by Grace Risata
DING DONG.
Who the hell was that? It’s one o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday. If Izzy was expecting company then she would have said something to me. I’m also pretty sure she wouldn’t be showering right now. She’s always early for stuff. I wonder if I should go answer the door?
DING DONG.
I guess I could check and see who it is. Maybe it’s one of her friends just stopping by. Let’s take a look through the peephole and see what we’re working with here.
Hmm. That’s interesting. It appears to be some high-society aristocratic old lady in pearls and a mink coat. She’s with a douchy looking frat boy. I’m guessing they’re not here to sell Girl Scout cookies.
“Did I hear the bell ring? Who’s at the door?” Izzy asked from somewhere behind me.
“Do you know an upper-class elderly lady and a preppy guy who looks like he plays rugby?” I asked her.
From the look of instant rage on her face, I definitely got the feeling that they were NOT here to try and convert us to their religion.
“This is going to get REAL ugly, REAL quick,” she warned me. What the fuck did that even mean? Who were these people, that she knew them just from my description? And why the hell was she so angry all of a sudden?
Izzy flung the door open and her temper flared. Her whole body went rigid and her hands curled into fists at her side. What was going on? I could think of not one single scenario to make her react like this.
“Do you want me to give you privacy?” I asked her. I had no idea what was about to happen and I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. On the other hand, I needed to know who these people were.
“What the fuck are you two assholes doing here?” she shouted at them. She literally yelled at this old lady and the dude.
“Is that anyway to talk to your grandmother, young lady? No, it is most certainly not. I have no idea what is making you behave in such an uncivilized manner. It will stop immediately,” the old woman demanded.
“Excuse me? You have NO IDEA why I might be acting like this? Are you on crack? Let’s think for a minute. You’re a selfish bitch. That’s why I’m behaving like this. Get off my front porch!” Izzy screamed.
Holy shit. This is insane. I could not be more uncomfortable. I have no idea why my girl is freaking out so bad. Should I step in?
“Isadore, do NOT speak to me like that. I will not tolerate such behavior. You were raised better than that.”
Isadore, huh? Cracked that code. I’ve been wondering about her real name since the day I met her. This lady obviously knew a lot about her.
“You have no idea HOW I was raised, because you WEREN’T THERE. You disowned my mother. You turned your back on your own daughter, you heartless piece of shit,” Izzy accused.
“Hey, let’s all take a breath and calm down, ok?” the frat boy said. He looked extremely uncomfortable too.
“I don’t even know who you are,” Izzy told him. “I’ve met you once. At my parent’s funeral. You were there with my mom’s brother, pretending to care that she was dead. You’re all fake-ass motherfuckers and I have no use for any of you. Get off my porch.”
“Isadore, you know very well who this is. This is your cousin, Barrett. You’d be wise to show him some respect as well,” the old lady said. Obviously this was Izzy’s grandmother if I was paying attention correctly. So the dude was her cousin. Ok. I could follow this so far.
“Izzy, just settle down,” Barrett said. “Let’s talk like rational adults.”
“First of all, keep my name OUT OF YOUR MOUTH. Second of all, Barrett, don’t pretend like you know one thing about me, because you DON’T. I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon up my ass the way you did. Some of us know what it’s like to put in an honest day’s work and don’t live off our fat trust funds like worthless lazy slobs,” Izzy roared in anger.
“Isadore, that is enough. I came here out of concern for you and your lifestyle,” her grandma said, pausing to give me the once over and clearly not liking what she saw, “and to see for my own eyes what I’ve been hearing lately. Is this the thug that you’ve been shacking up with?”
I thought this was the maddest I’d ever seen Izzy, but after that comment things completely spiraled out of control. Izzy’s face turned crimson red and she started shrieking at the old bat.
