The Comfortable Shoe Diaries

by Renée J. Lukas

  “It’s not you. They’re just upset because their show isn’t on tonight,” Ellie explained. “They get forty cartoon channels that run all day long, but their particular show isn’t on.”

  “Forty channels!” I exclaimed. “We only had three growing up. And cartoons only came on Saturday mornings.”

  “Yeah,” Ellie agreed. “And they ended at noon.”

  “Yeah,” I continued. “Followed by Soul Train or something even worse, like golf.”

  I shuddered, as Ellie and I laughed. Then I looked up at the two faces staring at us. Megan and Matthew were looking at us like we were from the Stone Age.

  “Here you go with the old-timey talk,” Megan muttered.

  “What did you do?” Matthew asked, as though he felt sorry for us.

  “We went outside and played!” Ellie fired back. “Something you might try someday.”

  “What if it was raining?” he persisted, deeply disturbed by this new information.

  “We read,” I said. “You know, books.”

  Ellie and I laughed and eventually noticed the kids weren’t laughing. To them, books were like medicine, to be taken in only when necessary.

  Later on, describing our first video game, two lines and a dot hitting each one, drew much the same reaction, except with an extra jolt of horror and pity.

  During dishwashing time, Ellie’s mouth tightened as she watched the kids put the dishes in.

  “You’re not doing it right,” she groaned. “Why don’t you go do something else?”

  The kids dutifully left, and soon the voice of SpongeBob echoed from the family room.

  “What?” Ellie said.

  I wanted to say something, but my mouth could get me in trouble, so I thought carefully. The look on my face said it all, though.

  “You think I should let them do it,” Ellie said.

  “It’s your house.”

  “No, tell me.”

  “Well, how else are they going to learn?”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been called a control freak. But they don’t do it right.”

  Control freak. Red flags waved in front of my eyes. No, no, no. My mind was flooded with visions of Valerie as she hovered over me while I folded towels the wrong way.

  “They may do things differently, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” I said, sounding like I was talking to someone else.

  “But they don’t fit!” she protested.

  I was brought back to Earth and the dishwasher. “You can teach them.”

  “You’re right. I lose patience sometimes.” She ran her hand through her tangled hair, took a long breath, then called the kids back in and showed them what she wanted.

  When Ellie was satisfied that things were running smoothly, she left the room.

  “So you got Mom to stop freaking out?” Megan asked me.

  I smiled triumphantly. “Uh-huh.”

  “Great,” she snapped. “Now we have to do dishes every night.” Her voice dripped with attitude. I’d known from the start she’d be harder to win over.

  That first time at Ellie’s house wasn’t exactly persuading me to take on the role of a parent. But I started considering it more and more as time went on.

  I spent several weekends at Ellie’s. I was getting to know more about video games that looked like gladiator movies and especially more about SpongeBob, though I never discovered the answer to why he wore pants at all, being a sponge. Matthew told me I was overthinking it.

  I learned about the difference between Playstation and Wii. I also learned how to play tennis without a racquet or tennis ball, just a TV and a “nimchuck,” a new word I learned that sounded like something obscene.

  Megan spent most of her time in her room doing something called “face time” with her friends. These kids didn’t use phones. They texted or talked over their phones, face to face. It was like Star Trek. The whole house was a mess of cords and wires, and suddenly I thought of how my grandfather must have felt when I showed him my electronic microphone at Christmas. He was probably used to wooden toys, and then everything had become a science fiction movie.

  The Comfortable Shoe Diaries began to buzz with new entries about the possibility of being a step-parent. It’s the only role in the family that no one asks for. It’s like being the last one invited to a party. So if you are eventually trusted, even loved, by the family, then it means even more because you earned it.

