The man in front of me is taking forever. Is there a problem? Did he just walk-in with no reservation? Seriously?

I’m standing in line at Dollar-Rent-A-Car, shifting from foot to foot. I’ve just arrived in Cincinnati, retrieved my bags from the airline…it took forever… and now I’m waiting.
It’s May 10th but it’s cold.

I’m ignoring the cloudy sky and chilly temperatures that determined my change in domicile a few years back. At present, Florida and eighty degrees are two hours south, by air. It’s best to forget that now. My head is filled with thoughts of you. Will you be everything I imagined?

Hoping to check my annoyance with distraction, I check my phone for messages.

“How are you today?”

My head snaps up to meet the clerk’s gaze. She’s roundish with shiny dark hair framing an ordinary but friendly face. For some reason I focus on the logo sewn onto the right pocket of her blouse. It’s indecently crooked.

“Gum,” I say. “I have a reservation.”

“Did you have a nice trip?”

I’ve already wasted far too much time with travel and its convoluted absurdities. No banter please.

“Yes. Fine.”

“Name?”

My jaw clenches. “G – U – M,” I spell it. “Just like chewing gum.”

Her head bobs over the computer like an apple heavy on a bough.

“Funny,” she comments.

Like I’ve never heard that before. Her fingers dance in staccato; tapping, pausing, sharp, high-speed. It’s endless… the tapping on her keyboard.
There is pressure on my teeth. My lips, I know, have pulled into a straight line. I deal my credit card and driver’s license across the counter face up like playing cards; a king and an ace. Blackjack! I win! Tell me where to sign already.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m in a hurry. I have to meet someone – he’s waiting—”

“I can see that.” She tilts her head. “I mean you seem a bit rushed.” She pulls a wad of ponytailed hair around her right shoulder and releases. It tumbles over the crooked logo. At least there’s that.

“I just need to ask…would you like our automatic gasoline refill when you return the car? It’s $3.05 a gallon.”

“I know how to fill up a gas tank!” I shout. “I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I... I ...really have to go. I promise to fill the tank. I always do.” As if that assurance makes me a reasonable woman.

The tapping jacks up my tension. My earring seems to be snagging my woven coat as my shoulders rise to graze my earlobes. Anxious is morphing into anxiety. What more could she possibly have to type?

I see her lean over, both hands clutching the edge of a begrimed Formica counter. She’s looking down even as her eyebrows arch.

Following her gaze, I behold my left leg vibrating. The uber thin heel of my stiletto is beating the vinyl floor like a stick on a snare drum. When did that start? Breathe….breathe….

“Let’s get you on your way then. Sign here…these are your keys…and your vehicle is parked in 21D on the left side.”
My pen freewheels along the bottom line of the contract, leaving in its wake an illegible straight line with a bump where the “u” should be.

“Any questions?” she sings.

I want to slap her. My right arm shoots forward for the envelope and my left hand reaches backwards at the same time, grappling for the handle of my rolling suitcase. The bag tilts on one wheel and careens sideways, flopping helplessly onto the floor.

OMG! prints boldly across my mind. I see the letters as clearly as I would any text message. Could this possibly get any more frustrating…exhausting? I don’t answer either of us, and I don’t apologize.But I want to be clear for historical purposes, (I know you’ll read this someday) that I really should have.

Instead, I right my rolling companion, unsnarl the earring from my coat, heave my overweight pocketbook over my shoulder, and walk with fixity of purpose out the door.

As I speed down the highway, agitation presses my foot into the gas pedal. I call the house and your father tells me there’s a shindig at your house. It’s a family gathering, with both your parent’s people. I hadn’t counted on meeting you in a crowd. After all, a first rendezvous amongst a multitude can be awkward. In all the emails exchanged during the planning, a party wasn’t mentioned. I can’t imagine this was your idea.

Could this be payback for waiting so long to come to you? But you live with your parents…it’s just one of those things. I insist he tell you I’m coming as fast as I can. Simple, terse.

I think for the millionth time of what I might say. “It’s lovely to finally meet.” Or maybe, “Your pictures don’t do you justice…you’re far more handsome than I imagined.”

