Can't Forgive

by Kim Goldman

  She wanted me to know that Sydney thinks her dad is guilty, and how much that has hurt their relationship. She wanted me to know they thought of my brother as a hero who tried to save their mother. The letter sounded authentic and convincing.

  I stopped reading, because my eyes were too full of tears to continue.

  It never occurred to me, in seventeen years, that they would think of my brother as a hero.

  I may never talk to Justin and Sydney, but the bond that we share—as victims, survivors, and siblings—is incredible.

  I will never pretend to know what they feel, but I can get close to understanding and accepting what their emotions and viewpoints are.

  Justin and Sydney were only five and eight years old the night their father killed their mother and left her dead on the doorstep, just a few feet away from my brother. On that night, we became connected forever to the Brown and Simpson families in an emotional and confusing way.

  I’ve never met them, or been in the same room with them, but they have taken up space in my heart and my mind for almost two decades.

  Obviously, I can’t comprehend what growing up must have been like for them, living with a man whom the entire country despised but they knew as “Dad.”

  What did they think of the “Trial of the Century?” How much were they exposed to? What did they feel? What were they allowed to ask? How did they grieve, and with whom?

  What did they think of me always screaming that their father was a murderer?

  But when I learned that the Simpson children were complicit in the killer’s financial shenanigans, I lost some sympathy for them, until that Facebook e-mail shifted my feelings again. I always believed my brother’s legacy was bigger than the trials, bigger than his killer, and that his legacy would be his love, his warmth, and his compassion for others. Even in his death, he was making an impact. His heroism, and the Simpson children’s acceptance of that, gave me the ability to soften again. That can be tough, though.

  * * *

  There are certain times of the year when the hole in my heart—and in my life—will be more apparent than other days.

  Thanksgiving is the one holiday that fills me with tremendous sadness. It was the only holiday that my family always made sure we spent together. No matter where Ron and I were living, we always came home to Agoura and sat down around a big golden brown turkey with my Dad, Patti, Michael and Lauren, my stepbrother and stepsister, and a few other family friends. We never did anything formal for other holidays, and birthdays were often spent with friends as we got older, so Thanksgiving was our holiday.

  After Ron died, that time was a reminder of the loss of a special family member. Even though his seat was filled at the dinner table, it was hard not to notice he was missing, especially when we went around the table expressing what we were thankful for. I was always rendered speechless.

  Honestly, for years after the murder, I was really thankful for nothing.

  * * *

  So in 2010, I committed to doing what I could to spend Thanksgiving with the family. Lauren and her husband, Jason, had a new baby, Dylan, so it was decided that we would all meet in Arizona. Michael and his wife, Samantha, and their daughters, Madison and Chloe, would come from Ohio; and Sam and I would pick up Patti’s parents along the way, in Palm Springs. Patti’s parents, Elayne and Edgar, had never met their great grandkids, and everyone felt that this could be the last time we’d all be able to be together.

  Just as Sam and I were pulling into Palm Springs, I received an e-mail from a colleague of mine, Julie Benson, who works for Princess Cruises. Julie and I met through my work at the Santa Clarita Valley Youth Project. Her company had become a longtime supporter of my charity, and by a wonderful default, Julie and I became friendly.

  The subject line read:

  Hi Kim— a wacky question for you

  The e-mail said:

  Hi, Kim, Hope you’re getting ready to have a nice Thanksgiving. I’m reaching out to you for dancing! I can tell you more if you’ll call me, but I’m looking for a pair of ballroom dancers to ride/dance on the Cunard Line float in the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day. Given your success with “Dancing With Our Stars” (a charity event we worked on together for Youth Project), I thought you might find it fun, plus perhaps there’s an opportunity for some national and local publicity for the Youth Project as a result. Are you interested in discussing?

  A bit shocked, I responded immediately, Are you asking me if I want to dance?!

