Better Off Divorced

by Marianne Hansen

  The garden had been plowed and planted and small green starters were sprouting. A few vegetables were farther along, with marigolds in bloom at the end of each row. Blossoms were on the fruit trees spread throughout the fields. Everything looked new and fresh and green. It made me think anyone could be a Pilgrim. With the land looking like this, how hard could it be for them to grow everything they needed? Maybe I should get a job here.

  The last time I’d been to Mayflower Plantation was with Tyler's fifth grade class. I had to stay by five ten-year-old boys the whole time I was there. I’d never been to Mayflower without at least two kids. It can be fun seeing a place through my kids’ eyes, but not five times. By the fifth time, I didn’t care if my kids were having an educational experience or not. I’d pick a spot where I could keep an eye on everyone and try to read a book. It never worked very well. I’d end up being the one who finished dipping candles or hammering out a candle holder. Then Paul and Tyler would show John what they’d made and place it on the fireplace mantel.

  This time I could walk around and do whatever I wanted. I looked around with new interest at Mayflower. I had to stay with the group if I wanted to do the activities, but I was here just for me. I would be making my own candle and not finishing one for anyone else. I looked down at the schedule I was given and realized there wasn’t anything new I wanted to make for myself. Nothing sounded interesting. Once again, a day at Mayflower Plantation was going to be the longest day of my life.

  A lady at the front started to explain what a day in the life of a Pilgrim looked like. I wondered if I could ask what the odds were that the day would end in death. When she talked about praying, I thought about saying a prayer that I wouldn’t die of boredom. That’s when I realized I had become a belligerent high school student.

  Rebecca looked back at me and I smiled brightly. Just like that I was back in teacher mode. It didn’t matter if I was with former or current students. If I was the teacher assigned to the group, I felt like I had to be helpful and friendly. I tried to think about something I could do that wouldn’t jeopardize my job, but make sure I never had to help with a reunion again.

  As the group moved forward, Rebecca stayed where she was until I walked up to her. “You’re hating this, aren’t you.”

  I tried to grin bigger. “What makes you say that?”

  She smirked. “Because you look like you’re in pain.”

  I showed teeth with my smile.

  “Now you look like you’re going to hurt someone.”

  I stopped smiling and grimaced instead. “I can’t not feel like a parent or a teacher at this place. This is technically a day off and I try to be uneducational on my days off—mostly by using words like ‘uneducational’.”

  We walked to the church together. “I was hoping to not feel in charge because someone else is telling us what to do and where to go,” Rebecca said. “But I've been watching everyone, trying to see if they’re having a good time.”

  “Then why are you talking with me?” I asked.

  “I think everyone is still getting used to being together again. Their faces show interest and curiosity. Yours showed distress and agony. I figured if I could get you interested or feeling chummy, then it would alleviate my need to make sure everyone else is happy.”

  “You should never try and make me happy,” I said. “It’s a losing battle.”

  “Simon does a good job of it.”

  I smiled and looked down at my ring. “That’s because he bought me a big diamond.”

  We laughed.

  “Is there anything here that sounds interesting?”

  I looked around. “I don’t think I can handle making another candle,” I said. “I think I’ll enjoy pounding something with a hammer. I don't care what.” I glanced down at the schedule. “When is that?”

  “You're in luck,” Rebecca said. “It’s the first activity. We’re making a tin ornament.”

  “Shoot me now,” I said.

  She laughed. “Is this what I have to look forward to? Never enjoying an educational experience again once I have kids?”

  I looped my arm through hers. “No. I’m just being a huge pain. I need to get a better attitude going or everyone’s going to remember me as the worst teacher instead of the fun and exciting one who made books come alive.” I swept my hand across the sky to emphasize ‘alive’. “I think too much happened this morning and now that we’re just walking and listening, I have time to think. I need to cease and desist.”

