For a long stretch I attended a writer’s group at church. Originally the focus was on personal experience, but I find writing about myself essentially impossible and lethally dull. So I always scribbled down bits and pieces of people running through my head, mostly so I’d have something to share every other Thursday. These bits of fiction are always short, almost always in Los Angeles, and, I realized later, always white people talking and behaving – which may not mean much outside of L.A. but it’s telling I think. L.A. is not a “white” city. It’s odd that I never ‘heard’ Latino, Asian, or Black voices…I certainly do in everyday life. Hmm. I pretty sure this means nothing. The crux is not race. 2nd generation midwestern immigrants lost in 21st century L.A. are my people and they are the ones I see and hear in my life and my head…hence the title of this post.
The first super short story in this series is called: It’s not the egg rolls. I’ve no idea who the people talking are but I heard the line about egg rolls once and they started up. I’ll probably keep posting these every so often…do what you will with them.
It’s Not The Egg Rolls.
Norm and Cindy were at a Chinese restaurant in the Valley. Cindy was talking. “It would be better if we divorced.”
“How? How is divorce better?” Norm said through a full mouth.
“Why are you fighting me on this?”
“Uh. Let’s see we’ve been married for 30 years. We have 3 kids. A grandchild, a home. No check that, two homes.”
Cindy interrupted. “That dump in Big Bear is not a home.”
“Two goddamn pensions. 2 million dollars tied up in investments. I’ve never cheated. As far as I know you’ve never cheated. You want me to keep going?”
“You’ve never cheated?” Cindy was surprised and disappointed.
“No.”
“Really?”
“No. I’ve flirted.” Norm chewed and mashed bok choy. “Is this some empty nest thing or menopause?”
“I went through menopause ten years ago and the nest has been empty forever …except when Karl gets fired and comes home to slouch.”
“We’ll kick him out.”
With sudden exhaustion Cindy said: “He’s not there now, Norm.”
“He’s not? I thought he was in the guesthouse. Where is he?”
“He lives with a cop in Redondo Beach.”
“Really? He lives with a cop?”
“Yes, he’s queer now.”
Norm, thinking himself modern, became overtly circumspect. “Oh. Well. Good. He never could keep a woman. He was probably a gay all along. We should have seen it. ”
“No, you idiot. A woman cop. You met her on the 4th at their bar-b-que. Blonde. Grim. No personality. Boobs.”
“She’s a cop? Jesus.”
Cindy and Norm spoke in unison: “I wouldn’t mind being arrested by her.”
Norm went on, “How’d you know what I was going to say?”
“Same way I know exactly what you’re going to say to Reverend Paul after every mass.
‘Great sermon today father. How’s the building fund coming along?’ Same way I know the exact point in the nightly news you’re going say ‘President Obama is a goddamn commie’, the same way I know you are going to play that fucking Nancy Sinatra album when you get ready to golf on Saturday. I know your every move. Every snort. Every twitch.”
Norm stabbed a dumpling with a chopstick.
Nancy went on, “Now you’re going to wonder aloud how the Chinese could have been smart enough to invent dynamite while eating with sticks.”
Norm picked up the dumpling. “Wrong, sister. I was going to say I can’t believe you said fucking.”
“Goddamnit Norm! DO NOT call me SISTER. I am your wife.” Her voice lapped up against the neighboring tables. A swarthy couple looked over in unison.
“Calm down. The Arabs are looking.”
Cindy glared at Norm. Norm chewed, beginning to feel vague anxiety, first in his stomach then around his ankles. He soldiered on , “What’s the matter? Egg roll no good?”
Cindy, near defeat, blurted, “It’s not the goddamn egg roll, Norm, it’s the last 15 years.”
Norm stopped chewing. “Christ. You’re serious this time?”
“I am. I spoke to a lawyer in Century City. I am moving out this weekend.”
“No.”
“Yes. I put down a deposit on place in Sherman Oaks.”