  When we finally connected on the phone about an hour later, Julie pitched me her “wacky” idea:

  “So I was sitting in a meeting the other day with the Cunard people, which you know is our sister company. We are entering a float for the upcoming Rose Parade, and they are looking for ballroom dancers. And since I know you did the ‘Dancing With Our Stars’ charity event this year, I thought you would be a perfect fit. What do you say? Would you want to dance down Colorado Boulevard in front of millions of people on a float on New Year’s Day?” Julie said matter-of-factly.

  She started giggling a bit as I stuttered to find the words. All I came up with was “Are you for real right now? You want me to do what?”

  A few months earlier, I shook my rump, in a very skimpy red dress, in front of hundreds of people, to raise money for the Youth Project. I came in second place, alongside my partner, Willy, for raising the most money. I scored a 27 out of 30 on my dance routine. My trophy sits proudly in my kitchen.

  Julie buttered me up, commenting on my dance routine a few months earlier, and then invited me to be one of the featured dancers on the inaugural float. I was incredibly flattered, a little giddy, and totally unable to grasp the gravity of what she had asked me to do. Dancing on the float, representing a major corporate sponsor—that’s serious business.

  “Thank you so much, Julie, for thinking of me, and trusting me with this. I am really honored that you reached out.”

  I told her I would think about it, and then call Willy and Ingrid to see if they would accompany me, if I decided to do it. I said I would call her back in a few days.

  I turned around to Sam, who was sitting patiently in the backseat, curious as to why I was gasping for air in my conversation.

  Since Sam was a baby, we’ve watched the Rose Parade together every New Year’s Day. Truth is, if I didn’t have a kid, I might not watch it. But when you have a baby, you are up early and just thankful to watch something other than Dora the Explorer or Barney. So every year we’d cuddle up on the couch and watch the spectacular floats.

  When I told Sam what I was asked to do, his face lit up.

  “Mom, you have to do that. I mean, c’mon, that is so cool!”

  And with that, I was sold on the idea.

  For the next thirty days, Willy, Ingrid, their friend Carlos and I met almost every day to choreograph a dance routine to “In the Mood,” which we would be performing on an 8 x 8 dance floor, covered in ground lettuce seeds and walnut shells. I would be dancing in two-inch heels, with spins and leaps. And, oh, did I mention that we’re moving? It might be going at a snail’s pace, but it’s moving nonetheless. When I initially thought about the gravity of the event, I hadn’t considered the gravity of the float!

  The month went by very quickly, and soon enough we were closing in on “show day.” I was beginning to worry a bit because I had a scheduled trip with Sam over the holiday break and it would take me away from practice for four days. I wasn’t a confident dancer and was concerned that taking a few days off would hinder my ability to perform.

  Willy, the voice of calm, reassured me that I knew the routine and he would be there to catch me, no matter what.

  Despite the internal struggle I was having, I loaded Sam and our dog, Tilly, into the car, and headed off on our annual vacation with Denise, Wade, and the kids to Big Bear Lake in San Bernardino County.

  Sam was scheduled to go to Chicago upon our return, so it would be the last few days I would have with him before he would leave
for a week to visit his dad. He was upset that he would miss the Rose Parade, but assured me he would make his dad record it on TiVo so he could watch it over and over again.

  As always, our vacation was a blast. Then, on the last day of our stay in Big Bear, I received an e-mail from my ex. He didn’t think he was going to make the trip to pick up Sam and bring him back to Chicago for his visit. Sam was upset; it had been more than five months since they had seen each other. He was really looking forward to, as he put it, “seeing all the cool toys my dad bought me for Christmas.”

  Back in Los Angeles, we got back to work immediately. Sam attended every practice, helping with props and music cues, and videotaping so we could see how we looked. I loved having him there; he was very encouraging and I know he loved to watch us dance. When we would get home from practice, he wanted me to show him the moves. So we’d put on the stereo and would have our own little dance party in the family room. This wasn’t the first time we would rock out together, but it was the first time he wanted to dance, hand in hand, like I did with Willy.

