by Kris Radish
Fun with the kissing and hugging and moments of spontaneous affection that she notices from just about everyone as if she is at the reunion for the first time.
Fun with watching the young cousins and nephews and nieces slowly group together and then gather at one table where a volleyball game breaks out.
Emma is especially glad to see Stephie doing something besides practicing her poetry for Tuesday night’s beauty pageant, which Emma and all of her wild sisters have decided to attend. Erika has even convinced Jeff and Tyler to stay on a few extra days and Rick suddenly had the bright idea to rent a small bus to pick everyone up and postpone Joy’s intervention.
“We’ll make signs and posters and fill up as much of the room as we can,” he had said excitedly.
“You know Joy will be there,” Emma had reminded him.
“She can come on the bus, too. We have to start speaking again sometime,” he had decided.
“Did you just smoke dope, Rick?”
“Nope. I’m just being optimistic.”
“So we all get on a bus, all go to a pageant, and then we have a nice family discussion. And then we try to institutionalize your wife and the mother of a potential Miss Higgins?”
“I think we’ll do the intervention on Wednesday,” Rick had concluded with his hands folded over his lips as if he were praying. “We can wait one more day. Stephie deserves this even if she has been a bad girl. And all I can do is hope Joy behaves.”
Emma had tried to imagine this scenario playing out. She remembered how her mother was tired and didn’t want to be the mother anymore and she almost asked where the bus was parked so she could go get it and leave town immediately.
But she didn’t.
She agreed to everything. She decided to let Fate play its absolutely unpredictable hand and to let Stephie have her day and to go to the damned reunion, which now didn’t seem as important as the people planning it. Emma also prayed to God that Joy, her wild nieces, her sisters and her own mother for crying out loud did not do a striptease.
Her mother—who has been spending most of the first part of the picnic talking quietly with Robert and some woman that Emma cannot remember ever having seen before. A new relative? Someone Robert brought along? It’s surely unlike Marty to not be the belle of the ball but maybe, Emma tells herself as she wanders over to talk to Janet and Susie Dell who seem to be hinged at the hip, Marty is also retiring from that position as well.
Men.
Men, it seems, change everything and Marty’s life has surely changed since Mr. Robert Dell flew into her arms and Emma’s has changed since Samuel’s recent phone messages, which linger like darts that have been strategically placed around the edge of her heart creating a longing for what she once had, for what her mother obviously has now.
Emma watches her mother as she walks around the flaming barbecue and heads first to get her own glass of wine and then towards Erika and Susie Dell who look as lost in an intimate conversation as do Robert and Marty. When Emma sees Robert stop while he is talking and take her mother’s face into his hands as if he were cradling a piece of priceless pottery, she stops halfway to her destination and thinks that is what her father must have done.
He must have taken the soft cheeks of his terribly beautiful wife in his hands and kissed her on the lips as softly and gently as Robert is now kissing her. Marty leans into Robert as the unknown woman they are talking to smiles and puts a hand first on Marty’s shoulder and then on Robert’s, as if she has commanded them to kiss and is now telling them it is time to stop.
But they do not stop, and still Emma cannot move, because she sees this lovely moment as a trip back in time, as a way to perhaps recapture yet one more precious thing that she did not file away for safekeeping in her slim memory banks from the happy times before her father became so ill. Her father did these same things to her mother. He loved her much the same as Robert loves her. He touched her like this and kissed her and always made certain that his hands and lips and face were right where they needed to be. He took her places and opened her car door and worried about their children and went to events that he probably really did not want to attend to make her mother happy.
Sweet Jesus and holy hell.
Emma watches them and even from the distance can see a fine fire lighting her mother’s eyes and she sees that Robert is absolutely and utterly in love and how this makes her mother very happy and very ready, too, for a new kind of life, a life that might explain “not everything,” a life Marty so richly deserves.
