With time came more substantial changes. In May of 2010, I completed graduate school and received my provisional teaching licence. I was offered and accepted a permanent second-grade teaching position at nearby Groves elementary. Early childhood education was exactly where I knew I’d shine best and make the most difference. Because it was our local district school, Charlie and I would be starting the next adventure together.
In September, he started for-real school. Because our school had full-day kindergarten, I’d be able to avoid any transportation and childcare woes. It felt like the pieces had fallen together so easily, perhaps too easily. We embraced the new experience in the same way we exuberantly embraced a visit to the zoo or ride on a plane. Charlie was more than ready; his natural curiosity and self-confidence made him the perfect little five-year-old kindergarten candidate. He quickly and eagerly adjusted to the new routine, and knowing I was just a hallway away helped us avoid the separation anxiety so many new students experienced.
The slowly cooling breezes of October brought the most surprising and difficult change of all, though. When Narek dropped by for one of his rare visits with Charlie, he asked to speak to me alone. I felt a heavy sense of foreboding because Narek and I never spoke alone, not ever. We’d maintained a very civil relationship, but Charlie was always present to witness it. He served as chaperone, buffer, and reminder all at once. Wearily, I sent Charlie to his room and offered Narek a seat at my table, our old table. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes, and I had the sudden worry he was going to tell me he was getting married.
I eyed him cautiously. He was still a very attractive man; objectively, I could admit he might be even more attractive with age. I knew he wasn’t the sort of man who slept alone. He hadn’t mentioned anyone in particular, but maybe one of his conquests had dug in deeply enough she’d convinced him to make the ultimate commitment. That thought filled me with anger, and the idea that Narek’s personal life could still make me angry twisted my gut. I pushed the anger aside. Surely if he couldn’t marry the American who gave birth to his son, no other American would have that privilege. It just wouldn’t make sense.
“I will cut to the chase. I must return to Armenia. My father is ill, he will not be here much longer, and my mother needs me. I have thought about this for a long time. I have felt a pull to bring my art home for a long time, but so much keeps me here. Of course, Charlie, most of all. It’s hard to say goodbye, but this feels like the right time. Maybe my father and I can at least have our peace finally,” he explained.
I was dumbfounded. That had been the last thing I would have imagined. Narek was barely around, but I at least knew in an emergency he could be found. And Charlie! Charlie had me completely, but he needed a father too. That father might be a completely flawed, unreliable human being, but it was better than not having one at all.
“But your son! How can you just leave him?” I asked in horror, irritated to discover he still could upset me so much.
“Nell, I’m not leaving him, just moving. I will still send money. He can come to visit me in Armenia. My mother would even like that; you don’t know how much she’s softened in past few years.”
I felt chilled by that idea. I wasn’t sure what would happen if Narek actually pushed the point. He surely had some kind of legal standing for visitation but would the courts ever actually allow that kind of arrangement? Just a moment before, my biggest concern had been how Charlie would adapt to being fatherless, but now I realized I needed to be very careful.
“We can talk about that when he’s older, right now, he is too young to fly unaccompanied overseas. In the meantime, he will miss you though, will you come back to see him?”
Narek nodded enthusiastically and said, “Yes, of course, will be like I never really left even.”
I ignored the lie in his eyes and bit back the desire to tell him exactly what I thought about a man who would leave his little son. I didn’t want to make an enemy of this man; I didn’t want to create a dynamic where he’d feel motivated to challenge me legally.
We told Charlie together. His big brown eyes staring trustingly as we explained Papa would go away for a while, but he’d be back to visit soon. I fought the nausea that accompanied the lie. His sweet little mouth scrunched up into a delicious-looking pout, but then he nodded and said, “I’ll miss you, Papa.” Narek at least had the decency to shuffle uncomfortably in his chair at that. “I’ll miss you too, little Charlie.”
8
Charlie was hit by a car when he was eight years old. It happened right in front of the school, on a crosswalk, just feet from the school crossing guard. It was the safest time and place in the world for a little boy with big brown eyes and an overflowing Spiderman backpack to cross a street. Witnesses told me later that the driver, an older woman in a green Honda, had slowed near the intersection and then suddenly hit the gas. She’d explain in court she’d meant to hit the brake but had gotten confused. The crossing guard had urgently blown her whistle as the car sped toward him, but the whistle hadn’t magically stopped the vehicle.
I was in my classroom, taking my time entering marks into my grade book. Charlie’s after-school scout meeting at the church across the street would last an hour, and it made no sense for me to go home, only to have to turn around and come right back again. The striking thing about that afternoon was how blissfully unaware I’d been. In the movies, the mom always knows when her child is suddenly at risk, but I’d barely even spared him a thought. There was no strange, mythical maternal premonition. No “something odd” in the back of my head that suggested my world had almost ended. No hint at all, until the classroom wall phone rang.
“Nell, it’s Leslie. You need to come down here right away.” The school receptionist sensed my hesitation, my lack of urgency, and added, “It’s Charlie.”