  We stopped in front of the church and Rebecca and I stayed quiet while the Pilgrim lady told us about church service. She was saying something about singing only the Psalms and how lucky we were to be able to listen to music whenever we wanted by the touch of a button. After the first generation of Pilgrims died, there wasn’t much musical ability and they had to line the Psalms. When she was explaining what ‘lining’ the Psalms meant, Rebecca turned to me and asked, “So do you regret all of it?”

  I realized I hadn’t made marriage, family life, having a job and being an adult sound or look very good. I didn’t think I had a negative attitude about life, but I sure did a great job of perpetuating the idea I did.

  I pulled on her arm a little as we walked into the church. “I actually love my life right now. I don’t love every minute of it, of course, but I love it in a general sense. My two oldest boys are funny and easy to talk with; I have an amazing ring and fiancé…” I dropped her arm and straightened my hand out to look at my ring. “I have my house and a good job…” I looked around at the people in the church. “…unless something goes horribly wrong this weekend. I have my health and my youngest son is growing up fairly well adjusted even though he was born during a bad time in my life.”

  “Are you just trying to sell family life to me right now?”

  I let that question fade away while the Pilgrim lady told us about how a typical church sermon would be conducted. She then informed us that we would be heading toward the educational center to make ornaments as a keepsake and remembrance of how difficult the pilgrims had it and how easy our lives are. I was beginning to sense a theme with her.

  We walked behind the church and into a rectangular barn. The room we entered had a traditional tin shop in one corner and a wood shop in another. A Pilgrim man was standing by the tin shop with a wooden hammer in his hand. He began to tell us how important tin was at this time while the four Pilgrim women who had been walking with us handed out tin circles. Wooden hammers lined two rows of tables.

  The Pilgrim man finished his introduction and showed us how they made lanterns by poking holes in tins so the light would get out. He displayed a lantern that he had actually made with an intricate design of paisley and Fleur-de-lis. I didn't think Pilgrims would’ve used Fleur-de-lis as a decorative symbol, but he was so proud of his lantern, I didn’t say anything. He let us know that while Pilgrims probably wouldn’t waste tin on something worthless like decorations, we didn’t have time or the ability, probably, to make a lantern.

  I turned to Rebecca. “Wouldn’t a lantern be decorative too? I doubt any of us would use a lantern we made.”

  “We’d use it until the candle we’re going to make later had burned down. Then it would become decorative.”

  The Pilgrim man told us to stand behind a hammer on a table. Justin situated himself on the other side of Rebecca. I had a feeling my conversation with her was over while Justin was next to her. On my right, Cindy from the deli grabbed a hammer and nail. I hadn’t noticed her earlier at the buses. She wasn’t wearing the apron today, but she still had a bandana in her hair and the scarf tied around her wrist.

  “Cindy,” I said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Thanks,” she replied.

  I waited for her to say something else, but she stared at the pilgrim man.

  I grabbed a hammer and made a hole in the center of my tin circle.

  Pilgrim man yelled, “Stop!”

  I looked up. No one else had a hammer in t
heir hands. I dropped the hammer and nail. Everyone was looking at me. I smiled and waved.

  “We have to go over some safety rules first,” he said, looking directly at me. “I can’t let you start to hammer without telling you the dangers of nails.” He then spent a couple of minutes letting us know that the pointed end goes down onto the tin and that we were to only hit the nails with our hammers. Oh, and we weren’t allowed to hit anything else, especially not anyone else.

  I leaned toward Cindy. “I feel like Pilgrims think modern day folk are idiots.”

  She looked at me sternly and put a finger to her lips.

  He finally ended his spiel, and hammering commenced. I caught snippets of conversations mostly about what designs people were putting on their ornaments. I wondered when all of these people had become so polite.

  I decided to try to talk to Cindy again. “It seems odd to me no one is talking about what they’ve been up to the last five years.”

  Cindy took a pencil out of her purse and drew a design on her tin circle. “I think a lot of people have kept up on social media. I also think things will be different tomorrow during the dinner when there's alcohol.”

