Twitter Prompted This Post, El-O-El
If you’re here from Twitter, great! Here’s the story with our blonde-haired seamstress in a walk-on role :) :
The Clarks of Sierra Madre
The fall wind raced ahead of her, gently brushing past as the crunch of fall leaves cushioned her boot. The trees that lined the avenue were from back East, their home not originally in the glow of the California autumn. She supposed they should have calmed her, giving her a scene from some far-off Norman Rockwell fantasy.
Looking up she saw a sun-bleached cafe sign and then a shiny new bus stop, and for some strange reason remembered Albert’s face. Albert, a name that summoned white starch shirts and monogrammed pens. Why did she even remember his name? His name was a throwaway, just like the encounter they shared the previous night. The sex had been mechanical, slip bolt A into nut B. Devoid of even the most basic procreational lust. Why had she gone with him then? To ease the boredom? To ease her mind? When he dropped her off at 7:00 A.M. on his way to work, not at the gate of her apartment; somehow that made her feel even more like he had done something to her, no. She made him drop her off in front of some Sally Ann denim shop near a bus stop hours away from her actual home. The way he looked at her when he stopped to park had been like he was an amnesiac Cinderella who didn’t expect his carriage to turn back into a pumpkin. And if he was Cinderella, she was the princess who kissed his lips and willed this frog to turn into a handsome prince. Either way, neither of them got what the other hoped and he drove away, never to grace her with his presence and an encore of his mediocre performance.
As she waited she thought of last night and so many days and nights before. She didn’t blame Albert for his actions. If she thought so little of herself, how could he begin to feel her power? The power that sat untapped inside of her was somehow quiet, yet ready to drown her with its intensity. Slipping back into her old habits had been easy enough. She hadn’t had a one-night stand in over 6 years, hadn’t had any kind of full-body sexual encounter at all for that matter in some time. Once she had lived for the hookup, the conversation. Yet, it seemed like her partners couldn’t bring the heat she longed for, they couldn’t pass the test. In those early years of adulthood, sex automatically meant intimacy. Learning that it wasn’t had been a lesson in humiliation. So, channeling that energy into school seemed better. When depression and anxiety had been too much, she had dropped out and had been bouncing from one retail hell to another. A degree had been so important because it christened everything with a sense of completion and triumph. Never mind that it had been in Economics, specializing in financial analysis, subjects she detested. It meant upward mobility and she would be the good immigrant daughter she wanted everyone to believe she was.
All those classes ended up with doodled-filled notebooks and new designs she wanted to try out on her financial aid-paid-for sewing machine. She had been offered a full-ride scholarship to a big fashion design school in New York City, but her mother quickly said there was no way in hell she was going to take it. “You’re going to end up at some factory in the Garment District, sewing sequins onto crotchless panties for $15 an hour. Take the scholarship to Abels.” The next year she was at Abels College in Wisconsin, majoring in Econ, flunking out, and fucking moderates on the weekends. Coming home had been a horrible experience. Marked as a failure, her task now was to make sure her baby brother was successful and to stay out of her mother’s way. She was starting to get a headache from thinking about all the could have beens and should have beens.
Thankfully, the bus was nearing and came to a stop. Headphones in, the fare was paid a nice window seat beckoned near the middle. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed the bus looked like any other on the outside, orange and advertising some new show streaming. But on the inside, it looked to be a hodgepodge of different bus innards from decades past. The patrons were also particular. They all seemed lost but knew exactly where they were going. If she did notice, she put it to the back of her mind.
A sharp stab of a pencil to the ribs woke her. A little boy who couldn’t be more than 5 grinned, his mother lost in her book. She had fallen asleep on the bus. She never fell asleep on the bus. Looking out the window expecting to see the Gold Line stop, the restaurants and shops of Sierra Madre met her again. How? They had to be an hour out of there by now. Rushing to the front, she spoke to the frail, middle-aged blond bus driver. “Where are we?” her voice came out croaky and tinged with a bit of hesitation while wrestling with her mini backpack over her shoulder. He took his bug eyes off of the road in front of him “Sierra Madre.” The look on his face was apathetic. “Haven’t we passed the Gold Line?” she asked him. “Gold Line? That’s further down, this is my last stop, You need to wait until 5:00 A.M.” Bertha started to sweat. 5 o’clock? She had left Albert’s at 7:00 A.M. ? How the hell was it 4:30 P.M. already? How long had she been asleep? In a daze, she hopped off the bus. Confusion stormed like thunder; all she could manage to do was look around and then down at her boots. When the bus pulled away she sensed eyes on her. The little boy’s mother was starting and so was another older woman. The bus was half full, didn’t he say this was the last stop?