  Back in Connecticut, the day came for cutbacks at the newspaper, which was already dropping in circulation. I wasn’t sad about it. The editor had come over with an especially long face. He couldn’t even look at me. I knew what was coming. I found myself consoling him. Honestly, I felt relieved while cleaning out my desk, and I had a strange faith something better would come along.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Weapons of Mass Destruction”

  Ah, the sweet breath of autumn in New England—the gentle kisses of colors in the trees, a hint of chilly air heralding a new season—and it was hell. Ellie had to go to a teachers’ seminar for the weekend, and I stupidly volunteered to stay at her house and watch her kids. I thought of it as a test run. If I could handle this, maybe it wouldn’t be such a drastic lifestyle change, like on House Hunters International when they move from California to Bangladesh.

  Penny didn’t mind watching Cookie, which relieved some of my guilt about the cat. So I packed a small bag and off I went.

  I arrived Saturday morning, and Ellie showed me where everything was in the refrigerator. Then she showed me the phone numbers for the police and fire departments taped to the door.

  “Fire? What are you expecting to happen?”

  Ellie darted nervously from room to room. “You never know. Hey, Megan! Have you seen my phone?”

  “Why would I have it?” The teen called from her sanctuary.

  “You used my charger!” Ellie ripped apart her bedroom until she found her phone under the bed.

  I walked her outside.

  “Thanks for doing this,” she said over and over.

  “It’s no problem. Have fun.” I shut her car door.

  “Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “Trapped in meetings with teachers. Fun. I didn’t want to go, but I was told I had no choice.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I assured her.

  “No. They’ll make us do team-building things like carrying eggs on spoons. Ugh.”

  I kissed her through the driver side window. And she pulled out, leaving me alone with the Children of the Corn.

  Actually, it wasn’t that bad. At first.

  Matthew couldn’t have had more energy if he’d been on steroids. He told me all about his class and everyone in it, including Amanda, this girl who was obviously accident prone. Her latest claim to fame was stapling her fingers together when she volunteered to put up construction paper ghosts on the bulletin board.

  “Ooh,” I responded, riveted by his enthusiasm.

  Matthew was impressed with the ambulance and the way they took her swiftly away to the hospital. I think he was especially impressed that she’d gotten excused from all of her assignments that day. I hoped he wasn’t getting any ideas.

  “Wow, that’s…uh…” I didn’t know what to say.

  Then he began to play a concert on his tuba for me. The sound, probably similar to a hippo’s mating call, filled the living room.

  “Stop that shit!” Megan hollered from the doorway of her room. Obviously, the sound was messing up her “face time.”

  “Don’t swear,” I said. “Maybe we can work out another time for your brother to practice.”

  “Just not now!” she raged and slammed the door.

  I was appalled by her attitude, but I didn’t want to get the “you’re not my mother” reaction, so I played my cards carefully. I knocked on her door.

  When she answered, I said, “Hey, I know you’re frustrated. But your mom wouldn’t want you to slam anything, okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” She shut
the door.

  I was surprised. I’d managed a situation like a Facts of Life moment—a show, which, by the way, these kids wouldn’t even have known.

  But for Matthew, if he couldn’t make noise on the tuba, there would still be noise. Out came the nimchucks, and soon sounds of explosions and machine guns overtook the small house.

  Megan came out of her bedroom, a storm trooper in sweatpants. I had to say things carefully, like, “Would you want him hitting you like that? Or sticking your iPod down his pants?” Or in the worst-case scenario, “If I have to call your mother, you know she’ll take a game away. Is this really worth it?”

  By the time Ellie came home on Sunday night, there was a rotten, burned cheese smell from an ill-advised grilled cheese sandwich in the toaster, underwear strewn about both kids’ bedrooms and nimchucks running amuck, and I was drained of every ounce of energy in my body.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “The kids were very good, but I’ve got to get home.”

  “Now? It’s late. You sure you don’t want to spend the night?” She smiled slyly.

  “I couldn’t move even if I did.” I left before dinner. I couldn’t imagine how she could work, see her kids and make dinner all in the same day. I had a new respect for my sister and for every mother who ever lived throughout history.