“Jesus Christ, have you lost your mind?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re moving to Sherman’s oak? Where? What place?”
“SHERMAN OAKS! NOT SHERMAN’S OAK!” Cindy was yelling now. “What the hell. We’ve lived in the Valley for 20 years and you always say Sherman’s Oak. Holy shit, what is wrong with you, Norm? It is not a tree, it’s a place, where people live, not gnomes! People!”
Norm flinched. “Stop yelling. Why are you cussing so much?”
Cindy did not stop yelling. “No I won’t. I won’t. I am divorcing you. If I could go to Reno tonight I would. I am fed up. I am fed up with your studied helplessness and planned ignorance. You are thoughtless, Norm. Thought-less. You put thought into being thoughtless. You are effortful with your thought-less- ness. God I hate it. It’s demeaning and insulting and…”
“And what?”
Cindy paused, searched, then screeched: “In-fan-tile!
“Cindy, calm down.” Norm looked around to find the waiter, the check and an escape route. Then in a hushed conspiratorial whisper he hoped would level Cindy’s tone: “What do you want from me?”
“Talk to my lawyer.”
“That’s not what I mean. From us, from….” Norm hesitated… “me.”
Cindy’s eyes tightened. She harshly scanned his face, then, without breath, she said, “I want you to be someone else.”
Confusion fell over Norm’s face and remained there for as long as it took Cindy to exit the restaurant.
How come break-ups always happen in chinese restaurants?
because of reasons.
I think Woody Allen has something to do with it.
Maybe it is the goddam egg rolls…
It’s the fortune cookies.
Now I know why I am still married. We are both physically incapable of making a scene in public, and why spoil the peace and quiet at home ?
Nope -not the egg rolls – it’s that horrible twangy music! Also, don’t most of us want those in our life to be “be someone else”? Nasty truth!
Ellen, speaking from the perch of a second marriage, no, not all of us want our near and dear to ‘be someone else’. No.2 is everything no.1, wasn’t.. funny, sensitive, and sympathetic.. I just wish he had no.1′s home repair skills…{sorry to keep referring to them in bathroom terms, but it keeps things brief} Neither of my spouses became different people, I changed and became someone who deserved a better relationship than the one I had with my first husband..
John’s story, so wonderfully written, aptly describes millions of self absorbed, non loving couples, Why wait fifteen years to pick on the hapless husband ? So at this late date it’s either shut up and put up, or marital musical chairs to end up in the same place, maybe even the same restaurant, a few years down the road, with the same complaints,even the same egg rolls, just a different face across the table, probably one with more baggage.
The wife in the story clearly thinks her husband incapable of change, and doesn’t seem too keen on changing herself, except to move her unhappiness to a different suburb, as if that will make all the difference. I hope they worked it out, considering Cali’s community property laws.
It’s the unreasonable expectations of love & marriage as portrayed in WITH SIX YOU GET EGG ROLL
I really liked your story, John. I found myself getting disgusted with Cindy. Why hadn’t she talked to her husband before? Don’t they communicate?
I agree with Conner/Sophie – she’ll end up with the same person/different face, because the only one you can change is yourself and she doesn’t seem very introspective at all. She’s part of the problem, but it’s easier to blame hubby.
I loved the “With Six You Get Egg Rolls” Doris Day movie. I’ve been eating a lot of egg rolls lately which are yummy.
I love anything with Doris Day in it. Like my fantasies.
Speaking of White people;; http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/02/04/confirmed-skeleton-found-under-city-car-park-is-that-of-villainous-richard-iii.html
oh my, maybe revenge is sweet, no matter how slow.
Did dogs bark at the skeleton?
Lol..
Dayum, John. Yer good.
if you throw enough crap against the wall eventually something will stick. (Full disclosure: I am a sick dicky asshole who should have died in the 90s but somehow lived thru it all – now i dump my emotional poo around internet mostly because i can’t believe i’m not dead. Also i need to do something between panic attacks over the loss of my looks. )
If you flush repeatedly, eventually the obot will go down.
