THE SIMULACRUM

by Marianne Carlson

"Ok can you look at each other as you if you actually like each other? Remember, this is a happy time."

"Like each other? We LOVE each other," Adele gushes as her invisible tentacles wrap themselves around the hapless male standing next to her, a mere boy, taking grown up steps into a future he can only imagine.

Unable to look each other in the eye, the couple stand awkwardly in front of the garden backdrop in my photography studio, posing for their engagement announcement photo, they barely hold hands. As if caught in a  trap, uncertain whether to struggle or lay low, Clark does neither, but assumes an attitude of tortured acquiescence. My camera clicks unceasingly.  He looks  as if he would rather be anywhere else, as if he is drowning.

Adele could be a spokesperson for a Weight Watchers commercial, strutting her newfound thinness in front of him seductively, more in love with her new svelte body than in love with her fiancé. Within a year those 40 pounds will return and then some, and Clark will be  constantly on her case about her weight, her "enormous butt." He abhors fat and will beleaguer her with insults. 

I give this marriage five years at best. I wish I could tell them.  If I could do my work without the necessity of interacting with people I’d be fine because the truth is I really don’t like them very much, the messes they make of their lives. The strange thing is, they so often want to tell me everything, to confide.  A hair dresser once told me that her clients often want to reveal their deepest secrets to her. She thinks it has something to do with the fact that she is touching their heads. Maybe on some level my clients believe they are talking to my camera?

I  am surprised to find Clark take a keen interest in the shots, and even more surprised to discover that his taste is impeccable. I have him pegged all wrong. Adele's interest is superficial at best, she scans the shots with annoying insouciance and gravitates towards the worst of the worst, leaving the choice to Clark. Focused, he is a different person than the boy in front of my camera, it is as if he has matured in a matter of minutes. 

“Let me know when you decide which shot you want to use.”

“I have already decided. It’s this one.” He chooses a shot which is off balance, not very complimentary of either one of them. In the shot Clark appears to be crowding Adele out of camera range, a diaphanous shadow partially covers her face. You can’t see her eyes. I love the shot, I love Clark for choosing it and look at him in new a light.

I want to ask him why. Why the rush, why are you doing this, why are you marrying her at all, but I don’t. Instead I write up the order, process his credit card.

“I know what you are thinking.” Adele has excused herself to go to the bathroom. Clark and I are alone. 

“You do. Well, tell me then, what am I thinking?”

“Why am I marrying this foolish girl, that’s what you are thinking.”

“You said it, not I.” He is on the verge of unraveling into that insecure boy who stood in front of my camera, but through some strange inner process known only to him he again transforms in front of my eyes. His tenacity frightens me.

“Adele’s father is my nemesis. I hate him. For as long as I can remember I have wanted to be a cinematographer. I want to shoot movies. It is all I have ever wanted.”

“Good for you, I can understand that. You’re a bit young for such grandiose ideas, though.”

“Adele’s father is one of the top guns in Hollywood. I interviewed him, way before I ever met Adele, and he turned me down flat. He not only rejected me, he humiliated me in the process. In essence he told me not to let the door hit me on the way out.”

Clark’s rage was palpable.  “Does Adele know this?”

“No.”

“Does she know you want to follow in her father’s footsteps?”

“I don’t want to follow in her father’s footsteps.”

“It’s a mean industry.  You need to have very thick skin.” 

“I know. But being married to the boss’s daughter helps, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

I wish them well as they make their way to the door thinking that five years is a long shot. He will drop her like a hot potato as soon as he lands his first movie. Sitting in my den watching The Academy Awards ten years later, the camera zooms in on the nominees for best cinematographer. There sits Clark and Adele and as his name is mentioned he kisses her lightly on the cheek. Just as I imagined, she has packed on a few pounds. He still looks young and resolute, that iron determination written all over his face. He didn’t win, but he will sometime in the future. They have three children, a boy and twin girls. Adele isn’t going anywhere. Good for her.