I remember running down the hallway, past the long, colorful counting caterpillar that spanned the distance of the entire hall. Each green ball segment of its body was emblazoned with a number, and I counted down with each segment as I ran. 17, 16, 15…. I counted methodically until finally, I reached the smiling head that marked the end of the hallway. I paused in front of the school and scanned the scene below and sprinted. Several of my coworkers were calling my name and running after me, but I didn’t bother glancing back at them. I could see the crowd on the street and could hear the sirens approaching. He was maybe a football field away from the front door I’d exited, but it felt like miles as I ran. When I reached him, I thought for a moment he had died. His eyes were shut and he lay so still, but then he sighed and opened his eyes and said, “Hi, Mom,” as if it were the most natural place in the world for us to meet up.
“Oh my god, Charlie, are you okay?” I cried out.
“My leg hurts.” He was trying to be brave, but I saw the tears in his brown eyes. I looked at his leg, it lay at an unnatural angle and I knew it must be broken. I choked back a sob and grabbed his hand.
“Does anything else hurt?”
The paramedics were rushing toward us then, and he nodded and admitted, “My tummy.”
As the medics swooped in to assess him, I tugged the sleeve of the closest man and cried out, “His tummy hurts.”
He nodded in understanding, and I tried to reign in the hysteria threatening to overtake me. A broken leg we could deal with, an aching tummy could mean anything. One of his tiny vital organs could be bleeding out inside his torso even as I stood there. I’d watched enough medical shows to know that!
In the end, it was his spleen, which, as far as organs go, was probably about the best we could have hoped for. He went into surgery twice, first to have the spleen removed and then to have his leg reset. He spent four days in the hospital, where he became a minor celebrity of sorts. Between the endless parade of friends and teachers and the gaggle of nurses and medical attendants who seemed to love popping in on him, he was never alone. My parents flew in from Michigan, to my great relief. I needed someone to lean on because my own emotional wellb
eing had been stretched to the absolute limits. Mom and Dad were the two best shoulders I could have asked for.
As a rule, I normally never called Narek. We’d spent our years of separation since his return to Armenia, parenting independently of one another. My role was taking care of my son physically, nurturing his emotional growth, ensuring his public school education was subsidized at home, being the disciplinarian and tear wiper and chief encourager. Narek’s role was to sometimes send child support money and talking on the phone every few weeks.
He’d gifted Charlie with a basic cellular phone the year before that was pre-programmed with his phone number and a stash of international calling cards. Trembling, I’d picked up his phone and hit the contact named “Dad.” Narek answered on the fourth ring, and it was clear I’d woken him up.
“Narek, it’s Nell,” There was silence for a moment, and then he replied, “Nell? What is it? Is Charlie okay?”
“Yes, well, sort of. He had an accident today, a car hit him, and he’s in the hospital.” Again, a long pause, and it finally occurred to me the pauses must be a function of speaking to him overseas and not just a loss of words on his part.
It was a difficult conversation, awkward because of our shared history and made even more awkward with the technical challenges. I explained the extent of Charlie’s injuries and what the path to recovery would look like and he attempted to express paternal worry. He asked the right questions, gave the right reassurances but in the end, he didn’t do the one thing that might have softened my heart a little toward him. He didn’t offer to come back to help during Charlie’s recovery. To me, it was clear my parents cared more than Charlie’s own father.
When Charlie returned to school the following week, he was the envy of his classmates; not only did he have a huge cast on his leg, but he also got to ride in a wheelchair. The kids flocked around him, eager to sign the cast, begging for a chance to push him around. He handled it with aplomb, a tiny would-be king in his royal chariot deigning to allow the peasants to throw rose petals. I watched unobtrusively from a distance. I knew he would fully heal, this hasn’t been a tragedy, and I should be thankful for that. I was still shaken, though. I wasn’t sure if I could ever feel comfortable allowing him to cross that street without me again. Like that first time I’d left him alone as an infant with my parents, I was reminded that I was the only person in the world who could keep him truly safe.
9
The week after Charlie’s cast was finally removed, I went on a real date. Before Narek, I’d never lacked for male attention. In those immortal days of youth, I’d taken it for granted and felt secure in my own power and beauty with each new conquest. I fed off the thrill and energy of those romances. Charlie had changed everything, though. I’d never really intended to become a spinster, it had just sort of happened naturally after Narek and I broke up. In my nearly eight years of celibacy, there hadn’t been any close calls, I’d gone on a few coffee dates with near strangers, had drinks once with an attractive coworker, but hadn’t had so much as a kiss on the lips. Still, the woman I saw in the mirror wasn’t unattractive. My parts were all still reasonably firm, I was pretty sure I didn’t have an offensive odor or anything negative like that. I think I just projected a very strong aura of “stay the hell away,” and men heeded it because no one wants to court a bruised ego.
Friends had been pressuring me for years to rejoin the land of the living. I chafed at the suggestion as if what Charlie and I had wasn’t life. Another truth was that I wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed, even if I did want to date again. It had been so long since I’d played those reindeer games, and while I didn’t think I was in poor shape for a woman my age, I hadn’t survived the early mommy years completely unscathed. As Charlie grew older, and busier with his own life, I recognized it might be nice to go out now and then and I felt myself growing more receptive to the offers.