And as Emma watches her mother, she feels a swell of emotion that is nothing short of absolutely astonishing even as she feels an ache that is centered around the darts in her own heart for what she knows she has missed by deliberately standing still so damn long.
When Emma puts her hand to her own lips to stifle a cry, it is not a cry of sadness that she tries to hold back, but a cry of joy for her mother.
“Oh, Mom,” she breathes into her own hand. “Go for it.”
She pauses right there, eyes closed, as a volleyball rolls so close to her left leg that if she actually knew it was there she could kick it right back towards Stephie and her two brothers who have been yelling as if they have just been recruited to play for one of those professional beach teams where blonde hair is a requisite.
Stephie is the one who comes to grab the ball and who pushes her hip into Emma to shake her out of her trance.
“Auntie Emma,” she says breathlessly. “Are you like frozen over here or something?”
And when Stephie looks up she sees that there are tears in her beloved auntie’s eyes. Then without hesitation she turns and throws the ball to her brother Bo, to whom she gives some kind of unseen and unspoken message, so that he shouts, “She’ll be right back” and then throws the ball to the server.
“Auntie Em,” Stephie asks softly, moving closer and putting her arm over her shoulders in the exact same way that Robert Dell is now putting his arm over Marty’s shoulder, “are you okay, is something wrong, what can I do?”
Stephie’s run-on sentence makes Emma smile.
“Oh, Stephie,” she somehow manages to say. “You are such a sweetheart.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m terrific.”
“But you are crying.” There’s more than a hint of confusion in Stephie’s young voice.
“There are all kinds of ways to cry,” Emma explains. “I’m just thinking of beginnings and some endings, too.”
“Well, Bo and I are kicking ass over there and that should make you even happier.”
Emma laughs. It is a laugh that explodes like unexpected gunfire rocketing through her stomach to her throat and out through her mouth like a sniper’s unsilenced rifle.
“Go back and kick some more ass, sweetie,” Emma urges. “Have fun, Stephie. Go. I order you. Go, baby. I am more than fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, honey, very sure,” Emma says, pushing Stephie back towards the game.
And as she turns, still laughing, to finally go talk to Erika and Susie Dell, what Emma does not see are at least twenty-three people who have turned at the sound of her laughter because they think that the person they have just heard laughing is Marty Gilford.
And also Susie Dell and Erika, desperately trying to call someone before Emma gets there, someone who does not seem to be answering.
26
THE TWENTY-SIXTH QUESTION:
Who will give me five, five, five?
THE REMARKABLE, MUCH ANTICIPATED, absolutely hilarious and fun-beyond-believing-without-seeing Gilford Family Reunion Auction starts out the exact same way every single year and when Emma is bent over and fishing lost serving spoons out of the trash can and hears, “Who will give me five, five, five?” she has to hang on to the edges of the plastic can liner to keep from being trampled by the dozens of men, women and children who are running to get a prime seat close to the auction action.
Newcomers like Susie Dell, Janet
and the absolutely stunned town gossip, Al, who slinked into the park sideways wearing an enormous straw hat and was actually seen taking notes, stand back in amazement as a series of large tarps are removed from a group of picnic tables exposing an assortment of auctionable goods that seem to have been transported from exotic locations that are not anywhere near Higgins, South Carolina.
After Emma finds a handful of silverware, places it back on the table, and checks to see if Marty and Robert have unglued themselves, which they have not, she works her way through the anxious crowd so that she can stand next to Janet and Susie Dell, who appear to be having the time of their lives.
“Girls,” Emma says, sneaking up behind them, “prepare to be amazed, tantalized and astounded.”
“You sound like you work in a circus,” Janet whispers as the auctioneer keeps repeating “five, five, five” to lure in more customers. “Does this happen every year?”
“Oh yes,” Emma explains. “I think it’s the real reason everyone comes to this reunion. Some of these people work all year on items. It’s a kick.”
“A kick?” Susie Dell exclaims. “It looks like a foreign import store over there on the picnic tables except I can barely make out what anything is. Will he tell us?”
