Now that Marge was ready to take care of herself, Marty worried that she’d start drinking again because Dr. Z. told her absolutely that’s the one thing she must not do. He also insisted she quit smoking (but that wasn’t gonna happen). While she was recovering, her kids still had serious responsibilities like school and work. Susie was now helping out at the pet store, and Bob surprisingly paid her what Marge made until she could return to work. Marty thought he was getting a little soft in the head since his mom died, and he was totally responsible for the store. Captain Hook was still the same – that old buzzard would probably outlive them all! The one-legged macaw enjoyed tormenting Susie, as he did with any worker or customer who frequented the store. When she walked by unsuspectingly, he performed a fake lunge from his perch and screamed in his best impression of an eagle. That always popped a button or two in the tight clothes Susie wore, or at least mussed her hair, and the irascible old bird chuckled smugly to himself.
One day Susie got her revenge. She waited until he was preening – getting all relaxed and extending his feathers so he could clean between them – then she sneaked up behind him and screamed as loudly as she could. The macaw was so surprised he fell clean off his perch, and let out a shriek like a little girl who saw a snake. Susie laughed at him loudly, staying just out of biting range, and he was so cross that he didn’t know what to do. He rocked back and forth on his one leg, growling and mumbling curses under his breath, then climbed back up on his perch and bristled his feathers; screeching in stark vexation. From that day on, he respected her a lot more, and even let her pet him. It was getting harder to make friends with him as he got older. Marty empathized with the old rascal, conceding that if a monkey had torn off his leg, he’d probably find it hard to trust primates, too.
Speaking of legs, it was time for Marty’s cast to be removed. Dr. Z. was sure giving the White family a lot of free medical care! He used what appeared to be a miniature power saw to cut down its length, and cracked it open the way a hungry bear might go after a juicy grub in a rotten log. But Marty’s left leg resembled something even a bear wouldn’t eat, and smelled even worse. He washed it in the doctor’s tub, and was relieved to find no dead parts falling off. Dr. Z. gently tried to bend his leg a little, just to make sure the knee hadn’t fused. It felt very stiff and couldn’t make it to 90 degrees. He said that was normal, and told Marty how to massage and bend it a little more every day until he regained full range of motion. Then he could start rehabbing it, and might be able to walk without crutches in a couple of weeks. He fixed him up with a removable Velcro splint that kept the leg straight and protected it a little, and his patient was good to go. Privately, Marty wondered if he’d ever be as fast or agile as he used to be, and vowed to rehab it as diligently as possible.
He called Good Ol’ Dad to wish him a happy birthday, but he didn’t talk much. That was fine with Marty; he never was much fun to talk to anyway. He mentioned his leg injury, but his father was distracted and laughed at something a woman’s voice said in the background. He cut the call short, but Marty didn’t care – he knew G.O.D. had forsaken them a long time ago. He was just going through the motions of contacting him; if nothing else to let him know he was still alive. He truly was an asshole – a shitty void in his life – just like Marge always said.
Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, and his dragon painting was finished and ready to present to Michelle, along with the Star Trek drawing and a handmade card with a poem. Subtlety was not Marty’s strong point when it came to courtship! At times he could be too creative, and overwhelm his quarry with a shotgun blast of emotion instead of a clean, well placed shot. He had so many creative thoughts, he simply had to put them into physical form, just so they’d get out of his head. Then as soon as they existed, he figured they may as well serve a useful purpose. He destroyed a lot of very mushy poems that would have given Mr. Hallmark indigestion, but the better ones got put to use, in the practical way one might not want to waste food just because it wasn’t fully cooked. Marty’s only problem was, how would he present these gifts to Michelle? All at once, as if it was Christmas again? Or at different times like a mail order subscription?
He decided to lead her on a treasure hunt with clues, because that would have been fun for him, so he reasoned it would be enjoyable for her, too. Just before journalism class he hid the three gifts inside the library, in places where other kids would never find them. Then he waited until the right moment, and presented her with a cheap little Mickey Mouse Valentine’s card – the kind a first grader might give to all his classmates. Michelle laughed gaily, and appreciated Marty with her magnificent eyes, then she read the clue he had written on the back. “What is this?”
“We gotta go to the library. It’s like a treasure hunt!” Marty’s heart beat loudly in his chest, providing a soundtrack of jungle drums for the expedition.
“Oh really?” she arched one eyebrow in a fair Spock impression. “Fascinating.” Marty laughed too loudly, knowing what one of the gifts was.
