Chapter 34 In Which I Am Incompetent #2
“Steering wheel,” Joe said. “What the—why do women have to wear so darned many layers? Sorry, honey, but we’re going to have to take off your slip, too.”
Susie said, “How about a cup of tea? And a bag of ice, I think. I have one of those refillable bags upstairs. Fred’s always banging something.” Being tactful, I thought, as Joe pulled the slip over my head.
She didn’t go get the bag, though, because she took one look at my chest—my nearly naked chest—and gasped.
“Yeah,” Joe said grimly. “Hospital.”
“I don’t need the hospital,” I said. “Ice, yes, but not the hospital. What can they do?”
“But you must have broken ribs,” Susie said, “with bruising like that.”
I sighed. “Get me the ice, if you would be so kind, and I’ll explain.”
“How is it,” I asked a few hours later, “that I can manage many other things, but can’t manage to drive a car without calamity?”
“No,” Susie said. “How is it that I’ve known you for almost two years, you’re my landlady, I’d have said you were my friend—you were my matron of honor, for heaven’s sake!
—and I knew absolutely nothing about you?
” She’d made sandwiches and a creamy potato soup, which was not from a can and tasted delicious, and she, Fred, and Joe were sitting on the floor and eating this impromptu picnic on the coffee table while I lay on the couch with a fresh icepack.
“But these things are not what is important about me,” I said.
“Oh, really?” she said. “That you’re a hemophilia carrier? That you’re a princess? These are just tiny little details, are they, that you don’t need to share with your best friend?”
“You’re speaking in a great many italics,” I said.
“It grows wearisome. You and Joe and Fred must go back to playing cards after this, and I’ll enjoy your jokes and read my book in peace.
The only thing to do with such injuries is to ignore them as best one can, and trust that they’ll be better tomorrow. But I’m afraid, Joe, about the car—”
He said, “The car can be fixed. I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. It’s insured, and I’ll call the agent tomorrow. And what do you mean, you can’t drive a car? Of course you can’t drive a car yet. You’ve had one lesson!”
“But if I end each lesson thus,” I said, “we’ll soon be bankrupt.” Joe laughed, which was annoying. Or good; I couldn’t decide.
“The trouble with you, Marguerite,” Fred said unexpectedly, “is that you’re used to being able to do everything well, so as soon as you can’t, you think it’s some big disaster. If you’d fallen down on the job a few more times like us mere mortals, you’d be easier on yourself.”
“What he said,” Susie said. “Every now and again, Fred, you make an excellent point.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said, and they both laughed. I’d have laughed, too, but it hurt.
“But of course I don’t do everything well,” I said. “I’ve failed many times.”
“Really?” Susie said. “Name one.”
“Well, I …” I cast about. “When I became a daughter-in-law, I said all the wrong things and was most disappointing.”
Fred made a noise like “braccckkk,” which I knew came from the “wrong answer” sound on the radio quiz shows. “Doesn’t count. In-laws are in a whole different category.”
“Yeah, right,” Susie said. “You know my parents love you to death. We’d better never get divorced, because I’m pretty sure they’d pick you and dump me. And your mother only likes me because I’m such a good homemaker. My sparkling personality? Not so much.”
“But of course!” I said. “My cooking was truly very bad. This you must all admit.” Nobody protested, but then, how could they?
“True,” Joe said, in fact. “The Jell-O recipe was my favorite. That last one you tried, the deal breaker. Lemon Jell-O with mayonnaise, mustard, canned pineapple, celery, and tuna. It was supposed to be ham, but I’m Jewish and it was Friday, so it was tuna.
A never-to-be-forgotten evening. I wondered if I could accidentally drop the plate on the floor.
You refuse to throw food away, so I had to eat that thing for two days straight.
I’ll tell you, not even in the Army. No, sir. ”
“It was in a magazine!” I said, but I was laughing. It still hurt, but I couldn’t help it.
“That one you did for a party, too,” Fred said. “The split hot dogs that were supposed to look like the outside of a cake, with mashed potatoes mixed with peas inside and parsley around the base. I’m not saying it was bad—thanks for sparing us the Jell-O with tuna—but it was sure memorable.”
“Because Americans love hot dogs!” I said. “And Joe says that men need potatoes.”
“Hamburgers topped with canned spaghetti and cheese sauce,” Susie said.
“I’m sorry, honey, but really? Really? Nothing in you said, ‘Hmm, this may not be the best idea?’ Every single one of us had at least one piece of spaghetti down our front at the end of that night.
And Fred said—” She was gasping with laughter now—“‘Does anybody have a bib?’”
They were all falling about laughing now, in fact. I was glad to be providing so much amusement. Joe managed to get out, “The tomato soupshake! Cold condensed tomato soup, half-and-half, and a raw egg. In the blender. In a glass.”
“But this was very nutritious!” I said. “Susie told me that tomatoes have Vitamin C, and you’d been ill!”
“Mom’s chicken soup never sounded so good,” Joe said.
“Never mind,” Susie said soothingly. “You’re much better now.
But how somebody who bakes like an angel can cook that badly …
Well, let’s just say that Fred’s wrong. You’re not upset with yourself because you normally do everything perfectly.
I don’t know why you’re so upset with yourself, in fact.
You’ve forgiven yourself on the cooking, because you were learning.
Well, driving’s hard, too. When I was learning?
I was out with my dad, and he was teaching me to back up.
I backed up, all right. Straight into the ditch. We had to get a tow truck.”
“Then there was the time I took a muddy corner too fast in a Jeep,” Joe said.
“Straight into the ditch that time, too. And I had my captain with me. The worst part was, he was the one who ended up with his face in the mud. I’m lucky he didn’t bust me down a rank.
Fortunately, it was the Army. You just get another Jeep. ”
“Speeding ticket,” Fred said mournfully.
“Senior year, wanting to be the big man on campus, first date with the girl I’d been sweet on for two years.
Pulled over by a cop, after which I got not just the ticket, but also the big lecture about endangering ‘your girl there’ with my carelessness.
After I’d backed out of the drive-in theater without unhooking the speaker.
I had to use half my car fund to pay all that back.
Know what I managed to buy instead? A bicycle, that’s what.
And the kicker? We missed her curfew. That’s why I was speeding; because the speaker thing made us so late.
Her dad was outside on the porch the minute I drove up, just standing there with his arms folded.
I thought he was going to shoot me. When she said, ‘We were on time until the police stopped us!’, I really thought he was going to shoot me.
” He ate a bite of sandwich. “First and last date. Ginger McBride. Only about the prettiest girl in school. That next Monday, it seemed like I saw Ginger around every corner, always in a group of girls, all of them laughing like I was all four Marx Brothers rolled into one. Never even got a good-night kiss out of the deal.” He sighed. “Ah, the good old days.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I feel perhaps a little better. Next time, Joe, I’ll listen when you say we’ve practiced enough.”
“That’s what I like,” Joe said. “An obedient wife.” And at the howl of outrage from Susie, “But I know I’m not getting one, so never mind.”