“What I do is none of your business, you stupid cow. I’ll fuck the whole town if I want to. This guy right here has more of my respect than you EVER will. He’s treated me better in ONE WEEK than you have my ENTIRE LIFE. GET YOUR WRINKLED OLD ASS OFF MY FUCKING PORCH BEFORE I GET A SHOTGUN AND REMOVE YOU PERMANENTLY!”
That last sentence grew in pitch until it didn’t even sound human anymore. I also think spit might have been flying out of her mouth.
Barrett stepped in front of the old lady before Izzy started throwing punches.
“It’s not cool to talk to your grandmother like that. I don’t care who you think you are. Your whole ‘poor me, I’m an orphan’ routine is getting old, you know that? Get your head out of your ass and start being a little more courteous. She made me come all the way over here from Bridgeport because your nice neighbor informed her that you were living with some scumbag. Your grandmother just worries about you. I have no idea why. She should forget you were ever born like the rest of the family has,” Barrett said with an air of superiority that did not sit well with Izzy. She actually cocked her fist back like she was going to take aim at him. Thankfully I was closer and got to him first. I grabbed him by the shirt and got in his face.
“Listen, you arrogant little fuck. I have no idea who you THINK you are, but NO ONE talks to her like that. Do you understand me? NO ONE. You have until the count of three to turn around and leave, or I will make you wish YOU were never born.”
I let him go and he staggered backwards, almost knocking over the old lady. He took her by the elbow and guided her back to their car. It was a black stretch limo. What the hell? Who WERE these people?
Izzy turned to me and said, “Well, now that THAT’s out in the open, I guess I have some explaining to do, hmm?” She proceeded to burst into tears and I took her into my arms. I can’t wait to hear this explanation. This ought to be good.
-------------------------------------------------------
This was fantastic. This makes TWICE that Dane had to see me spazz out about my family. He must think I’m a raving lunatic after that spectacle. I don’t blame him. I tried so hard to keep this from him. I don’t like to talk about my past because it’s very embarrassing and hurtful. I try not to think about it. If I sweep it under the rug then it doesn’t exist, right?
I wiped my eyes and took a step back. “I guess I’m going to have to tell you who they were and why I freaked out, right?”
Dane looked down at me and said, “You don’t have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’ve never seen you get that angry before. If it will make you upset, you don’t have to talk about it.”
I took his hand and led him over to the couch.
“Please sit. It won’t make me upset to tell you. I just want to get it off my chest.” I started pacing as I began to tell the story. This was going to get me angry and I couldn’t sit still. I had to be moving to burn off the excess energy. I was coming down from my adrenaline rush of screaming at my lovely grandmother and I didn’t want to sit. I glanced over at Dane and saw that he was giving me his full attention with a concerned look on his face.
“Ok. This might get confusing, so please feel free to ask questions if you get lost. My dad came from a poor family of blue collar Polish immigrants. He fell in love with my mom when they met at a local community dance that one of her friends dragged her to. I’ve heard the story a million times. I used to tell her, ‘Mom, I know. You’ve told his over and over.’ What I wouldn’t give to hear her tell it one more time. My God, I miss them every day and it gets a little better over time, but it never goes away completely.”
&nb
sp; I turned away to compose myself. I needed to stay on the topic and not take a detour. Deep breath. Ok.
“Anyway, my mom had just graduated from high school and she met my dad the summer before she was set to attend college. They had never crossed paths because my mom went to an elite all-girls prep school. My dad just went to public school like a normal person. They met at the dance and it was love at first sight. For my dad at least. My mom took some convincing. Eventually he won her heart. She told me that he listened to her talk for hours and learned all her favorite things so he could surprise her with them. She liked chocolate, he brought her candy. She liked flowers, he brought her a single rose. She loved music, he took her dancing. But their romance was not without problems. My dad was poor and my mom was not. That rich bitch asshole motherfucker who I just had to scream at, is my lovely grandmother, Isadore. That’s right. I was named after her. Sorry, I’m probably getting ahead of myself. Are you with me so far?”
“Yes. Mom and dad love each other. Go on, please.”
