[Critique Group 1] Marcia's November submission - another chapter

[Marcia Wick]

New Year Resolve 

1595 words

 

1977 loomed like a dark tunnel with no end. My small assortment of presents
had been opened. Robbie wasn’t returning my phone calls. Mr. K’s family was
celebrating New Year’s Eve at their lake cabin. I hadn’t been invited to
anyone’s gathering. I phoned my sister New Year’s Day to lift my gloomy
mood. Instead, her troubling news yanked me deeper into a black abyss. 

 

Older by four years, Jean was working as a nurse at the children’s hospital
in Denver. We shared a special bond albeit due to our night blindness and
futile attempts to appease our argumentative parents.

 

“My daytime vision is declining but they don’t know why,” Jean informed me.
“The other day, I ran a stop sign and almost hit another car. I didn’t see
the sign. The car came from out of nowhere.” My sister’s words melted into
sobs.

 

“Oh my God, you could have been killed.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me that, Claudia. Mom and Dad are already
threatening to take my keys away. If I can’t drive, I can’t work.”

 

I tried to reassure my sister. “The eye doctor probably just needs to tweak
your prescription for driving glasses.”

 

“If only. I’m being referred to a specialist, an ophthalmologist at the
university medical center, for testing. I can’t even get an appointment for
five months so I’ll just have to be extra careful for now. I hope I don’t
collide with an instrument cart at work or, worse yet, dispense the wrong
medicine and kill somebody.”

 

“Now, you’re being overly dramatic,” Jean was always the sensitive one. She
cried at the mention of a sad movie or song. She was the princess who
couldn’t sleep on a pea. I was more like Lucy from the Charlie Brown comic
strip, confident and commanding
at least on the outside.

 

“Mom and Dad are worried that the problem could be genetic since we’re both
night blind. Have you noticed any difficulty with your vision driving during
the day, Claudia?” 

 

Pop! My cartoon bubble burst.

 

Had I? Was my own near-accident before Christmas due to blizzard conditions,
or was my day time sight also failing?

 

“No, no...” I decided to keep my own close call secret from my sister for
now.

 

January promised nothing but cold and dark with one exception. Veronica
phoned and we arranged to meet up the following weekend for another loop
around Doe Lake on our cross country skis. The prospect of finding a friend
bolstered my resolve. 

 

Each Sunday that month, Veronica and I circled the lake, matching our pace
halfway around while we jabbered, and racing the second half, being equally
competitive. 

 

Trekking and talking, I realized Veronica hid insecurities like me. Despite
her polished appearance and worldwide travels, she told me she felt like an
orphan. She quizzed me about mundane family affairs – dinner time, fighting
with my parents, sneaking out with my boyfriend on a school night. She was
as curious about my conventional upbringing as I was envious of her
unpredictable adolescence.

 

Veronica didn’t know her dad. I wanted out from under control of mine.
Veronica’s famous mother had high hopes for her daughter’s modeling career.
My mother had never worked outside the home and couldn’t conceive of her
daughters pursuing a job before marriage. I was jealous of Veronica’s
financial security, and she coveted my family traditions.

 

Our first outing, Veronica pronounced, “Last one to the parking lot picks up
the lunch tab.” Veronica slipped past me on the final turn and slapped the
hood of her car. “Let’s go to Vera’s. She’s got the freshest sandwiches and
salads around.”

 

Too slow to make an excuse, I agreed to Vera’s although my return to the
lunch spot reminded me of Robbie. We were even seated at the same table.
Like déjà vu, Vera’s son Pete approached with our menus.

 

“So, Veronica, you jealous? Your new friend was here with Robbie not long
ago. Has he gotten bored with you already?” Pete’s words strangely echoed
the confrontational attitude he had taken with Robbie.

 

“If it makes you feel better, Pete, I turned Robbie down, just like I turned
you down. Now, bring us your mom’s daily lunch special, okay?” Veronica
passed our menus over her shoulder to Pete without a glance. For the second
time, I watched Pete retreat like a dog kicked to the curb.

 

The thing was, I was kind of touched. Unlike my best friend from high school
who turned out to be far from loyal, Veronica seemed more interested in our
conversation than competing for a man’s attention. 