  Seeing the “Connecticut Welcomes You” sign brought a mixture of emotions, but mostly relief. What did that mean? It had to mean I was doing the right thing, running as far away from that lifestyle as I possibly could.

  I came back, rain-soaked and tired, seeing Penny, as usual, on her computer.

  “Give it up,” I joked, as Cookie ran to me.

  “Hey,” she called. “I didn’t expect to see you back tonight.”

  “Neither did I. Thanks for watching my fuzz ball here.”

  “Oh, no trouble.”

  Yes, I thought. A cat isn’t much trouble. They don’t make you listen to tubas or explosions for hours. The worst they can do is cough up a hairball. That’s it.

  That night, Ellie and I had a difficult phone conversation.

  “I know you’re careful about who your kids meet. And I’ve been honored to get to know them,” I said.

  “You have been?” she repeated.

  “I just can’t do it. I can’t live the life you do. It’s too much for me. I felt like a bowl of Jell-O when you got home.”

  “So? There are nights like that.” She paused. “Heck, there are days when I can’t stand my own kids!”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. But you never hear June Cleaver say that, because she’d sound like a bad mother.”

  “I don’t think I can do it.” I was scared. If I went too far down that path, it would affect not only Ellie, but two other lives as well. Better to admit it now.

  Finally, she accepted it. “I wish so much you’d change your mind.”

  “I know,” I answered. “But I can’t.” I had to hang up quickly, so I wouldn’t hear the sound of Ellie’s tears and she wouldn’t hear mine.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Anger Management”

  “I hate my kids all the time!” Joanne blasted me on the phone.

  “You don’t understand,” I interrupted.

  “Oh, no, I think I do. It got a little hard and you freaked out. But I have to break up two Sumo wrestlers every day. I’ve had to pull broken glass out of Cabbot’s hand, and the little one likes to roll around in the grass with the dog. The grass in Florida! You know the kind filled with red ants and pesticides! I might as well just take the gate off the pool, for God’s sake!”

  Then I knew why I was running away. I didn’t want to become like Joanne. She used to be so fun and creative and actually enjoyed life, well, when she wasn’t worrying about death. Then she got married, had kids and transformed into this Momzilla who was always roaring at everyone: “Get that out of your mouth! We don’t eat Elmo! What did you do to your father’s computer?”

  I didn’t want that. And something else I realized. Once I knew I was gay and I was different, I embraced the opportunity to follow the road not taken. But let’s get real—it wasn’t for poetic, artsy reasons. It was because I thought maybe it would make me immortal. If I didn’t have a traditional marriage, I wouldn’t have that slightly faded forty-year-old wedding picture hanging on my wall reminding me of the passage of time when I was old and wrinkly. I wouldn’t get old and wrinkly if I didn’t get married. It made perfect sense in my warped mind.

  And kids? Forget it. They’re the cause of aging, I’d confirmed. Gray hair, deep frown lines, all things caused by your new baby chewing on jagged glass or a toddler eating plants then running out into traffic—all the things Joanne was dealing with. Or just the really gross things that my OCD didn’t want to fathom—little Cabbot picking his nose at dinner and spreading boogers on the drapes. That was my earliest memory of him at age three.

  Kids make you age. And that wasn’t going to be a worry of mine. Until it was.

  * * *

  “My sister told me I was an idiot.” That’s what I blurted out on the phone to Ellie. “Well, not exactly like that, but it’s basically what she meant.”

  “What?”

  I had to back up. “I’m sorry. I had to talk to Joanne, get a little perspective…” I’d entered a new realm of extreme fidgeting. “What I’m trying to say is, please forgive me! I want to make it work with you.” There. Nothing like diving head first into shark-infested waters.

  But there was a long silence. She wasn’t going to let me off the hook easily.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I haven’t even asked you to move in, and you were already breaking it off.”

  “I realize that.”