It's All Temporary

DEEP CALLS TO DEEP

by Marianne Carlson

"Keva? Is it really you?" I looked at her in stupefied amazement. I had not seen her in at least five years, it might as well have been a lifetime, so much has changed for me since last we met. Potent emotions swept over me rendering me powerless to react in any but a superficial manner. For a moment I thought I might faint.

"Fancy meeting you here." Keva had changed.  Once pencil slim, she had put on weight giving her a solidity I found somewhat off-putting. When slim, she had a chimerical quality, I often thought of her as Tinkerbell but Tinkerbell has been lifting weights. Her eyes had not changed though, that unrelenting stare, her refusal to look away. She was a chameleon, but a chameleon with a mean underbelly. 

"I'm fat." 

"No, you look good Keva. How's life been treating you?"

"Not so good. I have been away."

"Oh?"  She had always been laconic, her way of dropping innuendos, then carrying on as if I was a mind reader.  It was one of the things I had loved about Keva, her quietness. I grew up with a mother who never stopped talking, and it drove me crazy. Then along came Keva. When we first met, when we were in the throes of first love, I thought it compelling.  Now I find it rather sinister.

"Away?"

"Shipped upstate."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The Springdale Women's House of Correction. The food was starchy."

"Are you telling me you were incarcerated?" For reasons that were unclear to me, I wasn't surprised. Our relationship had always included some act of sedition or another, usually minor. We both had QUESTION AUTHORITY bumper stickers on our cars but Keva was far more rebellious than I. 

"You always told me I would bite off more than I could chew, well I did."

"It must have been a hell of a big bite."

"It was stupid. Basically I was set up."

"What did you do?" I felt like I was pulling teeth, trying to get information out of her, and suddenly I recalled  how this person had almost destroyed me. I thought I was over her, but I was not. It was as if she pulled a switch and the deep recesses of her personality were once again hidden while at the same time her irresistible  nature dominated.  It had always been this way, a lethal game of hide and seek. I, always the seeker, trying to peel through the layers of Keva’s psyche.

"I got caught up with some not very nice people, they were into drugs, and used me as a mule."

"You are too smart for that, Keva."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Tell me about prison."

Much to my surprise, she radiated, a subtle inner glow crept into her usually opaque eyes. "I met some wonderful women. Believe it or not, I was sorry to leave."

"Really?"

"I'll never look at life in the same way again. I'm an X running around in a world of O's. 

"But you always were, Keva. 

"Remember you used to tell me, "deep calls to deep," Keva said, and I always told you I had no idea what it meant?"

"I remember."

"Well, now I know. My cell mate taught me, but I'm not sure I have the depth to answer her. It was nice seeing you again." Keva turned abruptly as if to leave,  she had revealed more than she felt comfortable in doing. 

Nice? Is that what she calls it? Nice, when in five short minutes she managed to reduce me to a shell of my former self again. Stronger now, I will be able to replace the pieces of my shattered ego, but it will take a strength of character I am not certain I possess. Deep calls to deep.

It's All Temporary

THE CHINA DOLL

By Marianne Carlson

Sarah had it all. A few months after her birth the small town where she lived with her family (two older brothers, her parents, and Angelo, the Maine Coon cat)  had a Cutest Baby Contest.  Sarah won. The prizes consisted of a year's supply of Pampers, assorted jars of Gerber's baby food, a mobile for her crib and a 529K.  Tom and Terese, a handsome, annoyingly righteous couple, were thrilled. They were careful not to boast, but it sealed the deal for them. Sarah was preternaturally special in every way.

It was impossible to carry on a normal conversation with Sarah's execrable parents.   Any subject not involving the welfare of Sarah was of no consequence, conversely, anything even remotely concerning Sarah was monumental.  Both parents were child psychologists. Tom, a professor at a prestigious university, has been published often. His specialty, the gifted child, has been cited as beyond reproach. The fact that Sarah may or may not be gifted was never questioned.

Her two brothers, Hank and Tom Jr., were well aware that Sarah was the favorite child, and it did not sit well with them, there seemed to be an omnipresent tension in the air. With the passage of time, their dislike turned to hatred. They called her “The China Doll.”  If the boys needed new hockey equipment it was given reluctantly, if at all, because Sarah needed new figure skates, if the boys needed money for Little League, it came only if there was enough money for Sarah’s gymnastic lessons, if the boys wanted to join the swim team, they had to work to come up with the money, although money was readily available for Sarah’s diving lessons. 