She held onto his arm in anticipation, as he hobbled all the way to the library on crutches. He was no longer using them at home, but still needed extra support at school where he had to do a lot more walking. Journalism students frequently used the library for research, and were well known to Mrs. London, the librarian. She was a stereotype for her job: gray-haired with glasses, frumpy and stern, but with a kind, true heart that simply loved books. Marty waved as he and Michelle paraded past the front desk trying not to look suspicious, which only made them look more suspicious. He could feel the librarian’s eyes on them all the way, until they turned the corner to the back of the history section where students rarely went. The card guided Michelle to an etching on the wall depicting the Signing of the Declaration of Independence, behind which the U.S.S. Enterprise was hung on the same nail.
“Oh thank you – the picture from my movie review!” Her delightful Hollywood smile lit up the dusty old books. Marty directed her attention to the envelope on the back with the next clue. She opened and read the little ditty telling her where to search, and glanced at him excitedly with wide eyes, going along with the game. The clue told her to check the poetry section of the library, which was an apt hiding place for his next gift. They giggled and stumbled like little kids, and tried not to laugh too loud as they skirted the front desk again; all the while being watched by Mrs. London. Michelle found the poem behind a portrait of Shelley, who would have approved had he known. The card was in a sealed envelope with a note attached, labeled “read later,” and another that said “read now.”
She followed the instructions like a good sport, and the last clue told her to look in the Asian section, where “a dragon awaited.” She grinned at Marty with supercharged admiration, and giggled some more, as they passed in front of Mrs. London once again, who was now smiling wryly – no doubt in recognition of the hormonal chemistry reaction taking place in her library. Michelle looked behind the bookcase and said, “There’s nothing there.”
“What?” Marty put his hand behind it, then dropped his crutches and got down on all fours to peer into the crack. “It’s gone! I made a painting for you, and it’s gone!” He was aghast and outraged, and searched all around the area.
“Oh, that’s terrible!” Michelle exclaimed, adding sensibly, “Let’s ask Mrs. London.”
“Good idea!” He climbed back up on his crutches and hurried to the front desk. “Ahem, excuse me – have you seen…?”
The veteran librarian wore a mischievous little smirk, as she reached smugly under the counter. “You mean this?” She displayed his pink and green dragon painting as if it was on auction, and Michelle gasped – probably not because it was a great work of art (which it wasn’t), but Marty couldn’t have asked for a more dramatic presentation of his gift, and she was thrilled! He thanked Mrs. London profusely, and turned pinker than the painting. “You’re a lucky girl,” she winked at Michelle, as they made their excuses to get back to class.
“I do feel lucky to know you,” Michelle squeezed his shoulder on the way back to class, but there were others in the hall and a thank-you kiss wasn’t likely… which made the moment all the more tantalizing. “I feel bad, because I don’t have a Valentine’s gift for you,” she mentioned in sudden realization, and Marty stopped, leaning on his crutches.
“How about a hug?” he suggested on sudden impulse; wanting so much more than that. She hesitated ever so slightly, and then a charitable expression graced her angelic face, and she leaned in, putting her arms around him and rubbing his back with nervous energy. The crutches made it very awkward, and Marty wanted to fling them away like an invalid healed at a prayer revival, as his heart soared with rapture. Her cheek pressed softly against his, and her breasts brushed lightly on his chest as he put his hand between her shoulder blades, lost in the dreamy scent of her hair. Their embrace lasted less than five seconds, but there was undeniable intimacy exchanged, and when she pulled back, she grabbed his upper arms and shuddered deliciously, as if she, too, was affected by the moment. Her eyes were saying more than words could express, and Marty dropped one of his crutches trying to regain his balance, which broke the spell. They returned to journalism with a renewed bond between them, and curious heads turned to witness Beauty and the Gimp enter the classroom together, with the Gimp looking like the cat who got the canary. She resumed her role as one of the well-bred members of class, but kept glancing in Marty’s direction to see if he was looking at her; all too aware that she was now the center of his universe.
Marty was elated beyond all reservation for the rest of the day, but with slight irritation because he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d written in the card he labeled, “read later.” Like a dummy, he hadn’t kept a copy of the poem for himself! He thought he had it memorized and that it was inscribed on his heart, but now that he was worried about it, the words were shaken and stirred by his palpitations and got jumbled in his head. To assuage his anxiety, he fantasized that she’d come running up to him between classes, and they’d share a romantic kiss in the middle of the field. Alas, the moment never came, and he had to leave school as soon as it ended, because it was going to be his first day back at work.