He is Uncle Mikey. A graying-at-the-temples-in-a-sexy-kind-of-way, professionally trained auctioneer who is also a gentle giant of a man, and who just happens to be Emma’s first cousin. Uncle Mikey has been the auctioneer at this event since it started, and his antics with the articles he is selling have made him a Gilford family celebrity. He will try on clothes, ride bikes around the pavilion, taste homemade goods, take an object that looks as if it was just pulled from the dump and quickly and ingeniously think of a way to use it in a fashion that no one in their right non-Gilford mind would ever consider. An ugly vase becomes a martini glass. A set of flowered double bed sheets is suddenly a potential dress for a brave Gilford woman. Old silverware quickly gets sold as an outdoor chime set that merely needs to be strung together.
When Emma explains to them how much money they raise every year, and what they do with it, both Janet and Susie Dell turn to her at the same time and say, “Holy shit.”
“Get out your wallets,” Emma urges as she settles back just when Uncle Mikey jumps on top of a picnic bench and holds up a pair of jeans that could fit a small elephant.
“These,” he shares while holding up the pants so half of his face is covered and he is looking out of a gigantic Levi’s buttonhole, “are what you no longer have to wear if you have lost seventy-five pounds like Auntie Kaye. Auntie Kaye, get your skinny rear end out here so we can see what you look like now. Whooo … There she is in all her slimness. Give the woman a round of applause, put down your cheap beer, and who will give me ten dollars for this jumbo pair of pants?”
Janet buys the pants for twenty-five dollars and Emma tries to stop her with a warning that there are several hundred objects to bid on and that the auction has just started.
“I don’t want her to feel bad,” kindhearted Janet shares, digging into her wallet for money as one of Uncle Mikey’s assistants, a Gilford offspring, an adorable ten-year-old who could get money out of a locked bank vault, sticks out her hand and smiles at Janet before saying, “Your money please and thank you.”
“Honey,” Janet says, bending over to meet the little girl’s eyes, “if you ever need a job, call me.”
“I’m tied up this weekend but leave a card with my mom over there,” the girl replies in all seriousness, pointing to a woman who is sipping something out of a child’s sippy cup.
Susie Dell laughs so hard she snorts, which makes Uncle Mikey turn to her and say, “Snorting in this group could be considered a bid, missy.”
“Sorry,” Susie Dell responds, raising her hand as if she is waving an apology.
“That’s it!” Uncle Mikey laughs. “You just bought this gorgeous used tire. Roll it over to the pretty lady, will ya please?”
What Uncle Mikey holds up next makes the entire crowd go wild.
Janet and Susie Dell lean over to try and get a better look, and what they see is a long pole with some writing on it, and then a stick jutting out about four feet from the bottom of the pole and finally, close to the stick, there is a small metal funnel.
Uncle Mikey has raised the pole-and-stick thingamajig above his head as if it is a long-sought-after trophy. He is smiling and turning in a circle so that people on all sides can see what he is holding and he is nodding his head up and down in “yes” fashion.
Emma is slapping her bare thighs with her hands and turns to Janet to tell her that if she is going to buy anything else this might just be the thing to have.
“What in the hell is it?” Janet asks her, totally perplexed.
“It’s a penis holder.”
“What?”
“Honest to God, it’s a portable penis holder.”
Susie Dell is snorting again, which instantly makes her the first bidder.
“Oh shit,” she says, still snorting. “Maybe this would help me get a date. I think I might keep bidding.”
The bidding is up to fifty bucks when Uncle Mikey stops to explain the historical significance of the infamous Gilford penis holder. He urges Gilfordites and guests to consider the honored significance of being able to keep the holder in their own homes for one year until it must, by penalty of excommunication, come back so someone else can claim its use for one year.
The penis holder was built and designed as a joke, he explains, by the now-deceased and still-beloved Great-Uncle Frankie, who at first made the holder as something to do one day when he was bored and then actually tried it to see if it would work. It worked like a charm.