“What an endearing child,” strangers would say when Sarah walked along the sidewalk hand-in-hand between Tom and Terese. Dangling her feet in the supermarket cart, she attracted attention in every aisle. When too big for the cart, she pushed it behind her mother, giving an accusatory glance if she was not pleased with the choice that went into the basket. A convoluted relationship between mother and daughter developed as Sarah matured, a juxtaposition where Sarah called all the shots. Terese appeared to be scared to death of her, and for good reason. Sarah was a scary child, and as a teenager, she was worse. Her straight A’s, her beauty, her seemingly effortless ability to excel in almost everything did not make her complete. She had no friends, and there was something off, something wrong when you looked at her. Most people were blinded by her beauty, but that beauty did not disguise the haunted look in her eyes. 

Angelo was a lap cat and liked nothing more than to sit on a lap and purr but he would have nothing to do with Sarah. He did not like her. Since there were coyotes in the neighborhood, the family agreed that it was not safe for him to go outside but he didn’t mind. He sat on the love seat in the sun all day long and purred, waiting for Hank, his favorite, to come home. Like a dog, he ran to Hank as soon as he walked through the door, and they would snuggle.

“Hay Tom, did you clean Angelo’s box?” The boys took turns cleaning the cat’s box, Sarah was exempt from the chore, God forbid her precious nose may have to smell Angelo’s prolific poop.

“No, it’s your turn this week.”

“I know, I just went to clean it but there is hardly anything in it.”

“That’s strange.  Where is Ang? I haven’t seen him all day.  Come to think of it, he didn’t sleep with me last night.” Hank looked troubled.

“Sarah, what did you do to Angelo? Did you let him out last night?”

“No, you creep, why would I do that?”

“Because you hate him.”

“No I don’t.”

“Cats hide in the strangest places.” Terese said. “He’ll come out from some shelf sooner or later.” Terese wasn’t worried, she had a parent/teacher conference later in the morning and she planned to give Sarah’s teacher a piece of her mind. Sarah had been moody and disrespectful recently and it had to be her teacher’s fault since Sarah was incapable of wrongdoing.  And then there was this boy, Kevin. Tall, gangly and pimply, Terese didn’t like him at all, but he was always hanging around Sarah - like an over anxious puppy.

“I don’t like him, Sarah,” Terese had told her yesterday. He is declasse. He is not good enough for you. He needs to stop hanging around.”

“Declasse? Declasse? Oh mother, give me a break, what makes you so high and mighty,  the be all and end all?”

“I’m not the be all and end all, it’s just that I want the best for you.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want the best.  Maybe I don’t deserve the best. Maybe I LIKE the fact that he’s not snobby.” Sarah stuffed her books into her knapsack, slamming the door behind her.

The parent/teacher conference did not go well. Sarah’s grades were falling, she was skipping school, and Kevin was more of a factor than Terese had realized. Her teacher said they were inseparable. Shaken, Terese called Tom and began to relate the particulars of the conference. While she talked Angelo sauntered across the kitchen as if he owned the place, ate his dinner, took his usual place on the love seat and quickly fell asleep.

“Oh, Tom, at least there is one piece of good news. Angelo just reappeared, none the worse for wear. Hank will be happy.”

Angelo slept, oblivious to the initial concern, fear, and then horror that occurred under his roof. Hours, days, weeks, months passed and still there was no word from Sarah. She disappeared without a trace, as did Kevin. Tom Jr. and Hank feigned concern, but soon their life went on as before. Shattered, Terese and Tom never fully recovered.  

It's All Temporary

MONICA

by Marianne Carlson

“I’m worried about her, I’m no child psychiatrist, but there is something wrong.”

“She’s fine, she is just experiencing growing pains.” 

