Three Tom
three f
Tom
K evin and I drifted apart. Tom wanted to take his place. I kept an inner dialogue going.
He’s too old for me.
He’s not a bad boy—he’s a bad man.
The guy’s a loser.
The family is bad news.
Tom never gave up, even after I left for college.
None of the private colleges I applied to would take me. I ended up at Trenton State College, about an hour from home. The freedom was intoxicating. No more hassles from my mother. No silences, bigotry, or hatred. No one knew about my past or the disgrace I’d brought upon myself.
My one success in college was playing the character of Jane Ashton in Brigadoon . My strong alto voice would never bring me fame as a singer, but I didn’t care. I loved the lights, costumes, excitement, and attention.
My parents and brother came to opening night.
“You were great, sis,” my brother Henry said after the show. “Wish I could sing like you.”
“You can. Join the glee club at school. That’s how I learned to sing,” I said.
“Mom said you take after her. She told me she sang opera before she married Dad.”
How do you tell your baby brother your mother is a liar?
“Henry, I think Mom made that up,” I said gently.
“Yeah, I kinda thought so.” He looked away.
“How about we take you to the diner to celebrate?” my father asked.
I wanted to hang out with the cast after the show, but my family had driven an hour to see me, so I joined them for cheesecake and coffee. I was still high from the performance and determined not to allow memories of my childhood to cloud the experience.
Meanwhile, Tom pursued me. He found a job selling flooring and drove to see me several times a week. Each visit pulled me farther away from my classes, peers, and interest in success. It wasn’t only Tom pulling me away. College was my mother’s dream, not mine.
I lasted one semester. My parents were furious. Once again, I was a disappointment and a disgrace. My feelings of shame, guilt, and worthlessness returned with a vengeance. I took a job at the town library. It didn’t pay much, but it got me out of the house.
Tom couldn’t have been happier. No more trips to Trenton, no more dorm curfews. Tom got a library card and became our most frequent patron. At first, I was impressed, knowing he was working his way toward a GED. I soon realized he was there to see me.
“Tom, you’ll get me fired,” I whispered when he kissed me in the stacks.
“I don’t give a shit. No girl of mine should be workin’.”
“You expect me to sit home with my mother waiting for you?” I couldn’t think of a worse fate.
“We could get a place together,” he said.
Society hadn’t come to terms with unmarried couples “living in sin” in 1963. That lifestyle was reserved for artists, beatniks, and the dregs of society.
“My parents would kill me. You know how they feel about you,” I replied.
By this time my parents had met Tom. His charm hadn’t seduced them as it had me. They couldn’t understand my attraction to a high school dropout from an alcoholic family.
“The family’s got a reputation. They’re a bunch of drunks,” my father said. “Do you know how often the cops come to their house to break up a fight?”
“He can’t help who his parents are,” I said. “Tom’s different.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” My father loved clichés.
Are you implying I’m anything like you and Natalie?
I may not have had career or educational goals, but my main goal in life was to not become my parents. If I could break the mold, so could Tom.
The following Friday Tom picked me up after work.
“Let’s go to Mario’s for dinner,” he suggested.
Since I was underage, he brought a bottle of Dewar’s scotch to share with me on the way to the restaurant.
“Come on, Ava, have a drink.”
I had no taste for scotch. When I did drink alcohol, it was usually vodka with a lot of orange juice.
“No thanks.”
He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Your loss. More for me.
When we arrived at Mario’s, Tom rolled out of the car, lit a cigarette to steady himself, and within a few minutes, sobered up enough to escort me into the restaurant.
He ordered a double scotch and soda, gulped it down, and turned to me. “Ava—”
“Yes?” I looked into his bloodshot eyes, wondering how many of me he saw.
“Since you won’t get a place with me, maybe we should—y’-know—get married or somethin’.”
Was he proposing?
Tom reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a two-inch cube. “Open it.”
I looked at the ring, then at Tom.
“It was my grandmother’s ring. Now it’s yours if you want it.”
My mind was numb. I can’t say I was in love with the guy or even contemplating marriage. What I did know was Tom cared more for me than I did for him. Wasn’t that a good thing? Didn’t his love mean a lifetime of loyalty?
I took the ring and slipped it on my finger. The flicker of candlelight on the table cast rainbows across my hand from the tiny diamond. The ring was made for me.
Tom may have been intoxicated from the scotch, but I was intoxicated from the promise of freedom from my mother, from the disgrace that had followed me for eighteen years.
“I’ll marry you,” I said, sealing my fate.