  “Is anything happening tonight?”

  “I think old cliques are going out to dinner. I don’t know. I wasn’t really in a group. People have basically gravitated toward the same people they hung out with in high school. I don’t know why I thought it would be different five years later.”

  “You had to have hung out with people in high school. I️ don’t remember you being alone.”

  “Do you remember me at all?” Cindy asked. It felt like she was daring me to say no.

  I️ wanted to remember her, but I️ couldn’t. I️ looked around. “Actually, I️ don’t remember most of the people here. This was my first year teaching and I️ think I️’ve blocked a lot of it out. It wasn’t the best time in my life.”

  She looked down at her ornament. “Fair enough.”

  “You don’t seem too upset that you didn’t have a specific group.”

  She hammered a couple of holes. “Isn’t high school about figuring out who you are and making a bunch of stupid mistakes?”

  I️ rubbed my hand through my hair. “High school and college.” I️ randomly hammered more holes. I️ was using too much pressure and my ornament looked like an angry person had made it.

  Cindy hammered a few more times. “I️ already knew who I️ was. I️ knew I’d take over the family business, so when other kids were dancing or throwing balls or whatever, I️ was learning the business. If someone didn’t get along with me, I️ didn’t care much. Everyone was nice when they ordered their sandwiches. Getting along was just a waste of time.” She hammered with precision while I️ abused my nail. I️ wondered if I️ could recycle this tin. I️ felt bad just wasting it. I️ hammered away my guilt of wasting tin.

  Cindy hammered twice more then smiled. She lifted up her tin circle. It had a perfectly shaped star in the center.

  “I noticed you wore that scarf yesterday,” I️ said, motioning with my chin.

  She shrugged. “I also wore this bandana.”

  I️ observed I️ was the only one who’d thoroughly destroyed the ornament with no artistic design whatsoever. There were a few I️ saw that were ugly or lopsided stars, but I️ won for random and different sized holes. I️ looked back at Cindy’s perfect star.

  “That star looks amazing.” She didn’t reply. I decided to just ask a direct question and see what happened. “So there’s no reason why you wear the scarf and bandana?”

  “The scarf was my mom’s.” She twisted her ornament in her hand. “I wear it every day on my wrist or neck.”

  “It’s perfect,” I said.

  “The star?” she asked.

  “The scarf.”

  Cindy studied the people in the room. “This is a waste of my time.” She sighed. “Reunions are for hook-ups, aren’t they?”

  “I’d tell you to go for it cuz you’d never see half of these people again, but I’m not sure how many have actually moved away.”

  “Most just graduated college and are unemployed. I️ wonder if one of them would like to work for me at the deli. Then I could fire Tom. Someone here’s gotta be desperate.”

  I speculated if I’d purposely forgotten Cindy. Maybe out of fear. “That’s a possibility,” I said. “This may not be the right time to ask, though.”

  She half-shrugged. “I could bring it up in conversation but then I’d have to talk to people.”

  “Probably.”

  She stared at her ornament for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

  I️ nodded and backed away.

  More people were finished with their ornaments and the conversations got louder.

  Rebecca ended her conversation with Justin and turned back to me. “Should we be guiding people outside?”

  I️ didn’t notice anyone looking upset or impatient. “I️ say we wait until the plantation people tell us to go. They’ve got to know more about this than we do.”

  Rebecca bowed her head and turned back to Justin. I gave my ornament one more soul cleansing pound of the hammer and let out a deep breath. I let out all of my angst on that ornament from breakfast to the present moment. Perhaps I should take up tin ornament destruction as a hobby.

  15

  When we left the barn, we saw that the picketers had entered the plantation and were marching by the garden. We were walking to the middle of the field to play Pilgrim games—or what historians have decided Pilgrims might have played or could’ve played because they involved sticks. As we got closer, I️ could hear the picketers yelling, “You can’t work at the Mayflower if you can’t afford grain flour.” I️ felt proud I’d helped the Pilgrims in their transition from socialism to capitalism.

