Spinning

by Michael Baron

  “Oh, what the hell. It’s happy hour somewhere,” she said and then hesitated. “Okay, have you ever been in love before?”

  “Dunno.”

  “How do you know you’re in love now?”

  “I was talking to Jim…”

  “Don’t tell me you’re listening to him. Not only is he divorced, he works for the Mayor. Talking to Jimbo about love is like learning about sex off the street. If you want advice, you’d be better off asking your reflection.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I don’t think so. I did meet this guy once. He drove a Mercedes and looked like he did pretty well. As it turned out, he was a judge. We dated for a while and I had these surprising feelings when I was with him. But he didn’t want to be an organ donor. You know, in case he died? I could never get serious about someone who wanted to keep his organs to himself. Selfish bastard. So we broke up.”

  “How long?”

  “Two-and-a-half weeks.”

  “At least you’re consistent.”

  “Let me ask you this, Dylan. How does Diane feel about you?”

  “She loves me, and she knows I love her. She makes me feel, I don’t know, good? I want to be around her. Oh, and we’re both organ donors.”

  “I got it. A test.” She slid her chair closer to me. “We’ll call it the Laurel Test. For just for a minute, imagine no more Laurels. No more sex with people you barely know. No carefree vacations to Paris or Rio ever. Instead, you’ll be lugging around a kid… ”

  “Sure, Laurel would be fun, but Spring is a whole different thing.”

  “Okay, right answer. Next question. What’s Spring’s middle name?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “What’s Diane’s shoe size?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “What’s her favorite color?”

  “Ha! Pink.” I smiled, despite the fact that my score was pathetic. “Diane’s favorite color is pink and Spring’s is purple, or eggplant.”

  “Good. You’re on a roll. Here’s a good one: What’s her mother’s maiden name?”

  “Can she tell me that before we get married? Won’t the ATM police give her a ticket or something?”

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  “No clue.”

  “Next.” She leaned back. “Who is Spring’s father?”

  This was something I had thought about a lot. If I were ever to be a truly significant figure in Spring’s life, there would always be some unknown faceless man to watch out for. What if he just showed up wanting to take his daughter away from us? Maybe he was a good guy. Hell, just because he didn’t hit it off with Diane didn’t make him a psycho. Maybe it just wasn’t right for them at the time. If he ever did come back, things could get very complicated between me and Spring, though. “Diane talked about him a couple times, but she never mentioned his name. He doesn’t know about Spring. I know that. Does that count?”

  “Maybe you should ask Diane about that one.”

  “You’re right. This isn’t something that will go away.”

  Billie did some quick calculations in her head. I already knew I’d bombed this quiz. “It sounds, D-Man, like you’ve got some homework to do. Whether you want to do it before or after the wedding is up to you. With that ring, you’d better be sure.”

  My intercom sounded and my assistant told me that I had a call from Mr. Barnes.

  “Mr. Barnes? What a…”

  Things can change in a blink of an eye. The path you choose doesn’t always go where it’s supposed to go. I hung up the phone, without saying another word to the caller.

  “I have to go get Spring,” I said, glancing down at the picture on my desk. I couldn’t remember where I’d put my apartment keys. “Diane was in a taxi when it was hit by a stolen car. She was dead before the ambulance got there.”

  “Oh my God, Dylan.”

  I picked up the picture of Diane and Spring with Mr. Jimmy.

  “They had to cut open the cab to get to her body.”

  Billie stood up and touched my shoulder.

  I started to cry.

  “What do I do now?”

  Chapter 7

  Down Came the Rain

  Diane had listed me as an emergency contact and Mr. Barnes had called down to the center’s front desk, so what might have been an awkward situation when I got Spring from daycare was merely another step in the process. I was methodically working through everything. It wouldn’t dawn on me until later that I’d dissociated from the news at least until I had the little girl in my arms.

  “Can we go to see the ducks?” Spring said when we walked out onto the street. Apparently, my picking her up instead of Diane hadn’t set off any immediate alarm bells.

