12/12/14 - "Chapter 14 - The Plan"
Blogger's Note: Gosh, this took some work. I've laid off the "How We Got Married" story for so long now that I had forgotten where I was. I had to go back and read the story from the start in order to maintain the "feel". I didn't realize that this story, from then to now, is a bit of a novella. I also really saw my growth as a writer. The early chapters were ok, but I'm a bit more proud of the more recent chapters.
Can I be honest with you? I haven't been real excited to write this installment. Here's why:
The last two chapters, when I was outlining this story, were initially supposed to be in one installment. If you'll notice, they're both in the same setting, at about the same time. But, as I was writing, I found a really good start/stop point and ended up separating the two chapters. What does that mean? Well, it means that, officially,
this chapter is the start of the next and last stage. The "How We Got Married" stage.
You may have noticed how I whine a little when I have to shift gears. I have to start setting up the dominoes again, so that I get to knock them down in the final chapter(s). So, I'll ask you to bear with me; I'm going to roll up my sleeves and get some of the work out of the way.
Now, if you're new to my blog, please don't start here. Go back and read
"Chapter 1 - The Tea Monster" and follow the links to get caught up on the story of how I met my Polish wife and how we fell in love and got engaged. I think you'll find some of the early chapters a little slow-moving. I'd ask you to be patient. The story gets better. In fact, as I was rereading it, I started remembering things. I started feeling that excitement again.
Listening to:
Ingrid Michaelson "You and I"
"Do you want any more children?"
We were driving down Old Cairo Road in my brother's old, Chevy pickup headed to our new apartment when Joanna had unveiled the question. Just that morning, we had forked out money for a deposit and, as required, the first month's rent. We had found a quaint, two-bedroom residence with a meager bathroom and a small kitchen. An aged, cedar fence girded the backyard; and, as soon as I had seen it, I imagined myself grilling and drinking and playing in that early-Summer grass.
"Yeah, I want
one more," I confided. After DJ, I'd never had reason to entertain the prospect of having another child; but, admittedly, I had, given the opportunity, always wanted another child that I could raise myself,
not through phone calls and negotiated visitations.
Joanna waited for me to turn onto the street that we'd be living on before she continued the discussion. My brother's old truck, or Big Red as he called it, was a rickety, old artifact. Where rust or repair putty hadn't claimed the body, its dented, red armor, despite its moniker, had faded into more of an orange than a red. Our doors rattled like they might fall off at any moment, and the road beneath us was visible through rust-holes that had formed in the dilapidated floorboard. "Well, I want
three more," she revealed as I tried to grace the accelerator into that sweet spot that wasn't too much but wasn't too little.
"
Three?? Hell, no!
Maybe two...
maybe..." I countered as I glided Big Red to a halt in front of the apartment complex. I shifted into reverse and navigated as close as I could to
our front door.
"Two? Ok. Maybe two..." Joanna considered. I shifted into park and turned off the rumbling engine. Nothing else was said as we climbed out of the truck; we silently agreed to revisit the subject later. For now, we were about to advance a step on the "plan".
After the bliss of our momentous engagement had been dispatched by the criminal motives of
reality, we had agreed to stand our ground and fight off its rapacious machinations with a simple "plan". We would live together for three months before we pulled the trigger and got hitched. We had already been dating four months. More time would have been lovely, but our "plan" wasn't as easy to execute as it sounded.
Time, simply, wasn't on our side.
When Joanna had refused to go to Vegas, she had, effectively, quit her job. Her work visa had been revoked; so, during our "trial" period, she wouldn't be able to work. For upwards of a thousand dollars, we could have applied for a fiancé visa; but, such a visa is only good for three months. While the time frame worked, its price
didn't. Its value barely equaled its cost, so we decided to forego applying for the short-term solution. We opted, instead, to live solely on my income until we were married and could apply for a work permit. Not possessing a single lazy bone in her body, Joanna
wanted to work. We had considered finding her an "under-the-table" job that payed cash and would keep her off the radar of deportation, but stories relayed by Marcin and Wiola of students that had been caught and deported while trying to circumvent the process scared us away from anything shady. We would just have to stay the course.