As I ease the car into the passing lane, the landscape catches my attention. There are no familiar palm trees or playful clouds leaping through sunlight. Instead, against a backdrop of somber gray dusk, I see budding maple trees and spring grass; their light green color is tender fresh.

I see myself as I was earlier today. I’m smiling as I rake the surface of my pool with a skimmer, my bare legs warmed by a blanket of bright sunshine. It’s a visual metaphor; a sober, conservative Midwest juxtaposed against a playful, laissez-faire Florida, contrasting my old home against my new one. But you are here…something new, in an old familiar place.

I push a little harder on the gas. Slowly the churning gives way to longing. Seeing your picture propped on my bedside table every day has made me fall in love with you. It’s only the lack of touch that has kept us strangers. This meeting is everything.

You arrived in Cincinnati three months ago. What was I thinking waiting so long? Would you think I didn’t love you?
A half-hour later, I pull into the driveway, jam the gearshift into park, and open the car door; three actions coalesced into one. The jolt pushes me out and I’m suddenly running. I’m so close.

I want you to forgive me for waiting so long. It’s nothing more, really, than wanting to play a little longer in the sun. Reprehensible, maybe…well, okay…yes.

When I open the door, the living room is filled with people.

“Hi!” a chorus greets me. My eyes dart from corner to corner. Where are you? I thought you’d be here waiting for me. Are you angry?

Your father reaches me first and swallows me with his hug. I’m a small woman, accustomed to being dwarfed by his size and normally thrilled by his embrace. But today I just want to hold you.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he declares. And then they all come, hugs and hellos, all welcome but not now.

“Do you want to see him?” I hear your mother’s voice above the din. I can see her blue eyes now, sparkling with humor and filled with wisdom. She‘s sensitive to my overpowering need. Her hand catches mine and she guides me through the crowd and down a short hall and I’m breathless…breathe…breathe.

I stop and then take two steps back and look into the bathroom mirror. I tuck a piece of hair behind my left ear, and smooth the wave over my right brow, and fluff the red curls on the back of my head. Though I painted my face hours ago, my cheeks are still pinked with blush; I lick my lips to make them shiny. I look down to make sure the hem of my skirt is straight and I’m pleased that I remembered to shine my black high heeled shoes. I think, somehow, you’ll always remember this day and I want to be perfect for you.

I take those last steps and join your mother in the doorway to your room.

“Aunt Jacquie,” she whispers, “This is your great- nephew, Carter Gum.”

You’re bundled in a blue sleeper with feet, slumbering peacefully on your side, impossibly faultless…nine pounds of perfection with a curled fist resting under your chin. And then your eyes open and my world changes forever. The sunlight, I see, has been captive in this nursery all along.

The lump rises so high in my throat; I fear it may choke me. And the next sound I hear is a hiccup. It’s mine…a sob really. I didn’t expect that.

“Go ahead,” your mother whispers to me. “I know you can hardly wait to hold him.”

And I do. Your mother stands beside me, and her mother beside her. Your father is behind me, and his mother next to him. Like a glove on a hand, or a boot on a foot, you fit just right, in the crook of my arm. That perfume –eau du baby – so intoxicating as to make me light headed. I forget what I want to tell you.

I’m not a mother or a grandmother. I don’t know…I can’t say for sure, but parentage must feel something like this.
Through a veil of tears I see your two grandmothers. They are both beautiful, strong women and I feel privileged that I can share this moment and you.

“Carter’s a pretty lucky guy to have three grandmothers,” your father says. I feel his arm go around my shoulder. “What do you think?”

Looking into his handsome face, I’m reminded of the day he was born, and then the hiccup again – the joyful sob that chokes.

My brother, who would have been your grandfather, passed away so many years ago. I always felt a need to stand in his stead and make up for his shortcomings in order to bury the shame of his abandonment.

The silent pledge I swore to myself was forgotten in the joys your father brought me and all the lessons he taught me. Duty turned unwittingly to devotion so long ago.

I wonder at the bliss you are bound to bring and the teachings you will tender. Disbelief and marvel fill me as I witness this circle of life. It’s humbling.

I’m an Aunt not a creator, a mere tributary on the family tree. Still… I would have thought it impossible to love anyone this much.

by jacquiegum (Viewed 189 times)