  Nothing around me had changed. The streets, full of cars and cabs and people, carried on as usual. The sky held only a few clouds. For November, it was a perfect Friday afternoon. Soon, tourists would flock to the city to shop and view the holiday lights. Soon, there would snow. Soon, Santa would be here. Soon, Spring would remember this Christmas for the rest of her life.

  “D?”

  I started to weave my way through foot traffic. The street was ridiculously busy, even though it was only a little past 3:00. I’d always assumed that everyone was in their offices at this time. I was moving quickly, even though I wasn’t in any rush. I bumped into one couple and then I pushed my way through a group of suits. As I pulled her through the masses, Spring’s grip tightened on my hand..

  To my right stood a giant marble pillar. A bank? A financial institution? The pillar, overwhelming in its monstrosity and ugliness, jutted into the sky and blocked the sun. Suddenly, I felt as though I needed to stop. I leaned against the wall and tried to catch my breath. Nothing looked familiar. The sky, the buildings, the people even the girl by my side looked strange. I must have looked strange to her, as well, because now she was starting to get upset. Puddles formed in her eyes. I pulled her close, hugging her and pressing her face against mine.

  “Where’s Mommy?” she said with a quiver in her voice.

  At some point, I began to cry, but only noticed when I saw her little face, now wet with my tears. “Spring,” I said, sitting on the pavement and sliding her onto my lap. People continued to walk the sidewalks. Waiting at the red light, sometimes the crowd expanded close to where we sat on the concrete, almost tripping over my legs.

  Spring’s eyes were red with tears. I looked away from her.

  “Has your mommy ever gone on a vacation? A trip, alone? By herself?”

  She shook her head.

  “Have you ever stayed with someone other than Mommy?”

  She nodded.

  “Who?”

  She pointed at me.

  “Other than me. Anyone else?”

  “No.”

  I felt my stomach start to cramp. The light changed and the cars drove by.

  “Spring, have you ever fallen down and hurt your knee?”

  She nodded. Her body shivered.

  “And Mommy puts a bandage on it to make it get better?”

  “Yes.” She started to cry again.

  “Your mommy had an accident.” I stopped. I certainly didn’t want to suggest to Spring that Diane would be back in a little while, wearing a Band-Aid.

  Sitting on my chest, Spring listened with her small hands on my heavy shoulders.

  “A bad accident,” I continued. “And she can’t come home.”

  She shrunk into my chest.

  “She isn’t coming home.” I held the little girl and rocked her. We both needed to be rocked. I squeezed her and wanted her to understand that I would try to help her feel safe. “Spring, it’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.” Was she understanding any of this? “We’ll be fine.”

  Holding Spring, I didn’t know where to start or what to do first. I needed to make arrangements. I needed to contact people. But who?

  Holding Spring while sitting against a Manhattan building, I felt suspended. There was a mod
icum of security in this urban cocoon. When we got up, we would be stepping into a new, uncharted world. So, for the longest time, we simply didn’t get up.

  Monday afternoon would have been another perfect day, except for the pink stained-glass urn I carried.

  Everyone I invited had attended the service at the East Village funeral home. Jim, Billie, Hank, Mr. Mason, Billie’s friend Amanda, Mr. Barnes, and other people from my office.

  Although Diane had lived in New York for nearly two months, I was surprised to see that there weren’t more people who had come to her funeral. There were a couple of people who I assumed were from her office, including a woman we’d had brunch with once. With a magnet like Spring who made everyone smile, we still barely occupied two rows of chairs.

  Diane’s urn featured pink and purple hibiscus. Diane loved pink hibiscus, even though it had no scent because it bloomed all summer. She had planned to have two pots of hibiscus on her window next year. Although she had never thought of making funeral arrangements, I know she would have liked the urn. The box, I was told, had a lower section for her ashes and a small compartment at the top for memorabilia. This made me wish I had more of her more pictures, more memories, and more time.