“Ok. So my mom knew that Isadore would never approve of my dad. But my mom slowly grew to love my dad and there was no way she was letting him go. My mom brought my dad over for dinner one day. Isadore took one look at his clothes, his table manners, and his slang-filled speech and was not impressed. She told my mom that she was not allowed to date this boy and that she should find someone more suited to her social standing. It didn’t matter one damn bit what my mom wanted. It only mattered that whoever she chose had money and came from a well-known family. I will never forget the day that my mom told me why she married my dad. She said, ‘Izzy, I’ll be damned if I was going to waste this life stuck with some aristocratic trust fund prick who can’t keep his dick in his pants and gives me jewelry to cover up his indiscretions. Your father worships the ground I walk on and I’d be a damn fool to throw that away.’ She was right. I saw the way that my father looked at my mother. Like she could do no wrong in his eyes. He treated her like a queen. She gave him her complete respect in return. She changed from a spoiled society debutante into a devoted housewife. She made sure my dad had a hot meal on the table every night after work and she took care of the house. He liked to joke that he had to teach her everything about living the life of a commoner. She laughed at that. She gave up every luxury she was raised with, just to be with him. I saw what a loving relationship they had and I wanted that for myself. My mom drilled it into my head to marry for no reason other than love alone, otherwise I would be wasting my life. ‘You only get one shot at this life, Izzy, don’t squander it. Life is too short to waste being unhappy. Live for yourself, no one else.’ I remember her words…..”
I broke down and started to cry. Dane came over and put his arms around me. I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let me.
“You were obviously extremely well-loved by your parents and I can see how much you cared for them in return. It’s nothing to be ashamed of to show your emotions. Let it out,” he urged.
I took a deep breath and sniffled a few times. If I didn’t suck it up, I was never going to get this all out. I took his hand and led him over to the couch to finish my story. He didn’t let go of my hand and it comforted me in some small way. It gave me the strength to go on.
“So my mom left her family. She ran off to marry my dad. She called Isadore after they eloped to tell her what she’d done. Isadore said, ‘You made your choice. I hope you’re happy with it. Don’t come crawling back to me with a baby on each hip and expect me to take you in after you brought shame to this family. You’re dead to me.’ That was the last time that my mom ever spoke to her mother. After I was born, my mom named me after Isadore. She desperately wanted her mother’s approval. Even though Isadore was a giant bitch, she was still my mom’s mom. I’m sorry. My mom’s name is Camille and my dad’s name is Leo. I probably should have used their names to make this easier to understand. I just think of them as ‘mom’ and ‘dad.’ Sometimes I don’t use my head.”
“No. I like it when you say ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ because it’s way more personal and natural than saying ‘Leo’ and ‘Camille.’ It’s weird when people use their parent’s real names. Especially when they’re talking to them! If I had parents, I wouldn’t call them by their names.”
I squeezed his hand and said, “I forget who I’m talking to. That you don’t have parents. I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t about me. Please go on with your story. I want to find out what happens next,” Dane said and smiled at me. I knew he genuinely cared and it was so touching.
“So my mom would never admit it, but I know she was hurt that Isadore never contacted her after I was born. My mom sent tons of baby pictures of me and she sent annual newsletters about how I was doing. Just in case my grandmother decided to wake up and give a fuck about her only granddaughter. My mother has one sibling, a brother named Barrett the second. See…Grandmother Isadore is married to Barrett the first. They had two children, Camille and Barrett the second. Barrett the second got married to some fancy chick named Jocelyn and they had a son, Barrett the third. That was the cock-sucker on my front porch. I met him once at my parent’s funeral.”
“Barrett the second?” Dane asked. “Don’t you say junior if you’re named after someone?”
“Very good question. Thank you for following along so well. In high society, they don’t say ‘junior.’ It’s considered too common-folk. They say, ‘the second’ because it sounds fancier. They’re all about how they look to others and who has what and blah, blah, blah. So I am the only granddaughter and Barrett the third is the only grandson.”