Mike had been the only able driver for some time now, and primarily used Marty’s truck to drop him and Susie off at Drake, and continue on to his classes at Mewah. He got out earlier than they did, so he could pick them up after school and shuttle them to the pet store, before reporting to his job at the factory where he was on the maintenance crew. Marty was primarily the cashier in his limited condition, and he pounced on the phone as soon as it rang, with the alacrity of a snake striking a mouse. “Aquarium Beautiful!” It was his mom. She called to ask him to bring home some dog food, and he asked how she was doing. Her voice was slurred a little, and he hoped it was from sleeping and not drinking. She had the chance to stop now, after being in medically-induced sobriety for three weeks, and might soon be able to work. He replaced the receiver on its hook, and wondered, did Michelle even know his work number? She must be waiting until I get home so I won’t be distracted, he reasoned optimistically. Mike picked him and Susie up after his shift was finished, and Marty kept telling him to drive faster – if he got a call from Michelle, he didn’t want Marge to answer!
He used the crutches to vault over the mud puddles in the driveway and hopped expertly down the uneven path on one leg to claim the phone before Susie could drag it into her room. It rang almost as soon as he got it in his bedroom. He let it ring twice so Michelle wouldn’t think he was desperate (which he was). “Hello?” he tried to sound suave and casual, but was breathless and felt like peeing in his pants.
“Hello sir, I represent the Marin County Democratic Party, and I…”
“Aargh! Don’t call me anymore! The CIA is bugging my phone!!” Marty shrieked into the receiver, following the usual protocol for telemarketers, but with more anger than usual. The objective was to sound so crazy that they crossed their number off their list for good.
“What?” the voice sounded bewildered, as usual.
“They’re tracing my calls! Get out now! They’re coming!!” Marty slammed down the receiver and tore off his jacket. It rang again, and he grabbed it in genuine vexation, now. “I told you they’re coming to get you!!”
“Um… Marty?” It was Michelle, and he nearly had a heart attack.
“Oh hi, um – er, I thought you were my friend,” he improvised nervously, “I mean my other friend. We were playing a game… oh, never mind,” he took a deep breath and purged the panic from his voice, warmly shifting tracks to a sincere tone, “Nice to hear from you! Did you read my poem?”
“Yes, I did,” she revealed, with what sounded like forced brightness. “It’s so beautiful, you/re such a sweet guy and so creative. I’m just sitting here, listening to the tape you made, with your art work all around me, and the card – it makes me feel so special. Thank you.” Her words were honey, but he waited for the sting.
“You’re welcome, Michelle. By now, you should know how I feel about you.”
“Yes, and that means so much to me, really!” Her natural authenticity shone through. “But…” Oh God, here it comes, he thought, dying a thousand deaths in the space of a half second. “I really can’t be close to anybody right now. But if I could choose anyone, it would be you.” That statement made no sense to him, but the last sentence rung like a temple bell and lingered on the air.
“What do you mean, you ‘can’t be close to anybody’ – but we are so close.” He evoked the memory of the warm embrace they shared in the hall earlier that day. “What about that hug? I know you felt it too!”
She sighed in a way that expressed layers of repressed pain, and paused for a few seconds that seemed like hours. Marty waited, silently urging her to change her mind. He could hear Don McLean singing If We Try softly in the background. She seemed to reach another conclusive moment, and said firmly, with a touch of pathos, “Anyway, thank you for wanting to love me.”
“I do love you, Michelle,” Marty was surprised at how easily he said it out loud, “And if you need time, I can wait for you. You’re worth it!” His soul was wailing in despair like an abandoned baby, but he kept a stiff upper lip and bravely stood by her. He could tell this was as difficult for her as it was for him, and hoped she wasn’t playing games. “Like I said, I’m here for you anytime you want to talk, or whatever.”
There was a meaningful pause. “That means a lot to me, thank you,” she said finally, sounding as if she was holding back tears. “I have to go now, I – have something to do.” They said their goodbyes, and she hung up.
Marty was reminded how much he hated telephones. Nothing good ever comes out of these damn things, he groused to himself as he slammed down the receiver. This was getting very frustrating! He was certain that he and Michelle shared a bond deeper than friendship, but something was holding her back – something she didn’t want to talk about. What was it? He didn’t know what to think, so he just sat there like a dead battery that lost its charge, with a heart as heavy as lead, lamenting, why is it so difficult to jump-start my love life? In a dirge of reminiscence, he felt her warm embrace in the hall again, and smelled the sweetness of her hair. His face was wet with tears, and he didn’t want to see anyone, so he rolled up in his sleeping bag and pretended to be asleep when Mike came in.
His last thought was: I wish I could remember what’s in that goddamn poem!
“Sadly, you can’t choose the people you fall in love with.”
– Al Stewart