looked down into her green eyes, and was amazed at how stunning she looked. My thoughts were swarmed with a maze of memories which showed me flashes of a wedding, buying the house I was in, the births of both children, and how we spent our happy lives together.

Everything fast forwarded from dinner to just she and I resting on a big leather sofa. The children I believe were in bed. A dying fire smoldered, its pulsating coals still keeping us warm. Looking out an old style window, she sighed, “The snow is beautiful.”

Looking like a scene from a Christmas movie, “It never snowed in Los Angeles, did it?”

She sipped from some hot cocoa we were sharing, “Well, we’re home now, Eric. It snows here every Christmas.”

Shaking my head, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

Smiling, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“This is just so perfect, Jenny.” Allowing my senses to absorb the environment, I smelled the smoldering ambers, the wooden framework of the home, and faint musk of the couch. My line of sight and peripheral soaked in the photos on the mantle, the brass coasters on the coffee table, the mound of presents carefully laid out under the tree, and of course, Jenny herself, “If it is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.”

Ironically, as I said that, the whole thing faded and Jenny’s voice broke through to my consciousness, “Eric, wake up.” My eyes opened and a sadness hit me knowing I had been dreaming. When she saw the mood on my face, she asked what was wrong.

“I had the greatest dream…” I told her all the details, everything I could remember. From the water in her eyes, I could tell she was as moved as me.

“Do you still think dreams come true?”

“I’d like this one to.”

“Merry Christmas, Wintertime Love.”

To this day, the Christmas of ’75 is the best I’ve ever had. For my wintertime love and I there was peace on Earth, joy in the world, and troubles we could put in the rearview.