I paused to take a deep breath. We weren’t even at the good part yet. “Even though my mom continued to send updates on me, Isadore never bothered to contact her ever again. There was one point when my dad got hurt and he was out of work for a month. He worked for the cable company, installing people’s cable TV when they ordered it or solved problems when theirs didn’t work. My dad was puttering around the house and he tried to lift something too heavy and he hurt his back really bad. He had to have a small surgery and he couldn’t work. We were never poor when I was growing up, but we didn’t have much of a savings sitting around either. What we did have, got sucked up by my dad’s medical bills. My mom took a part-time job as a grocery store checker, but that didn’t pay for shit. My mom was desperate to call Isadore and ask for money. She begged my dad to let her do it. She told him that it would only be a loan and they would pay it all back. My dad refused. He said he would rob a bank before he’d go begging Isadore for a dime. He looked my mom in the eye and explained that you could take every last penny away from him, but NO ONE was taking his self-respect. I heard them argue that night. I couldn’t understand how a lady would be so cruel as to abandon her own daughter. My mom would take a bullet before she’d let anything happen to me. I was only fourteen and I could understand that. So how could Isadore let her daughter suffer, when she had every means available to help? I was completely baffled. I hated her for that. For not helping my parents when it would have been so easy. I’m sure she had spies keeping track of their every move. She knew damn well what was going on. How do you think she knew you were living with me? Did you hear what Barrett said? He said, ‘your nice neighbor told us what you were up to.’ That was Mrs. Henderson. That ape-faced whore next door is fucking spying on me and reporting back to Grandma Evil Wench.”
“Must you give every single person on earth a nickname?”
“Yes. It’s my thing, ok? Why do you not share my outrage that we’re being spied on?”
“Because I don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks of me. You shouldn’t either.”
“Yeah, well that’s easier said than done. Anyway…I’m sorry this story is taking so long, but it’s rather involved. And we’re STILL not on the good part yet. My dad’s back got better and he returned to work and they ended up doing fine and not going bankrupt or anything. But it stuck in my head of how mean my grandmother was. Fast fo
rward to sixteen year old Izzy. I’m having a nice week staying with Winter and her family while my mom and dad take their ill-fated 20th anniversary vacation to the Bahamas where disaster struck. I got the phone call from the police with what happened. I was sixteen. I went into complete shock. I was incapable of processing that. Rita grabbed the phone and talked to the police. She’s a lawyer. She knew what questions to ask and who to contact. Rita was very good friends with my mom, so she knew to call Isadore. My grandmother swept in and planned the whole funeral. I should rephrase that. She planned the whole funeral for my mom. She was going to pretend my dad never even existed. Fuck him. He was poor. She never liked him anyway. Why should she pay a dime to give him a proper send off? I had the biggest fit you’ve ever seen and they had to give me drugs to sedate my ass. Not happening on my watch. You’re not doing that to MY dad, bitch. Rita knew I was getting life insurance money for my dad. He had a small policy for ten thousand dollars. We used that to give him a funeral. It was the best money I ever spent. My mom’s funeral was a fucking joke. Every big name who’s who of the world was there to attend. None of her real friends were invited. It was not anything she would EVER have wanted. My dad’s funeral….now that was another story. As hard as it was to say goodbye, it was the real closure I needed. All my parent’s friends were there and they sat around joking and telling stories. ‘Remember the time when Leo and Camille had that New Year’s Eve party and Leo got drunk and puked in the front yard….remember the time when Leo built the giant snow fort for Izzy and Camille wouldn’t let her go in it because she thought it would cave in and kill her…’ and on and on. It gave me comfort to know how well-loved my parents were. Those stories were all the good parts of them that I wanted to remember. That’s what’s supposed to happen when you die. People tell stories of how you touched their lives. It’s all about the legacy you leave behind after you’re gone.”
