The show must go on

 

Meet our new therapist, Ms. Rebecca Howe.  Apparently she’s a licensed social worker trained in dealing with children and teenagers. 

My father is still a grade A+ charmer.  Those warm blue eyes (the same blue eyes he gave to my brother and both my daughters) seem to allow women to melt.  But Ms. Howe was not having any of it. 

Just while we were in the foyer my father whipped out his photo album with pictures of us.  “Look, here’s my family,” I heard him say, “I’m so proud of them.”

“They’re nice, Mr. Plumb,” she said dismissively, “but I’m here to talk about you.”

“Please, Mr. Plumb, have a seat.”

I stood at the door listening to their conversation.  I could hear just about every word. 

“So.  Why are we here?”

I heard dad sigh.  “Because my wife and daughter called you.”

“Why did they call?”

Dad sighed again.  “Because I did some stupid, stupid things.”

Hearing that from dad was pretty jarring.  I mean, when I was younger, I thought he could do no wrong. 

“Tell me about them.”

When my father gets into reverie he can’t stop himself. 

“I was the result of a one night stand between farmer Nigel Plumb and trauma surgeon Jamie Jolina.  My parents, I’m told, couldn’t agree on anything, including what to name me.  They finally settled on Nathan.

I still remember my mother tucking me in my crib while she was on call at the hospital. 

I split my time between my mother’s house and my father’s farm.  The contrast between my parents couldn’t be more stark.  While my father preferred spending time among his plants…

…my mother was supremely extraverted and loved spending time among her friends. 

But in my mother’s spare moments she occupied herself with music.  Sometimes I used to stand by the door and listen.  My mother loved music.  She knew the classics like she knew the back of her hand.  She knew all the great composers just as much as she knew the medical terms. 

Then, just before I turned teen, my dad died.  I watched it happen. 

“How’d you feel watching your father die?”  I heard Ms. Howe ask. 

“That’s just it.  I didn’t really feel anything.  It was more of a curiosity than anything, seeing him turn to that ghost state.  I know I was supposed to grieve but I couldn’t do it.  I remember asking my mother all kinds of questions about ghosts and the Grim Reaper.  I also remember her not having the answers I sought.  It’s funny, I wasn’t like most kids.  I wasn’t afraid of the Grim Reaper. 

My older half-sister Maggie actually tried to give me some direction after my dad died.  But she was also launching her writing career at the time, so the attention she paid to me was somewhat limited. 

I hit my teens and I was completely unruly.  My mother did not have a clue how to deal with me.  My teacher had actually told my mother that either I was going to be in prison or I was going to win the Simbel Prize. 

At this point I was going to school perhaps, maybe, once a week.  My mother used to ask me what I was reading, and I’d tell her it was books on music and musical theory. 

One day I’d gotten a notice from school.  I’d rewritten the school’s alma mater in study hall, adding in a few guitar riffs between stanzas.  My mother was waiting for me in her hospital uniform and she was not happy. 

Come to think of it, my mother hadn’t been happy since my dad died. 

“I was only jazzing up the alma mater.  It sounds a lot better with the guitar riffs added.”

“Nathan,” she shouted, “you need to get your head out of those clouds and into your schoolbooks.  How are you going to ever make something of yourself?”

“Nathan James Plumb, come back here!” she shouted.

I left my mother’s house and didn’t return.

Instead I moved in with a friend of my mother’s, Holly Alto.  I stayed there until my young adult birthday.

I had a small birthday party with my girlfriend at the time, Erin Frio, with my sister Maggie, and my childhood friend Sharon Ursine, and Holly Alto along with my mother. 

But soon after I blew out those candles, my mother passed away. 

When the Grim Reaper arrived to harvest her soul, I decided to whip out her old guitar, that she’d given me when I became a teenager, and play one of my original compositions.  He seemed to like it as he stayed to listen to me.” 

At the time I was dating a young lady named Erin Frio.  Her father, Jared, didn’t like me very much and we argued constantly.  She looked between both of us and tried to get us to calm down. 

I went back to my mom’s place where, after a concert, Erin and I had woohoo in my old bedroom. 

For a time things were going great between Erin and me, and we were even going house hunting because she had wanted to start a family.

But as I was wont to do, I screwed that up majorly. 

Holly and I were at my mother’s funeral dinner, and we got to dancing and we got to talking.  The next thing I knew, I’d slept with her. 

The next day, Holly summoned me back to the mansion.  I got there at about a quarter to six. 

There, Holly uttered the three words that would change my life… ‘Nathan, I’m pregnant.’

She was calm.  I was the one who was hyperventilating.  “It’s going to be fine, you’ll see,” she’d told me. 

Then the next night, Erin came by and told me SHE was pregnant, too.

Ms. Howe interrupted again.  “So, you got two women pregnant in a short period of time.”

I didn’t hear my dad say anything.  He just sighed. 

“How were you feeling?  You were still very young.”

“I wasn’t sure how to feel.  And I certainly was not prepared to be a father.”

“Because you never had a father yourself.”

Dad sighed again.  It seemed as though he’d been sighing all day. 

“Your father died when you were young, and not only had you not had that male role model… but it doesn’t sound like you had any kind of stability or discipline.  So you went out looking for it.”

-- to be continued --