 

After lunch, I tailgated Veronica’s Camaro to her modern town home. The
two-story abode was furnished with an eclectic mix of antique furniture,
glass and chrome shelving, macramé planters, and woven wall hangings. The
small living room with an exposed brick fireplace was open to the dining
area. A tall shelving unit displayed a variety of collectibles and separated
a work nook without obstructing light from a breezy window.

 

The galley kitchen had a built-in microwave and dishwasher. A stainless
steel sink accented with a mirrored backsplash reflected unwashed pots and
pans. Burnt orange Formica countertops were covered with crumbs. Veronica
obviously took more care with her appearance than house cleaning. Somehow,
that relaxed me.

 

Veronica had baked pumpkin bread. While she prepared hot tea and fussed to
clear a spot for us at the table, I nosed around. A tall wooden bookcase was
jammed with a library of reading material. Mingled among classics like
Steinbeck and Faulkner were feminist titles like Fear of Flying by Erica
Jong and Descent of Woman by Elaine Morgan. To my delight, I discovered
Veronica also had a copy of All the President’s Men by Carl Bernstein and
Bob Woodward.

 

“Oh, look!” Nearer to my heart, I fingered four hardback novels from The
Borrowers fantasy series by Mary Norton, my most favorite escape as a child.
The illustrated books told stories about the Clock family, tiny people who
live secretly under the floor boards of a human family’s home. The Clocks
"borrowed" small items from the big people to furnish their house and equip
their adventures. 

 

Prostrate on overstuffed floor pillows, Veronica and I perused her
collection of record albums including Carol King, Fleetwood Mac, Crosby
Stills Nash & Young, Joni Mitchell, and Chick Corea. Sweet Baby-James Taylor
cooed from her portable stereo. 

A stack of spiral bound notebooks stood Next to her record collection.

 

“Are these notes from your college classes, Ronni?” She had suggested I call
her ‘Ronni’ at lunch.

 

“It’s the first draft of my book, but it’s not ready for consumption yet. “

 

An avid reader and fellow writer, I quizzed Veronica about the plot
structure for her fictionalized memoir. 

 

“It’s about a young debutante whose future is predetermined by her
obligation to run the family business, in opposition to the heroine’s
personal dreams, of course.” 

 

“How does the story ends? I love a good mystery,” I teased.”

 

“Let’s just say, the mother won’t be happy with the ending.” Veronica tossed
her wavy hair and cackled loud enough to shake snow from a tree branch. I
knew that from experience. Thankfully, the light fixture over our heads
didn’t shatter.

 

Between the tea and gut-wrenching laughter, I excused myself to pee. On my
way to the upstairs bathroom, I peered into Veronica’s bedroom. A splash of
blue, yellow, and orange flowers maxi size covered the quilted spread on her
double bed. Maya Angelou’s poetry was bookmarked on her night stand. A lemon
scented candle on her vanity matched sunshiny bath and hand towels.

 

Looking in Ronnie’s mirror, I couldn’t help but compare my life to hers. She
seemed to be living a dream. She was reading and writing and cooking and
crafting. Her world was filled with light and music. She wasn’t putting her
life on hold, waiting for a man to give her purpose. 

 

Begging off before sunset, I drove to my cold apartment. Jennifer Warren’s
rendition of “Love Hurts” played on my car radio. Neither Ronnie nor I
“belonged” in Doe Lake, Michigan, I reflected, but each of us had a destiny.
Was my future predetermined by my family history? Worse, would my vision
impairment prevent me from finding my own way? Veronica was living a dream
while I was lost. Without knowing, my new friend was inspiring me to hope
for a future with color, texture, and adventure.

 

***

 

Pete was pissed. Robbie could have any woman in town he wanted. Other local
boys didn’t stand a chance. Still, the cop had hit on both of the new
lookers. Robbie had set his hook before either woman could bat her mascaraed
eyelashes. Now, the bitches were pals and turned off to townies. Pete had
overheard the acid comments Veronica made to Claudia over lunch.

 

“See what I mean, Claudia? Don’t date the locals. They don’t mind their own
business.”

 

Well, whose business was it, anyway? Why did newcomers from the big city act
like they owned the town, telling people how to run their lives? What did
they know? Pete had been born and raised in Doe Lake, never to leave as far
as he could make out. He helped his mom run the restaurant, and he worked
weekend as a security guard at the furniture factory. One job didn’t pay
enough for a guy to catch a woman’s eye. Two jobs meant a guy didn’t even
have time to look. For 30 years, the only does Pete ever snared were during
hunting season.

 

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