“Growing pains?” Evelyn was incredulous. A handsome man, it was important to Mark, husband of Evelyn, father of Monica, the subject of discussion,  to keep his emotions in check, and when he felt the slightest indication that he may  loose his cool, he had a habit of biting his lower lip. The bite, more like a  nibble, was a reminder to him to pull himself together. Since things were not good between Mark and Evelyn, that lower lip was being mangled daily.   Tall and muscular with thinning brown hair,  his brown eyes were often troubled.  It was as if there were many unresolved issues which he pondered frequently, and these issues gave him sleepless nights. 

“Plus the fact she doesn’t like school, she told me she hates Miss Lilly, her teacher. Miss Lilly told me she has to put Monica in a time out at least once a day and when I asked her why she said it is because Monica often hits the other kids with shovels from the sandbox. She threw a little dump truck at Peter from down the street and he needed stitches over his eye. If it had hit him in the eye, it might have blinded him. According to Miss Lilly, Monica has disturbing tendencies towards violent behavior.”

Mark took a deep breath, God, what a headache, would she ever stop talking.  A prosecuting attorney, he was masterful at his job, a raising star, but his days were full of perpetrators whose lawyers were always looking for a plea. A nasty business, this plea bargaining, and it gnawed at him. Thugs who should be facing time in the slammer released on community service, a travesty. Mark’s court room persona  was perfected to a fine tune - an orator weaving a tale, his face a blank slate, until he went in for the kill. This was one reason why he was so good at his job, but his insomnia was making things much harder, and the last thing he needed was to come home to an irate Evelyn, overwhelmed by Monica’s foibles.  That lower lip was getting raw. 

“I’m serious, Mark something has to be done.”

“Where is she now?” Mark hung his coat in the closet and started for the stairs.

“In her room. I told her she needed to stay there until she was ready to apologize.”

“Apologize? To who?”

“To Peter. To Miss Lilly. To me.  I don’t know, Mark. She is beginning to scare me. She has no remorse whatsoever.”

“I’m not sure a four year old even knows the meaning of remorse, Evelyn.”

Mark climbed the stairs, reluctant to enter Monica’s small bedroom. She sat on her pink bedspread, too young to be so crestfallen.  It was as if the weight of the world was on her tiny shoulders.  The quintessential bedroom for a four-year old girl, everything was pink, but for the first time it struck Mark how incongruous all that pink was, pink did not suit her.

“Hi Monica, tough day at school?”

“Not bad.” Monica was so still she almost appeared drugged, a strange lassitude for a four year old. 

“But not good either?”

“Yeah, not good. 

“What happened?”

“Peter hit me with a toy truck.” 

She was lying. Peter knew that she was lying, and as he listened, an ineffable horror almost overwhelmed him. His work had brought him face-to-face with too many career criminals, some (for whatever the reason) came out of the womb warped beyond repair from the beginning. He knew all these time-outs were a harbinger of things to come, and for the first time he faced the future with Monica with great apprehension because he knew with every fiber of his being that this future was not going to be pretty.

“Miss Lilly tells us that it was you that hit Peter.” Without realizing it, Mark had assumed his nonchalance mode, a signal that he was preparing for the attack.  He thoughtfully nibbled his lower lip as he watched his daughter’s body language, always a dead giveaway.

“Miss Lilly hates me. She always chooses Peter to stand at the head of the line.” Monica’s unflinching stare was unnerving, a face-off between two adversaries.  As he watched her, he realized to his horror that it wasn’t his daughter, but himself that he was trying to stare down. Years of education, college, law school, none of it held a candle to what Monica taught him at that moment. Looking at her was like looking into a mirror, but it was worse than that, it was as if he was stripping them both bare. Suddenly the realization that years of polished performances in front of a judge had removed his ability to know himself at all, he was an actor unable to remove his mask.

“Stay in your room until dinner,” he told her as he abruptly turned and left the room. Shaken, he went into his bedroom, kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed. Evelyn came in and confronted him with her usual sledge hammer approach.

“Well, what did she say?”

“She said Peter hit her.”

“Did she really? And you let her get away with that?”

“No. She knows that we know she is lying.”

“How will we punish her?”

“I don’t know, Evelyn, I don’t know, but I need to lie down now. I have a terrible headache.”

It's All Temporary