Stephen Dixon: Long Made Short

The next day I see my mother and say “Remember Ramona Bauer?” and she says “Who’s that?” “Woman I was engaged to when I was in my early twenties and whom I saw and was head over heels for for years — blonde, an actress. Very pretty. Had a couple of good Broadway parts, and one of them when I was seeing her — I even took you to the play. Neither of us liked it but we thought she was very good. Then she broke off the engagement a month or so before we were to be married. This happened during my second time around with her, but I don’t want to make this any more confusing than it has to be.” “No, the engagement breakoff I don’t remember, though it seems something I would. And usually I’m good at things from that far back.” “It was going to be at her parents’ house in Connecticut. A small wedding, which was what we wanted; maybe thirty, forty people.” “I’m sorry, it still doesn’t register. Maybe I’m not functioning well today.” “Ramona Bauer, Mom. How many Ramonas have I known?” “None, it seems, as far as I’m concerned. Maybe try being more specific about her looks other than for her being pretty and blonde. Anything particularly striking or noticeable about her size or face or manners then?” “Long hair. And a real light blond, not dirty or honey-colored or anything like that. Usually combed straight back and hanging over her shoulders or tied on top into that bun that dancers wear; I think it’s called or was called then a chignon. About your height, maybe a couple of inches taller.” “So my height when I was her age.” “That’s right. And vivacious, very lively, energetic and a very distinctive voice, though I don’t know if I can describe it. A bit throaty, though not from smoking, and every word clear. A trained actress, so she enunciates, but not affected.” She shakes her head. “This might help. Dad objected to her because of her religion, but you didn’t. You both even met her folks, took them to dinner after we got engaged. At a restaurant in the Empire State Building on the ground floor. The Showboat, I think it was called. They might even have had some Dixieland music — I say that because of the restaurant’s name, and somehow the image of these guys playing comes up. Her father was an artist, didn’t do well, but came from old money, which there wasn’t much of by the time it came to his turn. Her mother was a playwright with a couple of hits in the forties and fifties. Or maybe just the forties, and I think both of those were musicals she only did the lyrics or book for. ‘Nelson’ his name was, very handsome eloquent man. I forget her name but I think she also wrote children’s books or was trying to get one published when I met Ramona, plus still doing her plays. You in fact — I just remembered this — at this restaurant, said to her father that you immediately can see whom Ramona takes after. He wasn’t blond — neither was her mother — but their small noses and green eyes and almost everything else about their faces was the same.” “None of it,” she says. “You’d think one small part of it would come back. It has to be the day. I had a bad night.” “I’m sorry. Anyway, she called me, Ramona did.” “What for?” “Because she still considers me her friend after twenty years and would like to see me.” “She married?” and I say “Getting divorced.” “She wants to hook up with you again.” “No, she doesn’t. That’s all over.” “Sure she does. You have a good job, for life if you want. She probably has lots of expenses and mouths to feed and she’s lonely again.” “No, she knows I’m happily married. And her husband — one she’s divorcing — is a successful movie or TV producer or something with public TV. He does well, anyway, from what I could make out, and I’m sure will support her and the two children very well. If she needs it, I’m saying, since she has her own independent work.” “You’re still good-looking—” “How would she know that, not that I am.” “You are. Don’t underestimate yourself. And why you so sure she knew you were married? She wanted to get her hooks into you and, knowing you’re married now, she still might. People get desperate when they reach a certain age.” “She’s not like that. Everything she said on the phone and that I know about her says that.” “How old is she?” “Fifty-three, since she was seven months younger than I. Born in January.” “So she knows that nobody’s going to be interested in her now or at least not like someone who was in love with her and she ran away from.” “She broke off the engagement, she didn’t run away. In fact I saw her for a little while after that and then every now and then for about a year. She decided — what did she decide? Well, it was like Dad said. That our two religions would make us incompatible after a while, since at the time she was so seriously involved with hers. Also, that she knew I’d want children right away — I did, mostly to hold her down; I knew she didn’t want to get married then — and she wanted to wait till she was in her thirties, so she could continue with her acting work. And that’s just what she did, though she got married a couple of times before this long one. No, I’m sure she wants to see me just to resume our friendship. We were very good that way and did sporadically see each other as friends for almost ten years after we stopped being lovers the last time. And nostalgia — people do funny things because of it.” “Like what?” and I say “I don’t know — call up a friend thirty years later on his birthday from ten thousand miles away because it just flashed to them. She didn’t; she’s in Connecticut. Anyway, she said she has the fondest memories of you especially. That you were always wonderful to her — generous, warm, uncritical — and that she wants me to give you a big hug and kiss from her.” “I don’t want a hug from her. I don’t know her, I don’t remember her, and I don’t trust her. Now, if Carolyn wants you to give me a hug and kiss from her, that I’ll accept.”

She was fooling around with the plane’s door handle. I said “Don’t touch that, sweetheart, you never know what can happen.” Suddenly the door disappeared and she flew out and I yelled “Judith” and saw her looking terrified at me as she was being carried away. I jumped out after her, smiled and held out my arms like wings and yelled “Fly like a bird, my darling, try flying like a bird.” She put out her arms, started flying like me and smiled. I flew nearer to her and when she was close enough I pulled her to my body and said “It’s not so bad flying like this, is it? It’s fun. You hold out one arm and I’ll hold out one of mine and we’ll see where we can get to.” She said “Daddy, you shouldn’t have gone after me, you know that,” and I said “I wouldn’t let you out here all alone. Don’t worry, we’ll be okay if we keep flying like this and, once we’re over land, get ourselves closer and closer to the ground.”

The plane by now couldn’t be seen. Others could, going different ways, but none seemed to alter their routes for us no matter how much waving I did. It was a clear day, blue sky, no clouds, the sun moving very fast. She said “What’s that?” pointing down and I said “Keep your arm up, we have to continue flying.” She said “I am, but what’s that?” and I said “Looks like a ship but it’s probably an illusion.” “What’s an illusion?” and I said “What a time for word lessons; save them for when we get home. For now just enjoy the flying and hope for no sudden air currents’ shifts.” My other arm held her tightly and I pressed my face into hers. We flew like that, cheek to cheek, our arms out but not moving. I was worried because I hadn’t yet come up with any idea to help us make a safe landing. How do we descend, how do we land smoothly or crash-land without breaking our legs? I’ll hold her legs up and just break mine if it has to come to that. She said “I love you, Daddy, I both like you and love you and always will. I’m never going to get married and move away from home.” I said “Oh well, one day you might, not that I’ll ever really want you to. And me too to you, sweetie, with all that love. I’m glad we’re together like this. A little secret though. For the quickest moment in the plane I thought I wouldn’t jump out after you, that something would hold me back. Now nothing could make me happier than what I did.”