“Attached, as you can see, are the original and hand-signed instructions dating back to 1971, folks,” Uncle Mikey shouts to his adoring fans. “ ‘Hold pole in right hand. Gently take penis in left hand. Place penis on top of lower stick. Center it. Aim for the funnel. Enjoy piece of mind knowing that everything is where it is supposed to be.’”
After this lovely guidance there are a few quiet moments while mothers and fathers bend to explain this object to their children lest they be traumatized or run off to explain about penis holders to innocent park-goers who may be just walking through the park on the way to the tennis courts.
Gilford kids, Emma warns her friends, can travel through one entire lifetime just by attending the family reunion.
The Gilford penis holder ends up being auctioned for an incredible two hundred and thirty-nine dollars. The lucky bidder, a distant relative whose husband had to work during the picnic, says she was willing to go higher in order to get the treasure, which will now be the highlight of every social event at her house for the next twelve months.
Meanwhile, Susie Dell and Janet have become so weary from laughter they grab lawn chairs and slump down next to Emma.
“How long does this go on?” Janet asks, with feigned tiredness.
“Hours and hours.”
“I think it’s absolutely a blast.” Susie Dell rises in her chair just a bit to see what is next.
“Be careful or you may have to start borrowing money,” Emma advises. “About half of this stuff being auctioned off is junk people bought last year, kept in a box, and then brought back this year so they could get it out of the garage. It’s mostly for the fun and for the charity.”
But there are also many wonderful items that are auctioned off during the next ninety minutes, including Emma’s gardening gift, which goes for one hundred and twenty-five dollars, four airplane tickets, an escorted tour of Charleston with a historic preservation specialist, bags and boxes and jars of homemade goodies, new toys, books and of course other items just as startling as the penis holder.
And something else.
Every ten minutes Uncle Mikey keeps glancing towards Marty and telling the crowd, “The best item this year is going to be astounding. Do not miss this. Do not go to the bathroom when you see that the last table is almost emp
ty. I repeat—do not miss the last item.”
The tables are still loaded with items that are apparently indescribable to anyone but Uncle Mikey. He seems to have captivated Susie Dell, because she leans towards Emma just after someone purchases a lasso that allegedly came from Robert Redford’s horse ranch and a little plastic bag that also allegedly has some manure in it from Redford’s favorite horse, Buckshot—as if that isn’t made up—and asks, “Is he married?”
“You do not, let me repeat that not, want to marry into this family,” Emma advises her friend. “You would be sentenced to a life of family reunions, penis holder sightings, and children who could pick your pocket while they ask you to tie their shoes.”
“Oh, stop it,” Janet says, gently slapping Emma’s arm. “Are you kidding? This is so much fun I may have to go change my underwear from laughing so hard and then my last name so I can come to this every year.”
“No, I mean it,” Susie Dell insists. “Is Mikey married? I think he’s absolutely adorable.”
Emma has to try and remember if Uncle Mikey is married, divorced, gay, celibate or something in between. She cannot remember but before the auction she surely did not see a lively female assistant at his side.
“I’m not sure,” Emma said. “Try and see if he has on a wedding ring.”
Susie Dell bounces up as if she’s been electrocuted and stalks around the side of the crowd to get a better look at the debonair auctioneer’s right hand.
“You two are like going steady,” Emma tells Janet while Susie Dell is gawking. “What’s up? Did you know her before this?”
“No, but she’s wonderful, and we’ve been gabbing about business and you, and you and business.”
“What?”
“Business. You know, as in starting one and finishing up another.”
“You are going into business with Susie Dell?”
“You know, it’s okay to drink something besides lemonade at a picnic, darling.” Janet grabs Emma’s cup of coffee and ignores the question. “Have some wine or a beer, for God’s sake. Live. Lighten up. It is summer and we are at a picnic.”