  The service started at 3:00. When it ended, I don’t know. I walked out with Diane in my right hand and Spring next to me, grasping my jacket. Everyone was dressed in black or gray, except Spring and her mother, who were both in pink. Spring looked like a blossom, her hair a tress of baby’s breath.

  Jim tried to lift Spring to carry her, but the child would not have it and continued to sing a muffled and monotone “Itsy Bitsy Spider” into my pant leg. She hadn’t said much since Friday, other than mumbling in her sleep.

  “… the itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout…”

  Next to me, my friends were talking to each other, but I wasn’t paying attention to anything they said. All I heard was Spring’s voice and the simple, single-note tune.

  “… down came the rain and washed the spider out…”

  With a flash of yellow, I felt Spring squeeze my leg. A taxi pulled close and someone came around and opened my door. Billie helped me into the cab, while Jim tried to pry Spring from my leg again at least long enough for all of us to fit.

  I absently wondered, How do you fit a whole person into a box this size? It seemed like there should have been more ash. I held Spring’s hand.

  “… the itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout…”

  Things started to look familiar again when we stepped off the elevator; familiar colors, the friendly citrus smell of polished wood. I was home. Jim reached into my jacket pocket, removed a robin’s-egg-blue box and then my keys to the door. He and Billie escorted us inside.

  “Hey, somebody Picassoed all over your walls,” Jim said. He smiled at Spring. “Was that you?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “This looks like your signature,” Jim said, pointing to the sun with its trademark wavy orange rays and happy face.

  “Spring drew that, too.”

  “You don’t say?” He checked with Billie. “Why don’t we all sit down?”

  My apartment felt empty.

  In the center of the room, there was a set of Legos that Spring and I had been playing with last Tuesday. It resembled a building of some sort. I remember suggesting to her that the building needed a door and Spring telling me that she wanted the building to open with magic instead.

  “Cool building,” Jim said, sitting on the floor. He held it up and turned it around. “How do you get in?”

  Billie sat on the couch and Spring inched toward her. “Spring, wouldn’t you like to play for a while?” she said, nodding toward Jim.

  Spring shook her head. “The itsy bitsy spider…”

  “Dylan, we have the itsy bitsy again. Any suggestions?”

  “Get her some juice out of the fridge.”

  “… went up the waterspout.”

  “Let me get you some juice, Spring,” Billie said. She moved to the kitchen, grabbed a cup and went to the fridge. On the door, pictures of Diane and Spring and me lined the outside: Spring at the zoo, me and Spring at the park, Diane and Spring at Bethesda Fountain, and another picture of Spring with Mr. Jimmy. She poured some grape juice and returned to the family room.

  “Here you are, Spring.”

  “Hey,” Jim said, grabbing my arm, “what happened to the Mickey Mantle?”

  “Spring wanted to play with it, so it’s in my closet.”

  “Say it ain’t so, Joe. You’ve got a signed Mickey Mantle bat and ball in your closet?”

  ‘Fraid so, kid. Sits right next to the Eli Manning signed football.”

  “Oh, D-Man. I’m not feeling so well. How about a beer?”

  “In the fridge.”

  Jim disappeared and then I had a beer in my hand. Since Friday, time had fallen in patches. I observed no taste to the beer, but it was cold to the touch. We all held bottles except Spring, who sipped the grape juice. Her slurping made the only noise in the apartment until she bumped into Billie, spilling grape juice onto her white blouse.

  “Shit!” Billie exclaimed, marching into the kitchen. The grape juice began to soak into her shirt, while some had run down her body leaving a purple trail across the tile to the kitchen.

  Before I noticed Jim’s warning, I started to laugh. He was trying to wave me off, but he looked like Jimbo the Monkeyman again. With one arm waving his beer and the other trying to shut me up making rapid swooping motions across his chest and spilling beer he only made me laugh harder.

  “You think this is funny?” Billie said, blotting at her blouse with a towel. Spring stood behind her, arms extended for anyone’s help, with grape juice trickling down her pink dress.

