Tag: Fascism

It was 4:50 PM. The five clustered in the kitchen of their Lincoln Avenue rental. Two sat at the table, two were standing, and one perched himself on the counter. They were all facing the phone attached by the rear door.  You would need an ax to cut the anticipation. Tick, tick, tick, time beat on almost suspended as if dragging an invisible weight. They were waiting for The Call.

They were expecting a ring from his mom. Everyone knew her to be very predictable and were familiar with her set-your-atomic-clock-to punctuality. He had often told the others that his mother got off work at 4:00 PM, having set the end of her shift early to avoid the evening traffic. She would hitch a ride from a colleague and arrive home nearly every day by 4:45 PM. She would then enter the house through the driveway side door and proceed by 5:00 PM to front of the house to check the daily mail…

That year on Memorial Day weekend, he had traveled with his girlfriend so she could meet his parents. The visit went way better than he had expected, especially since it was the first time he had brought home a brown-skinned girlfriend. Over the last few years, he had had several discussions, some very heated, with his mother over race and racial relations. She distrusted and often maligned people of other races and ethnic groups, even people of subgroups closely related to her own. She tolerated her on dating people from other ethnic groups, but really wanted him to meet one from their own ethnic group.

He had expected a cool, even chilly encounter; but, to the contrary, things seemed to go well. It certainly helped that his friend was fluent in English. His mother was all smiles, open, and very kind during the whole visit. My father was his bon-vivant self. This reception also allayed the apprehension his friend had expressed before leaving the university town for his home.  

By the end of their first year in grad school in June, he had cajoled his girlfriend to join him with his best friend David and David’s newly minted wife, Diane, as housemates. (BTW, he and Diane were once more than friends) They would rent an old three-bedroom house on Lincoln Avenue about four blocks north of campus. The four would be joined by John, an older undergrad, who had been a student in David’s first-year French class. His girlfriend asked him when he proposed the rental plan, “We wouldn’t be sleeping in the same room, right?” He had replied, “No, of course not;” and so, she agreed to the arrangement.

His girlfriend moved into the first-floor bedroom; upstairs David and Diane would have one room and John the other. Meanwhile, he would sleep in a south-facing room that had once served as an attached greenhouse. After moving into the house, he and his girlfriend would trade off rooms in order to perform their lovers’ duties; but they, as he had promised, would not sleep over together through night in either bedroom. (They did, however, sleep over night together when they surreptitiously visited his hometown in late June)

At first, the conditions in his room were comfortable, even in the summer months of June, July, and August, because a neighbor’s tree had grown full and high enough to partially shade the room. However, that year September brought an unusual seasonal chill to the night, and the greenhouse room of course had a considerable amount of number of glass panes. It was getting cool, and quite cold by morning. The heat in the house had been turned on during several nights of chill, but the air flow from the closest duct barely whiffed through his open room door. He tried multiple blankets and tolerated the cold for several days; but all the glass, no insulation. It was darn cold, freezing.

He decided to make a unilateral decision – move over to her room. That night he picked up his pillow and marched out of his room through the living room and opened her door. “Sorry, it’s too cold over there.”

This changed the equation. His girlfriend at first seemed miffed but was generous in allowing him to stay. The increased time for intimacy fostered further exploration and discussion about their relationship. He had from the first time that they met known that he would like her to be the one. It would require, he thought, for her to come to the same realization. In this circumstance, he began to see her even more as the One. So, one late afternoon while they were lounging on the bed, he just blurted it out, “Do you want to get married.” She said simply, “Yes.”

He could have telephoned his mother to make the announcement, but a call home was a long-distance charge and too expensive if the conversation was long. Given his mother’s disposition and predictable negative reaction, he decided that a simple phone would not do. He wanted to inform her of his decision and explain how much he loved his future wife and at the same time express his love for his mother in the hope that in the end she would understand. He would mail the handwritten letter early Monday morning. It would arrive at his parent’s home by Wednesday afternoon.

They were all sitting and standing on the edge, their hearts racing as they anxiously waited for the phone to ring. They had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, staring at the silent phone with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

As the wall clock ticked toward Five, his girlfriend glanced nervously at the time piece, her hands fidgeting uncontrollably in her lap. David tapped his foot impatiently against the bottom cabinet, his eyes darting back and forth between the clock and the phone. Diane chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes fixed on the phone as if dreading the ring. John stood there in complete bewilderment as what to expect. He alone knew what could happen.

With each passing second, the tension in the room grew thicker, the silence becoming almost unbearable. Finally, as the countdown reached its last few seconds, they all held their breath, their hearts pounding in unison.

And then, as the clock struck zero, the phone suddenly sprang to life, its shrill ring echoing through the room. David, Diane, and John all jumped up, their eyes wide with anticipation, as he advanced to grab the phone. And no one took notice in the excitement that John’s elbow had suddenly knocked a metal mug from off the counter. It crashed with a bang. That was not the center of attention.

“Hello, mom.” Of course, he knew it was her.

“How could you do this to me?” his mother through the line.

“Do what, Mom?” A big gulp.

“Want to marry HER! I knew it, I knew it when you brought her here.”

“Mom, mom, hold on. Well, no, Mom. I only just proposed. I love her.” Searing silence exuded from the other end. “I hope, I hope you understand. I really do love her.” He didn’t think she was listening.

“This is terrible. How could you?” A longer moment of silence then, “Why couldn’t you marry a Chinese?”

“Chinese?” That was a response he had not anticipated.

“I love you, Mom. Please understand.”

“I will NOT come.”

His mother then hung up.

It took a few moments for him to gather himself after the call. In a way he half expected his mother’s ire. He reflected that his mother’s odd suggestion did have a twisted logical since he was enrolled in grad school to study Chinese literature, and Chinese people are more light-skinned than his girlfriend. In proposing Chinese, she was saying marry anyone else but her.

His housemates remained respectfully mum waiting for his reaction. He addressed his girlfriend first to quell her understandable concern.

“Don’t worry love, it doesn’t matter. She’ll come around. She will.”

John chimed in with encouragement. “Yeah, it will work out.”

David and Diane chimed in a hearty, “Yeah, they will. Congratulations!”

He knew better, at least for some time to come…

Once the others had cleared the kitchen, he telephoned his mother’s younger sister whom he considered his favorite aunt. He thought Aunt Jeanne could calm his mother down and get her to reconsider. But his aunt was a big disappointment. She told him, “No way. You shouldn’t have done this. You’ll hurt your mom.” Well so much for a “loving” aunt.

That was that. He and his now fiancée would go on with setting up the wedding, aided by their friends.

His mother obstinately stuck to her word and did not attend the wedding. His father and sister did attend, along with one of his cousins and many of their friends and colleagues. His future mother-in-law even traveled 11,000 miles for the occasion. They all had a splendid time.

For three full years his mother did not see him, mail him, or even talk to him over the phone.

It was a relief, actually. He had at last become an adult.

(1975-1976)

Epilogue

Three years after the wedding, his mother-in-law returned for a visit. The couple traveled to the big city to pick her up at O’Hare International Airport. They got a motel room near the airport which also happened to be close to his parents’ home.

He dialed his father, “Dad, we’ve arrived in town and were at the Days Inn in Niles. We’ve picked up my mother-in-law who has just flown in.”

His father replied, “Oh? Well, okay, Hold on for a minute.” Then silence on the line. It was a fairly long silence, and he couldn’t make out what was going on. His father returned, “Okay, we’ll order some Chinese food and bring it over to you. What room are you in.”

“27.”

“We’ll” his father said. Now that was something different.

A half hour later a knock came at the door. Chinese take-out. The ice had broken.

© 1979, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.