“Took you long enough to get here, Bertie. Timothy and Elizabeth are starving, hurry up, and let’s get to the car.” She turned around with the grace of a drunk duck. “Albert?” Albert was staring at her wearing business casual and a leather bag crisscrossed over his body. He looked ready to explode. “I can’t believe you forgot to go pick up the rental, I swear I don’t know how you get anything done. Now I am stuck with just the Nissan.” Taking advantage of her stupor he grabbed her arm and hurried her to a red Nissan sedan. She was so shocked, he was able to open the car door and put her into the passenger side like you would a Barbie doll in a pink convertible. When she realized what he had done she looked into the rearview mirror and let out a blood-chilling scream.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” He shouted from her left side. “Jesus, kids are you alright?” He looked to the back to make sure everyone was whole and safe. Bertha couldn’t take her eyes off the rearview mirror. There were two perfect miniature versions of herself, one boy, and one girl. Except paler and one had red hair. They looked to be about 6 and 8. Actually, the boy looked a lot like her brother Edgar. Edgar was on a Rhodes scholarship at Oxford and was having a horrible time trying to adjust to the culture there. It was a long way for a Guatemalan kid from Pacoima. He was an academic and what everyone reminded her she could have been. Messages from him always filled her with love and confidence because she felt needed. He always came to her for advice. After all, that’s what she was meant for now, right?
Thoughts of Edgar ricochet from her brain when the little girl spoke “Mommy, I had a really good day today.” Big eyes looked to her and expected a response. “ Did you?” was all she could manage still trying to figure out what exactly was going on and why it was happening to her. The little girl she supposed, Elizabeth, kept going on about her day and what she had learned and who she had lunch with and Bertha couldn’t fathom how she was this girl’s mother. Albert started the car engine and began driving them into a small street that led to a beautiful tree-lined neighborhood with all the glory of the fall foliage she had admired on the way to the bus stop earlier. They eventually stopped in front of a small two-story house that looked like it belonged in some Women’s Magazine layout. It even had an obligatory white picket fence around it. “You want to help get Elizabeth out of her car seat?” Albert’s annoyed voice sounded from her left side again. She did as she was told and helped her little light brown-haired clone out of the car. Elizabeth took Bertha’s hand and led her inside the house.
It was beautiful, in the most banal oatmeal-type way. Everything was immaculate. Cubbies here, wicker baskets there. The children made themselves at home and Albert departed into the kitchen. She roamed the hall in a fog. The walls by the staircase had pictures on them that felt like haunted house projections, smaller versions of her and Albert at a wedding. Their wedding. She looked at this person who was supposed to be her in an eggshell white wedding gown, mannequin posing next to a lukewarm happy Albert. God, she never would have designed a dress like that. It was frumpy and bilious and looked like she was trying to hide something she was horribly ashamed of. That look on her face was very familiar though. It was the smile she plastered on when she was pretending to be happy. The smile she had donned when she was forced to attend a younger cousin’s wedding as a bride’s maid in her late 20s when getting married by a certain age was life and death. Jealousy had coursed through her that day and she added it to a long list of things she had failed at. Next to that picture was one of her pregnant. It was unsettling and eerie to look at. She looked genuinely happy there though. Having a family of her own was on a list of things she longed for. Edgar and her mother were her only family, having had a horrible falling out with her extended family on her mother’s side. Edgar’s father had a huge family and they had embraced her mother and Edgar into its bosom with a sweet passion that didn’t include Bertha. Bertha’s father had abandoned her and died before she could confront him. His family also wanted nothing to do with his long-lost daughter.
