This is the first of three parts of a new story, something a little different from what you--constant reader--have come to read in this space. Not too long, venture into James and Gwen's world that's not so far ...
Gwen picked at
the bitten-to-the-quick cuticle of her index finger then chewed on the nail. After
eight hours in the air-conditioned confines of their ten-year-old Chevy
Cavalier, they were close. Outside of the hour and a half spent idling in the
line-up at the Canada-U.S. border crossing, they had made good time. But Gwen was
nervous and her anxiety was growing with each passing minute. They were only a
few miles away from James’s parents’ home.
The car was
quiet except for The Beatles “Come Together” playing quietly on the car stereo.
Gregory finally had fallen asleep as they exited I-81, on the outskirts of
Philadelphia. His face was covered in the leftover cement of dried digestive
biscuit. His arms hung out limply from the sides of his car seat. Early that
morning, after leaving their apartment on Bishop Avenue, he had fallen asleep
in the car. But before reaching Osaga—forty-five minutes into their journey—he
was screaming. He disliked the confines of his car seat at the best of times; a
trip to the eastern seaboard of the United States was asking the impossible.
Gwen
was nineteen. She was working on her final assignment for her Grade Twelve equivalency. She was not stupid as some thought. The events
that led to her current circumstances might look stupid but the result had brought her a wonderful
bundle of joy and a loving man; both were far from stupid in her mind.
James
was twenty-five. He was tall with dark, shoulder-length hair. He designed websites.
At twenty-three, he had graduated Cum Laude in Computer Science from the
University of Waterloo. He was very smart according to some.
They met at an Oktoberfest party. They enjoyed each other’s company.
Neither was drunk. But things happened. Her pierced navel. His Mickey Mouse
tattoo. Blue eyes. Good listener.
‘You can’t possibly keep the baby,’ the adults close to her had
counselled, ‘your whole life’s ahead of you.’
Life was like that. Life had given. It was hers to receive.
Gregory was hers. She would die before giving him up.
In her life, she had lived with loving isolation and well-meaning disconnection.
Adoption was like that. Commitments seemed looser with human solutions.
When things got tough—like her pregnancy—she didn’t matter as much. It was not
their fault. There was something deeper, a void that words couldn’t fill—a missing
link. She was not one of them.
Life
was tough. Like that changed anything. They would handle it. Besides James was responsible.
‘He’s my baby too,’ he had reminded her. He had graduated. He had a job and several offers.
Her parents,
or rather her mother—her father was suffering the early stages of dementia—had
told her there was not room for an illegitimate child in the house, as if her unborn
baby was evil incarnate. Illegitimate, the only thing that made her baby any
different than any other unborn child was human thinking. But it wasn’t human
thinking that created life was it? Given her father’s condition, it was
less difficult to understand. She left home and moved in with James during his
final semester. It was easier than the place she’d called home for most of her
life.
They drove past a number of large estate homes. They were close. Gwen could
scarcely keep her eyes open. The long ride and being Gregory’s
single source of entertainment for much of it was catching up with her.
James saw her fatigue and tried to be helpful.
“Listen, I’ll take Gregory for a walk when we get there. You can lie
down and rest a bit.”
They entered Westland Estates driving between two enormous redbrick
pillars that announced the affluent neighbourhood. As they drove along the
winding road towards their destination, most of the homes were
obscured by man-made berms, stonewalls or lines of trees that Gwen did not
recognize by name. Most of the houses were colossal structures.
Mr. and Mrs. Edward Simpson’s immense, white colonial stood near the end
of the main road and was one of the few that could be seen from a distance. James
came to a stop behind an SUV with a Cadillac nameplate.
Gwen was in awe.
James’s mother was the first to the car. She poked her perfectly coifed,
bottle-blonde head inside before James had a chance to turn off the engine.
“Oh-oh-oh, look at him!” she squealed like a teenage cheerleader
swooning over the star quarterback. “Isn’t he just a darlin’!”
This was Gwen’s third visit to James’s parents, the first to their new
house. James had only seen emailed pictures of the place.
“It’s so good to see you Jamie,” his mother gushed, hugging her son through the
open driver’s side window, “and your little boy.”
With care, she turned her head and looked at Gregory.
“Good to see you too mom,” James replied in obedient fashion as his
mother extricated herself from the open window.
“Come on, Joyce,” boomed Ed Simpson from the front steps, “let them at
least get out of the car.”
“My goodness, where are my manners.”
She bent down almost in a curtsy and pulled open her son’s door.
“You kids must be worn out after such a long drive.”
James got out of the car. Gwen heard his locked knees crack as he stood
up. He then turned, pulled the seat latch and helped Gwen squeeze out. Thankfully,
Gregory didn’t move.
“Oh Gwin, so nice to see you,”
Mrs. Simpson announced and came forward to hug her daughter-in-law. She pressed
her rouged cheek to Gwen’s. “You must be beside yourselves. Isn’t he just a doll?”
Gwen nodded as she stepped back from her future mother-in-law’s
perfunctory embrace. It had been a long time since a parent had hugged her—even
longer since it was meaningful. Her mother barely had spoken to her since
Gregory’s birth.
“You look like you’ve lost weight dear.”
Gwen was pregnant at their last meeting.
“Maybe a little,” Gwen replied looking down at her thick tanned legs. She
was more than a little aware of the plus twenty pounds she’d added to
her pre-pregnancy weight.
“Come, let’s get out of this heat. There’s lemonade inside just waiting
for you.”
Gwen smiled politely. The air was still and hot outside the car.
They followed James’s mother up the front walk to the wide, white steps
of the white porch that ran the periphery of the house.
Mrs. Simpson turned before she reached the top.
“What
about the baby?”
Thus ends Part One. The next two parts will follow in the coming weeks. If you haven't yet read The Actor or The Drive In you can get them from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Chapters-Indigo or pretty much wherever you find books.
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| The Actor |
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| The Drive In |
