It happened again that night, after dinner walking through the art store in the same strip mall as their restaurant. How was she supposed to guess that there in all places would there be a trigger? It was an unusual art supply store, more like half an art supply store and half the place elementary school teachers go to get good deals on elementary school teacher kinds of things. Like the stuff they were encouraged to get for their kids, but at their own expense. Stickers, tempura paints, cheesy preprinted fill-in-the-blank awards for Most Improved Student. And educational games.
They were walking through the puzzle aisle. On their left were racks of those non toxic rubber puzzles, the pieces of which were all different colors, but there were maybe ten of them there all of the same design. He gave the rack a gentle spin. The one that caught his attention was the pattern of the porpoise.
It had been a good night for her so far. An impromptu dinner date, and then the convenience of this store they ventured into, her sole mission at the time for an Ebony pencil. The pencil was found easily enough and the rest of the time there was just for grins. Reminiscing of times past and days on the kindergarten circle, a big sheet of butcher paper and three colors of tempura paint to create one’s masterpiece. His face lit with memory when he noticed the rubbery mat puzzles but another, more powerful than normal recognition of something long lost found took over when he saw the dolphin.
“This is the exact one I bought Holden! I remember the shape of that piece right there,” tracing his index finger along the back of the creature. “But I thought it was a different color,” flipping through the rack looking for the true clone. “Oh my God…” his voice trailed off. She glanced up at his face, a mistake she knew it would be but hers to make anyway.
His smile. His mouth agape in awed breath. His posture—light for someone of his build—almost floating it seemed, feet barely off the ground. His eyes. The look she dreaded the most at times like these. His eyes represented all that she could see in his body. They too danced, and admired, freezing time still in their gaze. They shone and sparkled and misted over at the memories of days gone by. Way back, how long for sure she did not know. Ten years maybe? Maybe more? Hard to imagine any less. Before they knew each other. Jesus, Mary, Joseph she told herself, you were only in high school, forget about it, stop it let it go don’t do this to yourself again. But she did. She always did.
She watched him. Her pain surfaced quickly, as she watched him stare, dreaming of the time when his son was but a toddler and buying him his first puzzle. Her anger followed next, listening to him gush the details of the pleasurable time spent with the puzzle and the child. Her bitterness showed, and she quickly masked it with the feeling of self pity that was running up out of her as though chasing down the first three emotions before they did something rash, as he stood there for an eternity of forty five seconds while he got all choked up.
-- At least you had that--she thought, the acid of those words not making it out of her mouth but instead seemed to burn through her throat and leave a bundle of scar mass lodged in it. –At least you can say that. At least you have the memories of that. I will never be able to share something like that. I will never be able to entertain others with anecdotes of my child and speak fondly of times spent with him or her. I will never have that look in my eyes, never flash that grin of pride and joy, never relive the wonders and magic of my youth with one of a new generation.—She bit it all back, kept walking down the aisle, casually glancing at the other boxes and images, not really seeing what they were of, pretending not to hear the wistfulness in his voice. She kept moving. Had to keep moving. Find something else. Find a new distraction.
It was far from the first time she felt like this. At least she had finally gotten him to stop saying the phrase, “One day you may be a parent and know…” She asked him for an end to that almost exactly one year ago, and it wasn’t easy. They had been together for a while by then. Making plans to move in together. She had always thought that she loved him. She always thought that she was cool with his past. He had a son when he was nineteen, and then had himself sterilized so it would never happen again. She had never been bothered by that before. As they got more seriously involved, they talked little and briefly about this aspect of their future. “You know, if you stay with me, you won’t be able to have children,” he said one night as they were turning down the bed. “I mean, we could adopt…” he offered, and she sweetly smiled and shook it off. After all, then it didn’t bother her. “I know. It’s alright. That’s fine. I’d like to adopt anyway.” And with that made peace for the night. Another time she asked him if he would really even want to be a parent again. “Yeah. I think about it. I think I really would like to be a dad again.” But then the phrase would come into use again, and each time he said it it stung her like a hornet.
Not that he was much of daddy material. He was mostly a weekend father and he was known by his son only as Ethan. He was more of an older brother/friend type than any of the more laid-back dads she’d ever known. She knew that chances were slim even of adoption. He was in debt about four feet over his head and it was going to take his next thirty years to get out of that, and she had more sense than to raise a family with that much against their favor in the first place.
It seemed he was getting a lot of mileage out of those words the two months before the proposed Moving In Together date. She’d let it slide every time, quietly icing the swell of the stings with a smile and pleasant tone. But at work, amongst friends, she was shaken. Tell him, they said. You need to tell him. She did. It of course came as a complete shock to him. Ethan was a really sweet and personable guy, never one to intentionally wound another, especially her. He was left speechless, and disgusted with himself for causing her anguish. He truly did not seem to understand.
“What do you mean?” he asked after she tried to politely tell him his words hurt.
“You know I’m never going to know what it’s like to be a mother,” she said, choking on her words as her voice cracked.
“Unless they pass a law forbidding us to adopt…I don’t understand…” Mixing humor with confusion he apologized; she felt it was useless, but made peace again the next day by bringing him chocolate covered strawberries. She was cool again, she told herself, there will be times like these. You’ll get over it. You thought about this beforehand. It’s not a surprise. You love him. It’s what you want. Don’t dwell. Make peace. Move on.
She moved into his apartment and life went on. She spent more and more time around him and his son. Then he kicked a rock out from the pile she was standing on.
“I don’t think I could consider being a parent again for at least another eight years. By then I’ll be done paying for Holden through college—I just don’t want that kind of responsibility right now.” He felt badly about having to say that. She knew he did. But she also felt worse.
That was the beginning of her rockslide. Each following conversation about children caused her footing to slip and pebbles to spray over her head. Sometimes she thought she’d found a handhold. One night in particular she had actually started Ethan talking about the steps they’d have to take first before adopting. Moving into a bigger place for starters. There was someone at the office who recently adopted a baby girl from China, maybe he could talk to her and learn more about that process. But that handhold crumbled to dust with the next conversation, an inversion of the previous, the whisper of hope dwarfed by a caprice of doubt, a forgetfulness of things said before, a return to her downhill slide on jagged rock.
So how long was this going to go on? The sound of each conversation. The sound of him talking about his Holden. The sound of her own voice screaming, crying, pleading in her head to do something, anything. Always they played variations on the same theme that was known as her choice to stay with Ethan or leave to try to find a different life, one with a family to create as her own. She was growing annoyed with the sound. It was loud having been played on a perpetual crescendo for so many measures now, the notes being belted out so hard you could swear the musicians responsible were off-key. One more apology from him because he can’t provide her with a child. One more dining room conversation regaling the cleverness of his son. One more night of hushed ashamed weeping into her pillow. She fell asleep again that night to the discordant melody wondering how long before the final coda would play or if she would miss it for the sound of the avalanche.