What is the beef with me personally? And why anonymous… though i could find out who you are if i cared. I just don’t get the nastiness….from a coward, no less.
Wait. I narrowed you down Anon. got the location. Wow. If you are who i presume you are I’d not spend a moment more on blogs. get out in the sun, thank God you’re still alive because it is a miracle of sorts that you are, as you well know, and stop being annoying. it’s too late in the game for you to be so annoying.
This story is still haunting me. I think it speaks to that hole in the heart that I always suspected everyone had. You know, the one we sometimes blame others for,{like the wife in the story above} the one that only goes away because we forget to acknowledge it for a few days. It’s not really about romantic love, sometimes it feels more like homesickness, or realizing we still miss long gone loved ones. At least that’s what we think when we feel its’ prick once again. You know the drill “I wish I could talk to Daddy one more time”, when in truth, we may have avoided conversations more than we wish to acknowledge, even when they were possible. Some say it’s our God yearning, womb memories, missing the children we once were, so many theories to try and explain the heart hole.
I once went to County Clare with Grandpa, to scatter Grandma’s ashes, there, surrounded by cousins who loved me, and I, them, just because we saw something of ourselves in each other, and joining in to sing the old songs, I felt the hole close for a while. I was home. Maybe there is an ancient clan element to the heart hole.
It took a long time to learn that what I’m calling the heart hole,[ due, likely to lack of imagination,] is often the yearning and the striving that makes us each ourselves, it’s our curiosity, our conscience, our regrets, and sometimes our selfishness, but whatever we call it, it’s ours to bear. It can make us better or worse, most days, a little of both. It would be presumptuous in the extreme, to think that another, no matter how well meaning, can mend our heart hole, they probably have one of their own to deal with.
I often wonder if others have heart holes too, and just call them a different name, or am I just dripping awful prose around here and making a mess, as usual.? We old numbers crunchers tend to hope to be understood, but are never sure of ourselves when using actual words.
Anyway, thanks John, for so much food for thought, so sensitively expressed..
Love County Clare! My bonny ex hailed from there.
You found just the right words, conner.
Thanks conner. I finally have the words for what I’ve been feeling . . . “heart hole”. That’s so beautiful and so descriptive.
What a great piece, John. You’re a man of copious talents.
I look forward to the next installment.
o/t:
Duplicate Oval Office being built for Dear Leader –
http://www.realclearpolitics.com/articles/2013/02/01/2nd_oval_office_readied_in_white_house_rehab_project__116887.html
obama admin denies it. But it makes sense — Stalin had two identical offices, one in Moscow, one on the Black Sea, and he traveled between the two in a special train car identical to the offices.
Leslie, thanks for understanding…
JWS, as a local, I liked the “Sherman’s Oak” malaprop. And I liked/hated the name Cindy as that was my ex-’s name which I cannot stand to ever hear/see again. Please share more of these. More fun and much less annoying than Huell Howser, who I could never stand for his cornpone shtick anyhow. I admit my prejudice for the few of us natives who get our SoCal patter down for posterity. There are great collections of snapshots by the hipster version of Huell (but born in Montclair), Charles Phoenix; his Kodachromes remind me of a childhood era of Norms (and the diner too). Too long the East Coast ahd Eurotrash dominate LA representations. Our other indigenous voices, less “white,” surround us and speak out, but I think part of “identity politics” encourages their compartmentalization, as if what sets one apart should dominate one’s whole character H/t to my exact contemporary and your near-one Daniel Mendelsohn for that summation via: http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/01/07/130107fa_fact_mendelsohn
Nice work here. I could hear it. More description on the couple would be great, though. Did you mimic the whole conversation, or just build on the line? At any rate, well done.
Thanks LaL – one line i stolle… which it’s came from a church sermon i heard once… the rest i made up.