  The hum of more silence.

  “I need to know this is really going somewhere. Because I’m a mom, it can’t be a casual, on-again, off-again thing. I’ve got more than just me to think about.” Her voice cracked.

  “I know.”

  “I want to be more than an entry in your blog,” she said.

  Whoa. I couldn’t feel my legs. “You read my blog?”

  “Yeah. I hope it’s okay. It’s really entertaining, by the way.”

  After a conversation that seemed to last all night long, we started seeing each other again.

  Then, after soul-searching conversations with Joanne and Penny, I eventually decided to move in with Ellie and her kids. That was it. I was taking the plunge!

  Moving day was bittersweet. As the last of the boxes were being taped, Maddie stopped by.

  “I meant what I said,” she growled. “You’re dead to me.”

  “I love you too.” I was too excited to let her upset me.

  “You’re really going out to the boonies,” she continued. “I tried to Google the town. I’m not sure you can get cable there.”

  “We’re right over the state line,” I assured her. “You can come and visit anytime.”

  “The highway goes both ways.” Her arms were crossed. Her big blue eyes were extra shiny today. “This sucks, Syd! You can’t do this!”

  “I’d think you’d want me to be happy, just like I want you to be happy.”

  “No! I want you here so we can have lunch and shoot the shit.”

  Penny helped me carry the last box to my car. Cookie was already starting her pitiful cries from the cat carrier, which would get louder and more disturbing with every mile.

  “I’ll miss you so much.” Penny hugged me tightly, then dabbed at her eyes. “I’m not doin’ this. We’ll still see each other.”

  “Of course we will,” I said.

  “No, we won’t.” Maddie marched toward her car.

  “No hug?” I stood there with my arms outstretched.

  “I told you,” she said, “if you do this, you’re not my friend anymore.”

  As her car door slammed, Penny took my hands. “Don’t worry ’bout her,” she said. “She’ll come around. I think she didn’t want any of us to find a partner befor
e she did.”

  “She doesn’t even look for one!”

  “I know, I know. Preachin’ to the choir.” She closed my door after I was all set behind the wheel.

  As I drove off, I saw her waving in the yard and felt good to be closing this tumultuous chapter of my life.

  None of my plans to be immortal worked out. The very next morning after I moved in with Ellie and the kids, I saw crow’s-feet in the mirror, followed by a double chin, ten more pounds on the scale and a giant butt. It could have been related to the fat-free Fudgsicles I kept eating; fat-free does not mean sugar-free. Even though sugar was the enemy, I preferred to blame it on the kids.

  Living there was an adjustment, to say the least. Sometimes I’d have to babysit the kids when Ellie had a late meeting, and all would be fine until somebody pulled out a water gun. Now at ages eleven and sixteen, they were like two powder kegs just looking for a match. I heard myself talking like Ellie, Joanne and even my own mother: “Someone could lose an eye—or a hand. Don’t call your brother an asshole. Please turn down the TV. You’ll go deaf!”

  So the kids basically ruined my plan to be immortal, and because of them, I was now going to die like everyone else.

  If the kids didn’t kill me, the job search would. Looking for work when you live beyond the boonies in Massachusetts is like that scene from The Karate Kid when they try to catch a fly in between chopsticks. Impossible. So here I was, trying to find a job, adapt to a new life, while realizing that Ellie sometimes had anger issues. One minute, she’d be warm and sweet, and we’d be having a great conversation. Then she’d fly off the handle as if a switch had been flipped. She was Ms. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde.

  “I’d better not find another M&M in this couch!” she’d scream.

  I never knew when one of these outbursts was coming. It was usually provoked by the kids, who would do their best to get in a fight with each other, especially on days when their mother was already in a bad mood. They had no instincts for bad timing. I’d warn them if I could, but it would be too late.

  “If you’d thought of that last night, we wouldn’t be late, looking for it now!” Ellie would scream across the house.