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They were living in a hotel now. Ellen was standing at the small
closet, trying to decide what to wear now that her best evening gowns were left
behind in the sudden midnight escape from their last apartment, where they had
been three months behind on the rent and faced eviction anyway. She was thirty-
five years old, and the beauty of her youth had begun to fade over the past few
years. She looked unnaturally worn, like someone who has endured tragedy after
tragedy throughout her entire life-- she survived, sure, but couldn’t avoid
looking a little beat-up. Her daughter, Mary Ann, never helped much. If it was
true that stress kills, then Mary Ann had been killing her since she learned to
speak. Mary Ann now lay belly-down on the bed, and had been watching Ellen trying
to solve her attire dilemma. Mary Ann was ten years old. She had stringy blond
hair and mischievous green eyes that seemed to take an evil pleasure in watching
her mother suffer through some problem. She thought herself a genius, and as with
all geniuses, it was hard to tell whether she was really a genius or just a bit
peculiar. She just finished telling Ellen that the true culprit in her life wasn’t
being poor or falling behind on her bills but instead bad balance. A lack of
balance was always Mary Ann’s reason for things that went sour for her mother.
“I don’t know where you dig up all this bologna about bad balance,”
Ellen said, exasperated. “Half the time I don’t even know what you’re talking
about. Bad balance,” she snorted. “Look around you. We’re living in a hotel, for
Pete’s sake. What does balance have to do with that?”
Mary Ann seemed to delight in watching her mother frantically rummage
through the closet.
“Ma, honest,” she insisted. “It’s bad balance. There’s no balance in
your life-- that’s why everything gets screwed up. Many famous fictional
characters have the same problem. Don’t you read?”
“I’m not a fictional character,” Ellen told her stiffly. “I
really have a date in twenty minutes. I really can’t find a thing to wear, and
you’re really being a little pain in the ass.” Though she paused to glare at Mary
Ann, they both knew Ellen would never strike the girl. Mary Ann was all she had
from her marriage to Charlie, the precious little girl he never had a chance to
set eyes on. He’d had served in Vietnam, but didn’t die there. That would have
been too cliché. Instead, he came home without a scratch on him. Before returning
to his young pregnant wife, Charlie deemed it more important to celebrate his
homecoming with a bunch of friends. In a small town in North Carolina, they all
got roaring drunk, and it was Charlie’s misfortune to be the one that passed out
on the railroad tracks. Now that was bad balance; surviving three tours of duty in
Vietnam, and then coming home to have a train run you over in Rubesville, U.S.A..
Because of his ignominious demise, Ellen always found it impossible to cherish his
memory; instead, she tried to cherish the Mary Ann, whose presence was hardly
cherish-able.
The date Ellen had tonight was with Bob Sewel. He was divorced and
dumpy, but had a nice sense of humor. He had made a fortune in real estate--
according to him, anyway-- and Ellen figured if nothing else came of the date,
maybe they could at least get a decent apartment and a couple months free rent.
When she decisively yanked a gray pantsuit from the closet, Mary Ann
shook her head, rolled off the bed, and walking to the bathroom, said, “Bad
balance, I tell you. Bad balance.”
The bathroom door burst open and Ellen sailed out. She had the same
air about her that Donna Reed had every week on her television show when she
glided down the staircase to answer the front door and let in her husband-- who
was obviously too much the nitwit to use his key.
Her rush of exuberance suddenly ended when she was confronted with a
room that was vacant except for Mary Ann, who sat on a bed, her legs crossed
before her as she stuffed her face with candies from the Whitman sampler.
“Was Bill here?” she asked curtly. “I know I heard his voice. Where is
he?”
“He had to leave,” Mary Ann informed her, mumbling, her check puffed
out and filled with chocolate, caramel and crème.
“Leave? Why?” she asked, concerned and confused.
“Oh, some emergency,” Mary Ann explained.
“It’s strange.”
“He was a strange guy, Mom,” Mary said, and wiped away a sweet brown
rivulet that ran down her chin from the corner of her mouth.
Ellen stared at her with slotted eyes, which, because of the amount of
make-up she wore, gave her a vaguely sinister look.
“Mom?” she said. “You never call me Mom. It’s always Ma, or, heaven
forbid, Maw, like we came from some trailer park or something, which we didn’t.”
“No, we just get kicked out of nice places.”
“You said something to him, didn’t you?”
“No, I don’t you, he had an emergency.”
“What emergency?” Ellen demanded.
“Oh, something about termites.”
“Termites?”
“Yeah, some building he’s trying to sell has termites.”
“That was the emergency?” Ellen asked, doubtful. “Termites?-- That’s
what you’re telling me.”
“He had to get an exterminator or something.”
“At this time of night?”
“I told you he was a strange guy, and I don’t think as rich as he led
you to believe.”
Ellen began to pace, which wasn’t easy given the lack of space in the
room. When she stopped, she turned toward Mary Ann, and dug her fisted into her
hips.
“What did you say to him?”
“Mom, I didn’t say anything to him. I told you want happened,” Mary Ann
said so matter-of-factly Ellen appeared to relax, as though ready to accept the
entire episode was just another extra of her bad luck. “There’s little point in
making it all worse by becoming paranoid.”
Ellen softened her tone, then. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I’m
coming unhinged. This kind of thing just happens too often. It never seems to be
anyone’s fault. Maybe it is just me.”
“Forget about it,” Mary Ann advised.
“It’s hard to forget, really. There are always constant reminders.
There just has to be some reason. Nobody can possibly be this unlucky,” Ellen said
miserably.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mary Ann said. “You’ll start obsessing, and if
you start obsessing, it will just throw your balance further off.”
Ellen snorted. “Balance! You and your balance-- I don’t know where you
get this stuff from.”
“It’s life,” Mary Ann said simply, and popped a caramel in her mouth.
“Life,” Ellen groaned. “Well, life is going to get pretty awful if I
don’t make enough tips this week to pay the rent on this fine room… this fine room
with the television bolted to the dresser top, six cable channels, and towels
embroidery with the words DO NOT STEAL….” She paused to laugh at the hilarity of
it all. “Well, I always have you, I guess,” she added, and actually regarded her
daughter with fondness, something that hadn’t occurred often lately.
“Yeah, Ma, you always have me,” Mary Ann assured her. “And you know
what? Your balance will get better one day. You have to work on it, though, but
don’t worry: I’m with you all the way.”