Better Off Divorced

by Marianne Hansen

  “We’re going to get through the next forty-eight hours.” I took another deep breath. “And then we can get completely drunk Saturday night.”

  “Something to look forward to.” Rebecca considered the parking lot and clapped her hands once. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  We walked over to the buses, where we set up a table and put out the name tags for everyone who had RSVP’d. Rebecca and I had shown up forty-five minutes early. Some of the alumni had apparently arrived even earlier. I watched them walking through the parking lot, but I only recognized a couple of faces. Getting back to work after so long had been hard, and I hadn’t been an enthusiastic teacher my first year. I mulled over the idea I was Rebecca’s favorite teacher.

  I stood behind the table and began handing out badges. While we waited for more people to show up, I had to spend time talking with the early arrivals. I was introduced to a couple of spouses and partners, and I asked what everyone was up to.

  I looked over at Rebecca. She was doing an amazing job making the rounds and saying hello to everyone. She shook hands and hugged people and looked like she actually cared everyone was there. I just kept a frozen smile on my face and said ‘hi’ in a voice an octave higher than my normal one.

  A tall, blond man in a sky-blue sweater that brought out the blue in his eyes walked up to Rebecca and gave her a hug. Her cheeks reddened, and she touched her hair. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but by the way she kept pulling down on her dress, I could tell she was nervous. She grabbed his left hand and held it in a way that she could feel if he was wearing a wedding ring. I barked out a laugh when I realized what she was doing.

  “Are you okay?” a man asked me.

  I smiled broadly, and with a much too high voice, I said, “I think there was something in my throat, but I'm okay now. Thanks.”

  He looked at me oddly, nodded and backed away.

  Soon the buses were full with alumni and their plus ones. I tried not to make any quick judgments about relationships. I didn’t want to look like an idiot by pairing people up incorrectly, so I tried to relax by telling myself I only had eight more hours of this.

  Rebecca walked the man in blue to the bus and then turned towards me swinging her hands in front of herself and clapping occasionally.

  “Have you called the Plantation to make sure they know we're coming?” I asked Rebecca.

  “I called earlier this week, and I got a confirmation email. If they don’t realize we’re coming, there's something seriously wrong with their organization. They’ve been open for fifty years, so I think we’ll be okay.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I’ll follow behind the buses. Are you sure you don’t want to go with me? I’ll make it to the Plantation entrance before everyone else.”

  “I don’t know why, but I think it’ll be fun to be on the buses with everyone.”

  “Anyone in particular?” I couldn’t remember who Rebecca had dated in high school. I don’t pay much attention to who my students are dating, although some couples make it impossible not to know they’re together. Fortunately, my sons did not fit into this category. Yet.

  Rebecca’s cheeks turned pink again. “I know I’ve been talking about giving up my entire future to follow Aidan to medical school and turn the clock back to 1955, but I did have a slight crush on Justin in high school.” She closed her eyes tightly. “Does it make me a horrible person if I want to see if he could like me?”

  “The one in the blue sweater.”

  She nodded and fidgeted with her shawl.

  “I don’t think it does, but I may not be the best person to ask. My ex-husband has been coming around a lot lately and I haven’t severely hurt him. I’ve only lost my sanity on the side of the road sitting next to a former student. I'm questioning my judgment lately.”

  Rebecca took my hand. “I think that shows you’re human and have the patience of a saint. Or maybe a Pilgrim would be a better metaphor today. I’m just going to look at Justin from the front of the bus.”

  “That may be a little obvious.”

  “Not if I do it by looking in the bus driver’s mirror.”

  The second bus closed its doors. “Okay. I guess everyone is on.”

  “Do we need to put the table away?” Rebecca pointed down to the table with a few leftover name tags. “And should we worry that not everyone who said they were coming are here?”

  “I’ll leave a sign telling people where we are and that we had scheduled the buses for a certain time and couldn't wait. I have a feeling these people may not come until tomorrow anyhow.” I looked at the names. “There’s less than a dozen names, so I doubt it’s going to matter much. And we can put the table away tomorrow. Or I can tell a student to get the table for ten extra credit points.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “Ten points won’t really matter either way, but I never tell students that. I get too much done giving away ten points here and there.”

  Rebecca looked doubtful. She squinted her eyes at the bus, then at the table, and then at the bus.

  “Just get on the bus and flirt with Justin, and I’ll take the heat.” I felt bad that seeing her insecurities was helping me feel better.

  She folded her arms and propped her chin on her fist. “Okay. I can do that.”

  I turned her around and pushed her to the door. “You can do this.”

  She stared blankly at the bus as she walked toward it.

  13

  When I pulled up to the entrance of Mayflower plantation, I saw a group of Pilgrims carrying picket signs. I didn't remember learning about picketing Pilgrims in history class, but it had been a while since I’d studied the Mayflower landing.

  I parked and walked toward the entrance. I read some of the signs. A larger woman in a brown waistcoat and coif held a sign that read “Prithee give us full benefits.”

  A man in a black coat and brown breeches held a sign reading, “Huzzah for full insurance!”