  For as long as I can remember, I have spent New Year’s Eve with my best friend Denise and her husband Wade, even before kids; sometimes with a spouse, sometimes with a boyfriend, but lately, mostly alone.

  This year would be no different. We opted to celebrate a “New York” New Year’s Eve with her brother, Craig, his wife, Jessica, and their kids, Anthony and Tess.

  I had to be at the Rose Parade by three in the morning, which meant getting up at one, doing my hair and makeup and then driving forty minutes to Pasadena.

  I didn’t want to take any chances with staying up late, but I wanted to watch the ball drop on Times Square with my son. We counted down with Ryan Seacrest and the rest of the East Coast, making ridiculous fools of ourselves with poppers and horns, beads and hats, singing and dancing, and wishing each other a happy and healthy new year, and the hope that I didn’t fall off the float in front of America.

  Then I said my good-byes and headed home, anticipating a long battle with insomnia.

  I slept about three hours before I finally said, “Screw it” and got up to begin the beautification process. I picked up Willy, Ingrid, and Carlos, who all had overslept and awoke to my call telling them that I was on my way.

  We scrambled to make it on time, but we were just a little late and missed breakfast. At the time, it didn’t faze me; I am not much of an eater. But when 7:00 a.m. rolled around and we had been sitting in the vans waiting to be called to the staging area, my stomach started singing.

  Nobody had any food, and I started to get a little nervous that if I didn’t eat, I would become light-headed. The last thing I needed was to be dizzy on a moving float in my heels and with my big hair.

  We were camped out in a pretty nice neighborhood. As the sun rose, the people started to leave their houses to go find seats along the parade route. I got a great idea then.

  I planned to ask the owners of the house that we were sitting in front of if they had a little morsel of food to spare. And so off I went.

  There was a young woman, late twenties, exiting the house.

  I called out, “Excuse me! Um, excuse me, miss.”

  She picked up the pace to get away from me.

  I yelled louder.

  “Hi, I am sorry to bother you. But I am dancing on a float this morning, and I didn’t get to eat, and I am starting to get a little shaky. I know it’s weird, but do you have a snack of some kind that I could have?”

  She snapped at me to stay where I was.

  “Don’t get any closer,” she warned.

  “Oh, okay, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  A few minutes later the front door opened and an older woman peeked out.

  “May I help you?”

  I repeated what I had told the first woman, hoping that my stomach would growl loud enough to validate that I was indeed hungry.

  She said, “One second, young lady,” and then disappeared behind the big oak door.

  She reappeared with a few Cliff Bars and wished me luck. I was so appreciative and thanked her for her kindness.

  As I walked back to the van, feeling like I had just won the lottery, the young girl appeared again. I sincerely apologized to her.

  She answered, “You really scared the shit out of me, and I don’t like that!” and she huffed off.

  I burst into laughter at the concept that I could be scary, when I was decked out in a strapless purple sequined gown, with strappy heels, and enough hairspray and makeup to make a drag queen jealous.

  The shuttle driver drove us as close as they could to the parade route, to reduce our walking. On the short ride over, we learned that the Cunard entry, “A Grand Celebration at Sea,” won the Queen’s Trophy—the prestigious award for “Best Use of Roses.”

  We were all so excited to share in the win with the Cunard staff and designers. What a rush of adrenaline as we approached the moveable cruise ship covered in tens of thousands of different types of flowers. The float stood twenty-four feet high, eighteen-feet wide and fifty-five feet long. It was breathtaking, and I couldn’t believe I was going to be part of all the action.

  We hoisted ourselves up onto the ship and assumed our designated spots in the “ballroom.” We had practiced briefly on the actual dance floor the day before for the judges, but never while the float was in motion.

  It was freezing, and Ingrid and I were shivering, but the high that we were on—realizing what was about to happen—kept us very warm.

  “Here we go, kids. Places!”