I had eight hundred dollars in savings; she had just over a thousand. We pooled our finances and came up with a budget. We split the cost of the apartment. Joanna would pay the cable and electric deposits; I would take the water and phone. With the money left over, we bought a cheap mattress and box springs. My brother gave us a small kitchen table and chairs. And that was all we had to begin with...
I let the tailgate fall open with a loud bang as Joanna opened the door to our new home. I hopped onto the bed of the truck and began handing her the only thing that I had kept over the years. "So, your keyboard first?" she smiled.
"Yeah, I might want to play you a song later, so I don't want to hurt it while we're unloading everything else," I teased.
She stood it against the wall just inside the door and returned to receive a kitchen chair that I was handing to her. No sooner than it was out of my hand, my cell phone rang. It was Mom.
"Hello?" I answered after the chair was secured in Joanna's hands.
"
Hello?" Mom shouted back.
"Mom?" I continued the volley.
"Hello?
Duane?? Can you hear me??"
"Yeah, Mom.. I can hear you. Can you hear me?" I controlled my agitation.
"There's something going on with my phone... I don't know what it is!"
"
Hello... Mom??"
"I can hear you
fine; I don't know what's going on!"
"Ok, ok. So you can hear me fine?" I asked her. I managed to stay calm which was a somewhat remarkable feat.
"
Yes!!! I told you that!!! I can hear you
fine!! My phone's been acting up all day!!" she continued.
"So you can hear me fine, and I can hear you fine?" I tried to simplify the situation.
"
Yes, Duane!!! I don't know what's going on!!!" she was growing frustrated.
"Mom, if you can hear me fine and I can hear you fine, doesn't that mean that our phones are working like they're supposed to?" I reflected on how well I had just done that and waited patiently for her acquiescence.
A long silence followed as she must have paused to consider my proposal. After a handful of heartbeats, she finally said, "I was just calling to let you know that I've got some blankets that you can have if you need them. I can run them by later."
I inhaled a deep breath and told her
thank you. Then, I said goodbye and hung up while our phones were "still working".
Joanna had finished unloading the last couple of chairs while I had been
conversing with my mother. I found her in what would be our bedroom tossing our newly-purchased mattress onto the box springs and sliding it into a corner. She fell back onto it once she was finished. I fell beside her pretending to test the bed when in actuality I just needed a moment to breathe.
We lay staring at the ceiling, through the razor-light slicing through the blinds. Lazy dust particles were slowly whirring from my collapse onto the mattress. We studied the dance, the two of us, silently assessing the room, the apartment, our lives. A doubt shivered my resolve, and I felt a similar apprehension chilling my fiancé. This room, these walls, were just so damn empty.
"Are you sure about this?" The question reverberated against the empty walls and eerily transformed my voice. The effect captured our emotion a little too well.
Joanna sighed. I could peripherally see her head turn toward me. "I will go crazy here," she finally responded. "I do not like to sit at home and do nothing."
I believed her; I had seen her in action.
Unspoken whispers bombed us from the silence. When the test of a relationship begins, it comes in cold and fast, like a storm front. It pelts you with doubts and obligations and boredom. It lies in frazzled pieces, scattered about like the littered ground of yesterday's fair. Eventually, the music begins to fade and the waltz ends; we return to our seats and wonder if there will even be another dance.
Joanna scooted next to me and lay her head on my shoulder. I caressed my arm around her and pulled her closer. "I love you," she said.
I let her Polish accent finish reverberating around our bedroom. The sound of her voice reminded me of every promise made, of every feat accomplished, of every smile we had shared. With little more than each other, I resolved myself to our
plan. "I love you, too," I said.
Sometimes, our terms of endearment are shouted. They echo off the clock towers in London, from the palaces in India, and blaze through Rio de Janeiro and into the welcoming arms of Christ the Redeemer. They swing through the vines of the Amazon and stir the sands of the Sahara.
But, sometimes, our love is meek. It is soft and quiet, like Christmas Eve footfalls, like the weightless spiral of a floating dandelion, like the hush of a sleeping infant. Like the quiet of an empty apartment. After the romantic interlude ends, only this kind of love remains. It appears brittle and weak against yesterday's shouts and promises. And, if it is true, if it is forged from the bonds of devotion and relentlessly hammered on passion's anvil, then it is ready to be tested.
And our test had just begun...
(to be continued...)
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