  I noticed another sign. “Not giving full benefits to Mayflower employees is Arsy-Varsy!”

  I appreciated how even though they were protesting, the employees were keeping in character. I also appreciated the fact that I had about 100 people who were about to cross the picket lines. I hoped there were still enough people working to keep everything running so I didn’t have to entertain anyone or come up with a Plan B. I knew Rebecca should be the one to come up with a Plan B, but I had a feeling she was going to be too busy reliving high school with Justin. I looked around. Maybe no one would even notice there was a strike. Aren’t Millennials known for not having long attention spans? Maybe the Mayflower Plantation has an app they can pay attention to as they walk to the entrance.

  Rebecca came up to me, watching the picketing Pilgrims. “What's going on?”

  “I don’t think Pilgrims are getting the benefits they deserve. Which is ironic because the real Pilgrims would've just died if anything went wrong. I wonder if that's why the management isn't giving in.”

  Rebecca pinched her bottom lip. “Have you gone up and asked if they’re still open?”

  “I was about to, but then I started reading the picket signs.” I glanced around as the alumni gathered by us. “I’ll go ask. You start a get-to-know-you game or something.”

  I walked up to the group ticket window. An older woman was scrolling through her phone. “Are you open?”

  She didn’t look up. “We are.”

  “Is there anyone working inside or is everyone out here?” I motioned to the picketers behind me.

  “We still have people inside, but not as many as usual. It shouldn’t affect your experience although we have cancelled a few of the hands-on activities.”

  I nodded a few times, wondering how much fun being at the plantation would be for four hours without some hands-on activities. “Isn’t the whole purpose of the plantation to allow modern-day mortals to have Pilgrim experiences?”

  She studied me. “Are you the high school reunion?”

  “Ye
s.”

  “You don’t need to worry. You have four Pilgrims assigned just to your group to walk you through each of the experiences. Or at least as many as possible in the allotted time.”

  “Why aren’t you striking?”

  The woman typed a few things into her computer and the tickets started to print. “I’m retired and on Medicaid. I spend my time writing my representatives and senators telling them that if I die because they cut funding, it’s their fault and they’ll have my blood on their hands.”

  “That sounds lovely,” I said. “Do you know if it's working?”

  She peered at me. “I’ve never been turned away from a meeting when I’ve asked for one. I think they’re scared I’ll curse them with some sort of Pilgrim hex. It doesn’t matter that hexes aren’t really from the era of the Plantation, but I figure it’s their fault for not knowing their history. I like to keep them scared.” She winked at me.

  I laughed out loud. I wanted to be best friends with this woman. I bet she'd know how to get rid of John’s bad mojo while still seeing him weekly when exchanging James.

  She focused on something behind me and said, “Uh-oh. This should be good.”

  I turned around. A man with grey hair and a mustache, in a black three-piece suit came walking toward the picketers. They booed him.

  He motioned for them to settle down with his hands. “Look. I know you aren’t happy. But we need to settle this like adults. Isn’t there one person who would be willing to sit down with me? That’s usually how these things work.”

  “We just want what Pilgrims deserve,” the lady in the brown waistcoat said.

  “What’s that?” the man in the suit asked.

  “America was founded on Socialism. There was a system of communal property and labor. You seem to be doing a great job taking our labor, but now we want the communal property of benefits.”

  The man in the suit folded his arms across his large stomach. “You know that system lasted less than three years and a lot of people starved. It also doesn’t apply to this circumstance.”

  The brown waistcoat woman started to chant “We are Pilgrim people; not a church without a steeple.” Some pilgrims joined in. Others looked at them strangely.

  “I don’t even know what that means,” the man in the suit yelled.

  “It means we want benefits,” a man in a tan hat who wasn’t chanting yelled. “And it means not a lot rhymes with Pilgrim.”

  The woman at the window handed me the stack of tickets. “Make sure everyone keeps their ticket on them at all times. I have a feeling you’ll be the only ones here today, but just in case, this enables the holder to have the private group tour and to participate in all of the experiences.” She looked at the clock on the wall behind her. “But we aren’t opening for another twenty minutes.”

  “I thought you were opened half an hour ago?”

  “Normally we are, but in order to get enough people to work, management let everyone sleep in an hour, but still get paid for it. It’s not full benefits, but it was something.”

  I shook my head as I walked away. I gave the tickets to Rebecca. “They don’t open for another twenty minutes because of the picketing.”

  “What am I supposed to do with all of these people?” Rebecca's forehead wrinkled. “I picked this place because it opened early.”

  “You also need to tell everyone that if they lose their ticket, they won’t be allowed to hang out with us.”

  “I’m a grad student. I’m not cut out for this kind of stress. And I'm going to look like an idiot to Justin.”

  I put my hands on her shoulders. “You can do this. Hold on to the tickets until it’s time to go in and then stand by the entrance and hand them out one by one. Before you do, make an announcement that they will be put in the stockade if they lose their ticket and then keep repeating it as you hand them out. Just pretend everyone is still in high school and completely irresponsible and you’ll probably be alright. And you can always give out the emergency platters of sandwiches in the back of my car.” I patted her cheeks.

  Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the tickets. I knew she could handle this, but she was too worried about her future and her past to realize that this wasn't the end of the world. The reunion could bomb, but life would go on. Of course, she would think about it with regret for the rest of her life, but I wouldn’t bring that up. “You can do this,” I said. “I know you can.”

  She adjusted her shoulders and straightened her back. She took one deep breath and slowly let it out. She turned around and clapped once. “Okay. Can everyone hear me?” she yelled.

  Some people nodded. Others fanned out farther to the sides.

  “As you can see, there’s a demonstration going on. It’s not going to affect us once we’re inside the plantation, but unfortunately, we can’t get inside the plantation for another twenty minutes.”

  The picketers and the older man in the suit stopped and listened to Rebecca. “We can go back to the buses and sit down for a while or we can hang out here and…” She looked around nervously. She was handling everything professionally but still hadn’t gotten to the point in life where you realize you always need a back-up plan or a way to bluff out of any situation. After three kids, going back to school in my thirties and a horrible divorce, I was practically a pro at bluffing.

  I cleared my throat. “Or we can come up with better chants for these poor uninsured Pilgrims,”I yelled.

  Rebecca looked over at me gratefully.

  “Can we choose?” someone in the back asked.

  “Sure,” Rebecca said. “Those of you who would like to go sit on the bus for twenty minutes go right ahead. But please watch the time and be back here by ten. Those of you who want to help with the chant, think of some synonyms for ‘Pilgrim’.”

  About half the group headed back to the buses. Rebecca texted the bus drivers to let them know some people wanted to get back on. Justin walked to the front of the group and stood by Rebecca.

  “Are there actually any synonyms for ‘Pilgrim’?” he asked her.

  She looked over at me. I shrugged my shoulders. I turned around to the picketing Pilgrims. “Are there?”

  I got blank stares back.

  “Areth thereth?” I asked, in case they were in character and only answered in what they supposed was the dialect of English spoken by the Pilgrims.

  They still didn’t answer. I looked at the man in the suit. “You aren’t helping,” he said.

  I turned back around, ignoring him. He had his problems and I had mine. If solving my problems added to his, well, I didn’t see that as an issue for me.

  “Or something that rhymes with Pilgrim?” I yelled.

  That was also met with silence.

  “Anything that rhymes with benefits?” Rebecca asked, recovered from her panic. She stood next to me.

  “What about ‘insurance’ and ‘endurance’,” a student I vaguely remembered with the nametag of ‘Russ’ said. “It’s not a perfect rhyme but if you say it really fast, it kind of works.”

  I liked him. I hoped I’d given him an A. “Perfect. So what’s a chant for that?”

  “You should insure because of all we have to endure,” another girl I also hoped I’d given an A to said.

  “I like it,” Rebecca said. She turned toward the man in the suit and yelled, “You should insure because of all we have to endure.”

  The rest of the alumni joined in with a few raising their fists. The picketing Pilgrims just watched. I thought for sure they’d join in after a while, but they kept watching. After a few minutes of that one, I turned back toward the alumni.

  “It looks like they don’t like that one,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “Mayflower and grain flour?” a man with the nametag 'Steve' said.

  “I like where you’re headed,” I said. “Keep going.” To be honest, I had no idea where he was headed. I’d learned in my first year of teaching that if I wasn’t sure about something, it was alway
s a good idea to ask a person to explain or expand their idea. If nothing else, it bought me time to figure out something else.

  He spoke slowly while he thought about it. “You can’t work at the Mayflower if you can’t afford grain flour?” he asked uncertainly.

  I nodded a couple of times. “That should work. If you don’t have insurance, your money will go to medical bills instead of basic necessities. It’s not directly on point, but it has nice imagery.”

  The man in the suit walked up to me. “What do I need to do to get you to stop,” he said under his breath.

  I turned toward him. “We’re waiting to get in and I have no idea what to do with all of these people.”

  “We’re now open,” he yelled, leading the way to the entrance.

  Rebecca texted the bus drivers to send everyone back to the entrance. She took her spot by the entry gate, and I stood near the back.

  “You have to keep your tickets,” she said as she waved the tickets over her head, “or you won’t get dinner tonight.” I smiled at Rebecca. Food was always the best motivator.

  14

  Mayflower Plantation was surrounded by trees so you couldn’t see any modern inventions once inside. It was far enough away from any town and busy roads that there wasn’t much traffic noise. The large parking lot also acted as a buffer.

  Once you entered, the path led you through an archway of hanging vines, and then you found yourself on a dirt road. There were log buildings on both sides with a large clay oven at the end of the road. A church stood on the edge of a field. In between two houses, but set back a little from the road, was an animal enclosure. There were pigs, cows and a few goats. The horses were kept closer to the clay oven. To the left of the entrance was a garden. This was a highlight of the plantation, because the staff grew everything. On the other side, there was a fence wall, representing the defenses Pilgrims constructed to protect themselves from wild animals and Native Americans. There was also a guard tower you could climb up and yell obscenities from. At least that’s what students thought it was for.