  The large booming whistle from the ship’s horn was our cue that our song was about to start, so we knew when we heard that, we needed to be ready to roll—literally.

  It was hard to get used to the rolling motion of the ship, and for the first ten minutes, I giggled nervously, but mostly out of sheer delight. I was doing it. I was dancing in the 122nd Rose Parade, with my friends by my side, and an incredible crowd that kept cheering us on.

  We danced and waved for the next few hours, only taking breaks to wave some more. As professional dancers, Willy, Ingrid, and Carlos were absolutely in their zone. I was just thrilled to be there with them. We had bonded over the past few weeks, and the Rose Parade cemented our relationship forever.

  Nine o’clock was our money shot. That’s when the ship-float would turn onto Media Row, where the fans sat in the bleachers and the major television networks positioned their cameras for the best angle. We were told this was where it counted, and to make it happen.

  I will never forget the feeling that came over me when we made the turn and saw hundreds and hundreds of people in the stands—each section screaming louder than the other. The energy was intoxicating. We moved effortlessly to the music, dazzling the crowd with our spins, dips, and fancy footwork. I was on cloud nine. I thought I would be more nervous, but the crowd was so inviting and so encouraging, the rest didn’t matter. I was part of this spectacle of beauty.

  At one point I asked Carlos to give me my phone so I could take a picture of the route and the crowd; he remembered he had placed it in the planters below. He went to retrieve it, and it was gone. It had fallen off the float and onto the street somewhere. He felt terrible, and I was certainly upset. But considering where I was, and what I was doing, who cared! The horn blew, and off we went, like nothing had happened.

  I lost track of how many times we danced our routine, but the blisters and numbness of my feet made me think it was a lot. When we abandoned ship, Carlos immediately tried to locate my phone.

  On a whim I called my number.

  “Hello,” a man with a very deep voice answered.

  “Oh, my God! You have my phone. I lost my phone. I was a dancer on the Cunard float and I dropped my phone. Wow, where are you?”

  “Ma’am, slow down. I am with the Pasadena Police Department. Someone saw your phone fly off the float and they brought it over to me. It’s pretty banged up, though. Are you going to come get it right now?”


  I was so dehydrated and dizzy that I couldn’t put my sentence together to tell the officer where I was or how I would find him. But I begged him to please not leave the area without giving me the phone.

  An hour later he called me back.

  “Ma’am, you need to call your dad. He’s called a few times to see how the dance went. I am not sure how much longer he can wait until he speaks to you.”

  The officer sounded as if he was smiling on the other end of the line.

  “Thank you, sir, I will call him back.”

  I found the police officer directing traffic about an hour later. He handed me my banged-up phone and wished me, “Happy New Year.”

  I stopped off at T-Mobile to replace my phone before heading out to pick up Sam, who was anxiously awaiting my arrival. My phone was buzzing with messages. It felt incredible knowing how many of my friends supported my adventure and actually saw us strutting our stuff. I couldn’t wait to hear what Sam and the kids thought.

  When I got to the house, they weren’t all that excited to see me; Wii Sports was commanding all of their attention.

  But I coerced Sam to come sit with me while I watched the playback. Once we hit play, the kids were all over it.

  “Okay, here you come, Mom, right after this float. You watching? Get ready!”

  It tickled my heart to see how animated he was. He sat on my lap while we watched my Rose Parade debut.

  I must say, I didn’t suck!

  I told everyone the stories of the morning, including “dangerous pursuit of a Pasadena housewife” and the phone debacle. The kids were pretty impressed, but I could tell their interest was fading.

  Sam gave me a high five and a hug as he ventured off to finish his game.

  “That was really cool, Mom.”

  I accepted his praise like a bouquet of the sweetest-smelling roses.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage”

  —Lao Tzu

  * * *

  Today, I am a forty-two-year-old divorcée (sounds so royal), and I still see flickers in me of the hopelessly romantic young woman who was so naïve all those years back, before I got married. I am a happily divorced, but not so happily single, woman.