Water rings
by Beth Stiller
[ fiction - april 05 ]
Mrs Victoria Vickers - who would have wished to carry the name Victoria van der Hoff or Victoria di Greco - awoke on a January morning. She had been dreaming of a time long past when she had been known as Miss Vicky Frank, her father's name. It was always January, January when she took to the sea. Perhaps she should have been born in the Southern Hemisphere where January is high summer. But she wasn't born in Johannesburg or Buenos Aires; she was born in Teaneck, New Jersey, and lives in Orange, California. The thick wet suit she had made to order for Vicky Frank back in college could still be pulled onto her midlife body, though difficult to remove - best to have a strapping lad peel it off. Dream on, Mrs Victoria Mariani di Melbourne. Modern day wet suits are half the thickness and have twice the flexibility; did she deserve that? Did she deserve to be haunted by, music unwritten, paintings unpainted, an ideal penis in the sky? Was she only at peace when swimming in the sea, meditating or sleeping?
Victoria let her eyelids drop and spooned into the sleepy skin of Mr Niles Vickers, attempting to grasp that reoccurring dream. Water always water overcoming her, sometimes hot and sexy, sometimes cold and bottomless, warning her. The dream was gone. If she dared look, she would know the meaning. The hair on Niles' back tickled her nose. “I want to swim in your wet dream.” Did she whisper aloud?
“Are you going to get the kids up, Vic?”
She slipped out of bed. Restless, stumbled downstairs to prepare breakfast. Cabinets banged, the kettle top clanked across the floor, the dog yelped when Victoria stepped on his paw. Clumsy in the morning, Victoria tried to be as quiet as possible. The children and Mr Vickers were getting their last moments of sleep. She paced the kitchen, mentally locating that multicolor hippy bag storing her wetsuit and a chunk of coconut surf wax. They hadn't been used since last January. The kettle whistled.
“Maaah-um the teeh-hea pot!” Amber yelled from her bed.
“Shut up, stinky.” Jared shouted, at his sister, from his.
“I'm not talking to you.” A door slammed. “Ever!”
Victoria peered up from the bottom of the staircase, wiping her hands with a dishtowel and shouted: “Try to keep it down, kids - your father is sleeping!”
Niles moaned and burrowed into his pillow. His arm reached out. Victoria was gone. The sheet was moist, had she spilled her bedtime tea?
At least, they're awake, Victoria thought as she clumsily poured some of the boiling water into the teapot and some on to the sizzling burner and a splash onto her hand, which she ran under the faucet. The other hand flipped through the morning paper, travel section. 'Eunuch Ganges Pilgrims'. - These strange creatures are allowed special license at festivals. They have the power to bless and curse from beyond the pale. Kohl-rimmed eyes flash, carmine lips pout and he/she lifts his/her sari to flash them a confused and darkly fascinating pudendum. ' No need for a wetsuit in the Indian Ocean, a dip in the Ganges, might quench dream? Is there such a thing as a girl eunuch?
Victoria switched off the lights. Sunrise painted the walls orange. “Good morning, Jared. Look at that sunrise.”
Jared, already half a foot taller then his mother, slid his stocking feet across the kitchen floor, and put his arm around her. “Mom, you have that 'penis in the sky' look. Not that again.”
“How would you like to go to India? See the Taj Mahal, the Ganges? There are a lot of kids there.”
“No.” His bright green hair bobbed.
“No way,” Amber blurted as she plunked her school backpack on the center chopping block. She and Jared looked at each other surprised they’d agreed.
“Mom,” Jared continued: “Do I tell you? See that person, that grown-up over there? Must be your age. You should talk to that person, maybe you should ask her to be your friend, maybe you should go to that person’s house, maybe you should be that stranger's best friend. Why do you think that every kid you see, you need to introduce me to? Why do you think I'd like India just because there are a lot of kids there?”
“Colors, Jared. They wear a lot of colors. I'm tired of this dreary...”
Jared looked down at his florescent t-shirt. “What's that song on the radio? Mom is that some old song, 'I'm so tired of being alone'”
“Al Green. Thanks for considering me the 'old' expert. How about Machu Pichu? Would you children like to go to Machu Pichu? They have llamas... and textiles with so many colors! Not old. Well, Inca old and new at the same time. Alive!”
Jared and Amber held their heads. “Mom, are you going to make our lunches?”
“Color, why not color? More color. Enthusiasm, for goodness sake. Black and white, it's all black and white, Ganges Eunuch Pilgrims wouldn';t be caught dead in a black and white sari. Where is that multicolored bag? Where is my wetsuit?”
“Hanging behind the bicycles in the garage. Old Navy has plenty of colored pullovers, mom.” Amber held out her chartreuse sleeve and bright bracelets.
“Is it just me?” Victoria's drab gray sweats were splattered by morning mishaps. Drown in your wet dreams, she reflected into the glaze of the teapot and rubbed it shiny with her tattered sweatshirt sleeve. Lies. He has told lies, or not said a word. Lies, all the same. She tried to free herself from the anger, a promise broken. Victoria grabbed the bowl of sugar cubes, natural and brown. Artificial silence, she knew.
“Old Navy has some really cute spring t-shirts, mom - pastels,” Amber continued.
“How about a real boat baby, a ship? We could see history, grow our family together alone in the wonders of the world.”
“Crap,” said Jared.
“Old Navy's closer,” Amber introduced timidly.
“She might not be talking shwahv, Amber,” Jared whispered to his sister.
“Mom might take us away, Jarey. I'll never see my friends again!” Amber dug her nails into her brother's arm.
“Don't call me Jarey, Amber. Mom, look what she did to me.” He showed the indentations in his arm. “Look! You never do anything when she hurts me. She is such an idiot!”
“You must have said something mean to your sister.” Amber ran out of the room. “She is my first-born precious daughter.”
“And me? What am I?”
“Oh, you are my second-born, a strapping lad these days with man voice.”
“Second? So you like her better?”
“I couldn't have you at the same time, could I? Someone had to be first. Jared, how about a boat trip down the Danube? We can waltz on the deck with the lights of Vienna reflecting off the river.”
“Would I have to get dressed up? I hate dressing up.”
“Oh, yes - it is quite formal. A suit of leather with, eh, Viking horned hat, and a lion's tail. No piercings, please.”
“Yes, mother.”
A waltz came on the radio. The burning toast misted the air. Eyes teary, Victoria reached out for Jared's hand brought him to his feet. They waltzed around the center island chopping block until the smoke alarm triggered.
“I'll get it, mom. You know you set that thing off almost every morning? Do we really have to go to Vienna? School's not that bad.”
“No, baby, just waltz with me every once in a while and take care of the smoke alarms.”
“You don't have to tell me.”
“I'm a lucky woman.”
Mr Vickers sleepily reached to turn off the alarm but couldn't.