  Once we got into the middle of the field, the four Pilgrim guides broke us up into four groups according to where we stood. Rebecca, Justin and Cindy were in my group. We followed a Pilgrim to a pile of sticks and wooden hoops. We were supposed to use a stick to keep the hoop rolling. The Pilgrim lady made it look easy. I️ could not get the hoop to balance so it would roll in a straight line. I️ also wouldn’t run alongside it, so my hoop didn’t stand much of a chance.

  Rebecca and Justin shared a hoop and worked together to go the length of the field. She looked very happy, and I️ hoped it would help her solve her marriage or doctorate dilemma. At the same time, I️ had a feeling her issues were deeper than anything a hoop and stick could solve.

  I️ hit my hoop as hard as I️ could. It rolled across the path then began to wobble as it headed toward the garden. I️ walked toward the picketers. The woman in the brown waist coat approached me. “You should come help us.”

  “I’m just a chaperone.”

  “You’re crossing the picket line.”

  “I’m chaperoning people who have crossed the picket line.”

  “You’re a scab.”

  “Aren’t I️ only a scab if I️ were taking a job as a Pilgrim? I️ think you can see my stick and hoop abilities are highly lacking.” I️ pulled out my tin ornament. It had a large hole in the center with asymmetrical holes around it. “I️ don’t think I’ll be getting a job in a tin shop anytime soon either. Plus, I️ helped you come up with the new chants you’re using, so you should be thanking me.”

  The black-hatted Pilgrim man joined the woman. He looked me up and down. “How do you feel about being a scab?”

  “I️ don’t think there were scabs when the Pilgrims were alive. If they went on strike, they’d just die. I️ think being a Pilgrim for so long has obscured your strike vocabulary.”

  “We’ve kept everyone else out today so far. Your group is the only one here.” The Pilgrim man and woman nodded at each other, grinning smugly. I️ wondered if this was the most they’d accomplished, besides making everything in the plantation by hand.

  “I️ would love to leave,” I️ said. “I️ would truly love to leave. The probl
em is we’re having a high school reunion and there is no way I’m going to try and come up with something else a hundred people can do. I’m sorry. You should’ve started the strike on a different day.”

  “Today was the only day that a grade school wasn’t coming. Those kids can be mean.”

  I️ nodded in recognition of this fact. “I️ want you to know that I️ have no idea how I’ve ended up on this side of the picket line. Life can be troubling at times.” I️ showed them my ring. “But I️ did get engaged this week.”

  They looked down at my ring. The man brought my hand up close to his eyes. “That looks like a little under two karats with a clarity rating of VVS1 or 2.” He let go of my hand and looked at me. “The guy's a keeper.” He winked at me.

  I️ blushed. “Thanks.”

  “Is he here?” the lady in brown asked.

  “No. He works at a bank. He makes enough money that he doesn’t need to chaperone.”

  The guy and lady nodded. “Pilgrims didn’t have banks. I️ think that might be the problem with management. They don’t know how to handle money.”

  “Fair point,” I️ said. I️ looked over at the field. The groups were moving to the next activity. I️ wanted to wait to see what my group was about to do before I️ left my new friends.

  “Is this your first marriage?” the Pilgrim lady asked.

  My attention turned back to her before I️ could see what my group was doing. “That seems like a personal question. I️ didn’t think people asked personal questions in the 1600’s.”

  “Just curious.” She squinted at me. “And I’m not really a Pilgrim.”

  I️ pointed to both of them. “Are you two married?”

  The man spoke up immediately. “Yes, but not to each other. My wife isn’t stuck in the past like I️ am.”

  “My husband is a manager at Home Depot.”

  “This will be my second marriage.” I️ paused. “And last.”

  They both nodded. “You should bring him round so we can meet him,” the man said.