FORGOTTEN
(A Walk on the Wild Side)
"Debbie, do you want to be a guinea pig this weekend?"
"Oh, no," Debbie groaned. What could Joyce possibly be up to now?
"I just want to do your family tree," the psychology major explained.
"Oh! That sounds interesting! I'll do it," Debbie agreed, unknowing. She was game for anything. She finished the dishes, her newly blond strands reflecting the bright light of the pantry. Joyce's younger sister, Nicole was fashion consultant, beauty expert, and could be trusted with any dye job, for the girls. Joyce was their psychoanalyst, whether or not they wanted one.
The phone rang. It was Olivia.
"Hello? Who?" Joyce spoke into the plastic banana, liting it off the white/ gray carpet in half-sleep.
"Are you laughing or crying? It's eight o'clock in the morning." Joyce demanded. She dropped the banana down on the carpet. "I don't know what she was talking about. I think she was delirious or something." Joyce lay back in the bed.
"We never know what she's talking about!" Maxine said from the other side of the bed.
"What?! She called at EIGHT o'clock in the morning? She better not ever do that again!" Debbie said sternly. She answered a thirty-line phone five days a week and could not be bothered with a constantly ringing banana after hours.
"Debbie, do you want to go for a run around the Reservoir? Then we'll do your geneaology tree."
Debbie sighed. Work on her day off. She slept while the girls jogged up the hill, crossed Lexington, Park, Madison, and Fifth, and headed toward the Park. She would go later. The walk around the Reservoir, circled by the stunning backdrop of the New York skyline, always refreshed her.
"O.K., here's you," Joyce pencilled a circle in her notepad and wrote Debbie's name on it. "What's your family like?"
"You mean, how many sisters?"
"Yes, family members," and Joyce diagrammed the four sisters into their own separate little boxes.
"And how would you describe your father? Adjectives," Joyce suggested.
"Oh, proud. Arrogant."
"Really?" Nicole asked.
"Which sister was married?" Joyce asked. "Nicole?"
Both Joyce and Debbie had a sister named Nicole.
"No, she's the unhappy one."
"What do you mean by unhappy. Elaborate on that."
"Sad." Debbie giggled.
Nicole laughed.
"She's the divorced one, right?"
"No! Sherri is!"
"Oh, she's the unhappy one?"
"No, Nicole is," Nicole said.
"No! You guys!" And Debbie laughed in exasperation and punched the rug.
"Now, your grandparents," Joyce pencilled in more boxes and branches. "Were they married? I mean, are they alive?"
"No. One is. I didn't know my grandfather. He died when I was little. I mean, before I was born."
"What was his name?"
Debbie paused.
"I don't know."
"You don't now his name?" Joyce asked objectively, not unkind.
"I didn't even know him." Debbie said slowly. "I don't even remember his name."
"Your grandmother. What was she like?"
"She..." Debbie stopped. She couldn't speak. "She was..." She poked at her half-eaten poppyseed bagel in its plate beside the green bottle of lemon-flavored Perrier mineral water.
"Can I write it?" she asked faintly.
"No, you don't have to write it," Joyce insisted.
She felt her throat weaken, give way, as she tried to summon the words that would describe her long gone grandmother, if any words could. Great? Beautiful?
"I have to think about this," she slipped the words out of her tender throat. It was too late.
"You can take your time."
"I can't or I'll start to cry," and Debbie ran out of the room, whimpering. She hid in the white tiled bathroom, where Nicole had gone into hibernation with the yellow plastic banana phone.
"Debbie, want to give it another shot?"
"Not yet."
"Did your grandmother pass away just recently?"
"No. It was a long time ago. I was in high school."
"You were very close to her, then?"
"Oh, yes. I didn't even cry when she died, until today. It was years ago!"
"You were close to your grandmother. I was never that close to my grandparents. That's what I thougth would happen. I did my family tree and it was very draining." Joyce said matter-of-factly.
"I have to go for a walk. Don't worry, I'll come back." But not before she let out three big sobs, at long last, for her dear grandmother.
She ran up the hill, across Park, Madison, and Fifth, past the old brownstones with their wrought iron gates, past mothers with strollers, couples, students, mid afternoon joggers, shielding her face, bleary-eyed with tears, from all. She had forgotten all about her grandmother, put her away in a box. FORGOTTEN.
MORE ADVENTURES AWAIT DEBBIE ON THE MYSTERIOUS, INTRIGUING Upper West Side. Stay tuned for FORGOTTEN: Part II.
"I didn't even know him." Debbie said slowly. "I don't even remember his name."
"Your grandmother. What was she like?"
"She..." Debbie stopped. She couldn't speak. "She was..." She poked at her half-eaten poppyseed bagel in its plate beside the green bottle of lemon-flavored Perrier mineral water.
"Can I write it?" she asked faintly.
"No, you don't have to write it," Joyce insisted.
She felt her throat weaken, give way, as she tried to summon the words that would describe her long gone grandmother, if any words could. Great? Beautiful?
"I have to think about this," she slipped the words out of her tender throat. It was too late.
"You can take your time."
"I can't or I'll start to cry," and Debbie ran out of the room, whimpering. She hid in the white tiled bathroom, where Nicole had gone into hibernation with the yellow plastic banana phone.
"Debbie, want to give it another shot?"
"Not yet."
"Did your grandmother pass away just recently?"
"No. It was a long time ago. I was in high school."
"You were very close to her, then?"
"Oh, yes. I didn't even cry when she died, until today. It was years ago!"
"You were close to your grandmother. I was never that close to my grandparents. That's what I thougth would happen. I did my family tree and it was very draining." Joyce said matter-of-factly.
"I have to go for a walk. Don't worry, I'll come back." But not before she let out three big sobs, at long last, for her dear grandmother.
She ran up the hill, across Park, Madison, and Fifth, past the old brownstones with their wrought iron gates, past mothers with strollers, couples, students, mid afternoon joggers, shielding her face, bleary-eyed with tears, from all. She had forgotten all about her grandmother, put her away in a box. FORGOTTEN.
MORE ADVENTURES AWAIT DEBBIE ON THE MYSTERIOUS, INTRIGUING Upper West Side. Stay tuned for FORGOTTEN: Part II.