A friend introduced me to Jan, an electrical engineer in town for a few months to consult on the new arena project. He was handsome in that tall, blonde, Nordic lumberjack sort of way and the fact he was Norwegian was a huge plus. I knew he wasn’t sticking around long; the temporary nature of his time in the states made him a safe flirtation. The last thing I wanted was to meet a man I’d have to eventually bring home to Charlie. It wasn’t just the potential of Charlie not liking him; it was the thousands of hours of research and training on the realities of child abuse that drove me to protect him from any newcomers.
Jan knew about Charlie, and I’m guessing he understood he was getting a much more reserved, watered-down version of me, but my emotional distance didn’t seem to bother him much. He knew he would be returning to Norway soon, and he was decent enough of a human being he didn’t want to stoke any unrealistic expectations. We went out on a few dates, and then one night, when Charlie was spending the night at a friend’s house, I followed Jan back to his hotel room. It turned out sex was a lot like riding a bike, my eight-year hiatus meant I was a little wobbly at first, but then instinct and muscle memory kicked in.
We continued to see each other for the next few months, knowing full well the futility of it. I reasoned with myself that sometimes the reward of putting yourself out there was the satisfaction of the moment. Sometimes you don’t ride off into the sunset entirely, and that was okay.
I had asked Jan if he thought he might ever move to the states if the right opportunity presented. I’d meant professional, but his slightly uncomfortable look made me realize he thought I was fishing for a possible future that he’d made clear wasn’t an option. I laughed out loud, startling him, and then quickly clarified I was strictly talking about career goals.
“Ah, yes, well, I don’t say never for anything, but I can’t see that happening. I enjoy visiting this country, it’s a beautiful and exciting place and I love most of the Americans I get to know, but there is still so much that as a Norwegian I cringe at. Your roads are confusing and these big vehicles everywhere make them worse. Your gun culture terrifies me, I do not like this crazy anti-smoking thing here, and I do not understand all these churches everywhere, even on the television.”
I’d grinned and said, “You forgot apple pie!”
At his confused look, I laughed again and said, “Well, big trucks, guns, and God, that’s America all right, but you forgot the apple pie!”
He smiled devilishly and conceded, “I really like the apple pie.”
When Jan returned to Oslo a few months later, our goodbye was a fond one. It felt more like an old friend was departing, than a new lover. I was better for having known him; I felt a part of me I’d kept locked up for a lot of years relax. In the years since Narek had left, my identity had been wrapped up in one thing. Charlie’s mom. Even my choice of career had been all about Charlie. For the first time in a very long time, I felt a spark of potential to be something else, something more, that just the sun in the center of my child’s galaxy.
Charlie himself didn’t seem to have minded my split attention. His own social schedule was pretty packed between school, scouting, his newfound joy in soccer, and his friends. Still, we spent more of our evenings together than apart, sitting side by side on the couch enjoying the same kind of comfortable silence I’d always enjoyed with his father.
As he’d grown older, he had also become more aware of how our little family looked a little different from most of his friends. Some also had single parents, but they also had siblings. He knew very few true “just the two of us” families. When he commented about that realization to me, I asked him if it bothered him.
“Nah, I mean a little brother might be cool, but the problem is you don’t know what kind you’ll get until they’re already here. It could end up like Mikey Shmidt, his little brother is a psycho.”
“Charlie, that’s not nice…” I cautioned.
“No, Mom, he really is! Mikey’s mom caught him eating dog food!” he insisted.
I fought a laugh and explained, “Sometimes little kids do weird things. When yo
u were four, you once ate an entire stick of butter.”
“Gross. Never tell me that story again.”
“Ha! I could tell you some even worse ones from your babyhood, but I’ll save those for later. Anyway, the important thing is I hope you’re okay with it just being the two of us,” I said.
“It’s not really, I mean there’s Dad too,” he reminded me, and I bit back my comment. “Also, Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Sarah. They don’t live with us, but we do usually live with them in the summer.”
Ah yes, there was Dad. The mysterious Narek of far away Armenia, he may as well have been off fighting intergalactic criminals as far as his son was concerned. Having grown up in a very traditional home, with a very traditional father, I felt conflicted and confused when Charlie referred to his father. There didn’t seem to be any of the resentment and anger in him that I’d steeled myself to deal with for years. Usually, I decided that was a good thing, but sometimes I wondered if I’d maybe done too good of a job at building Narek up in an effort to shelter Charlie.
Charlie was right about my family. We lived with them for a good six weeks every summer and it was always a magical time for Charlie. I reveled in seeing him surrounded by all that love and attention, even if it did occasionally nip a bit at my maternal guilt complex. I looked forward to the journey all year, and we were about to embark again.
When Charlie and I did return to Michigan for our annual summer pilgrimage shortly afterwards, I felt the weight of my responsibilities lift from my shoulders. My mother eagerly stepped in to be caretaker to both of us. Large, home-cooked meals once again filled our bellies. Family game nights were loud, raucous affairs. The best part, though, were the long summer days on Lake Michigan. I’d deemed Charlie old enough the previous summer to introduce him to my childhood love, a sun-faded old 13’ Sunfish sailboat I’d stubbornly named George as a child.
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