  “No,” I laughed. “I’m sorry. I really don’t think it’s funny.”

  Seeing how everything in my life had just changed and how the woman I planned to propose to had just died, I couldn’t imagine laughing in this situation. Yet, I was guffawing like I’d never seen anything so funny. The line between my laughter and tears appeared as fine as a sharpened pencil, or the thin stripe of grape juice leading into the kitchen. And as I laughed, I felt a few tears slip out. I understood why it was okay to cry and why people who laughed were sometimes carted away.

  “I’m sorry, Billie,” I said again. I walked to the kitchen and picked up Spring. She eyed me strangely, sensing that the laughter was out of place.

  “I don’t think it’s funny,” Billie said. “Look at this blouse. It’s a Dana Buchman!”

  As quickly as it had begun, my laughter ended. The child in my arms felt heavy and started to slide down my side, lifting her pink dress up around her stomach. Jim removed Spring who surprisingly allowed him to and carried her into the living room, consoling her with the experience of a dad three times over. He pulled the skirt of her dress down to where it should be and rocked her.

  “Billie, I’m sorry. It was an accident,” I said.

  “Why are you sorry? I know she didn’t mean it.” She continued to blot, adding some more water to the towel.

  “I don’t know. I just am.”

  “Dylan, I’m sorry about Diane. And for you.” She looked to Spring rocking in Jim’s arms. “And for her.”

  I guess the situation was too much for Billie. When she finished the triage on her blouse, she left.

  “D-Man, you know how Billie is,” Jim said after she was gone. “Kids might as well be gerbils. She doesn’t know how to handle them. I didn’t think you did, either.”

  Jim put Spring gently on the couch and she sat there while he followed me around the kitchen.

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “I see how you are with Spring. You’re good with her. She likes you.”

  “She does?” I looked toward the living room to see her little gray eyes, still red from crying.

  “It’s gonna take a little time,” Jim said, “for Billie to take all this in. You know Billie.”

&nbs
p; “Billie? I’m not worried about Billie. I’m worried about Spring. What is she supposed to do?” I looked at the urn on the shelf. Would Diane prefer to be flush with the edge or angled to see the living room?

  “Yeah, sure you are, D-Man. So, why don’t you go out for a while? You like to walk. Go for a walk. Get a beer. Get out of here. I can watch Spring…”

  “Spring should be with me, thanks.”

  “So what can you do? You gotta do something?”

  “I’m going to go over to Diane’s apartment and get her stuff.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not now? I might as well get it out of the way. Besides, Spring needs her things. We have to get her room ready here.”

  “Aren’t there relatives or somebody she should be going to?”

  I looked at Spring. Diane had said nothing about anyone in her family. Maybe there was someone an aunt, a godparent someone. “I don’t have a clue. I guess I’ll find out. But she’s gotta feel okay here in the meantime.”

  Jim offered to help me get things from Diane’s apartment, but I politely declined. Diane and Spring had spent most of their time over at my place, and even I wasn’t familiar with her apartment. It was my responsibility to go through her things. I asked Jim to give me a few days to get over this, and he reminded me that he had some cold beers in the fridge when I was ready.

  On the way to Diane’s apartment, I went by the accident scene because I needed to see it. Obviously, Spring had no idea what I was doing. Except for a few pieces of colored plastic near the crosswalk, I couldn’t tell anything had happened.

  Diane’s place looked the same. It felt like I was simply coming over after work and had just beaten her home. In a few minutes, she would come strolling through the door, kiss Spring, kiss me, and say that since I didn’t appreciate her tofu, my pizza with extra pepperoni should be here in 20 minutes. She’d walk over to the stove and start some water for Spring’s gourmet macaroni and then to the bedroom to change clothes. I’d pour a couple of glasses of wine, sit on the couch and we’d tell each other about our days.

  I wanted something that normal, that uneventful. Instead, it was Spring and me and three partially molding pumpkins.