Dreams of having a perfect family with the perfect man to rub in their faces used to be nightly occurrences. Images of paper vision boards and online mood boards secretly kept in between couches and locked away in files, on her laptop came up. Never having had the heart to throw them away or delete them, they stayed where they were, even as she gathered the strength to figure out where she truly wanted to go with her life. They were nothing of the truth of who she was, but sometimes all she wanted was to be accepted into the world’s coven of regularity where the sun rose and set on date nights and baseball practices. While getting fucked up on whatever hard liquor she could find, she would play that game, cut out pictures of pot roasts and khaki pants fathers, and make little bland utopias inhabited by a version of herself that was what most people thought of as a responsible functioning adult. And now here it was in the 3D.
“Dad wants to talk to you”. The boy named Timothy said. It was getting dark and the room had an orange cast from the setting sun. Walking down the stairs, she reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair but pulled back last minute. He backed away with an aloof stare and walked into the living room. That was odd, her family was very touchy-feely, despite being blunt and straightforward. They were always kissing and hugging and saying “I love you.” Even though she still didn’t know what was going on, reaching to ruffle his hair had been a reflex. She tended to touch people in small ways when she was nervous but had to keep reinforcing boundaries for herself and remember to respect others’ space boundaries as well. Growing up in a home that had none meant having to learn these skills. But it bothered her that the boy who was her son, was so reserved and standoffish. It didn’t make sense. None of what was going on made sense. This house, her supposed husband, and her children were a reflection of someone she had once wanted to be and hoped she could forcibly mold her life into.
Walking into the kitchen, Albert was busy making some kind of lasagna and salad. “I’ve made the kids lunches for tomorrow. I am going to need you to pick up my dry cleaning and computer when you get out of the office. “The office?” I said watching him put the lasagna in the oven. “Yeah you know, the office? That building you work out of downtown? Did you hit happy hour a little hard today or something?”
An office job? She hadn’t seen the inside of an office since she interned at an accounting department for a big chain store back at school. “Don’t forget Elizabeth gets out of Violin at 6:30. Can you call the kids in to eat?”
They all sat around a beautiful walnut table. Albert and their children talked further about their day. “Bertie, our Christmas cards came. Have a look at them.” He handed her a shiny box that had “Johnson Photography” printed on the front. Lifting the lid, a portrait of this little family, her family, greeted her. Albert sat next to her with their children in front. A muted Santa’s village was in the background. It matched the light blue Christmas sweaters they all donned. In candy cane letters, it wished the onlooker a “Merry Christmas from The Clarks.” Was that Albert’s last name? Why hadn’t she kept hers? She planned to if she ever got married. It wasn’t common and she liked it.
“Well if you’re done, I think we should all get to bed. Timothy has a field trip and it’s your turn to carpool, Bertie.” Bed? It was barely 7:00 P.M. Glancing to the smart home dock behind her she read 10:30. 10:30?! It had been 4:50 when they got home or wherever this version of docile and agreeable Bertha lived.
Before she could make sense of it, everyone got up and tidied up the dishes. “Get the kids ready for bed, please.” Albert basically commanded. They walked towards her and again, little Elizabeth took her by the hand. Timothy muttered a good night to the hallway and made his way to what she assumed was his bedroom and bathroom. The second bedroom was Elizabeth’s. She also had a private bathroom and asked Bertha if she could lay out an outfit for her for tomorrow while she took her bath. She went to look in her closet and was met yet again, with a boring stereotypical beige and sand-colored color scheme; sold neutrals and off-whites. But no fun shapes or whimsical creatures that would usually be found in a kid’s closet. She picked what she could, it all looked the same and laid it out on a chair in the corner of the room.
Elizabeth came in wearing a yellow pastel robe with a towel wrapped around her head and took out the clothes she needed from her dresser. She got dressed in her bathroom and when she came back out, handed a brush to Bertha. She dried her hair and brushed it out realizing how straight and fine it was. Bertha’s hair was thick and fell in waves. After that, Elizabeth went over to her bed and got underneath the covers. The night’s darkness enveloped the room and when you looked outside, there was no moon, it was clear and cloudless and you could see the rows of identical houses and fences. “Can you turn on the night light?” she did and then Elizabeth whispered the strangest thing, and considering the circumstances, it was the cherry on top of it all. “Will you still be here tomorrow? I like it when you’re here. It’s lonely when you’re not here.” It felt like a blizzard had invaded her body and before she could respond, Albert came in. “Elizabeth time to go to sleep. Come on Bertie.” The light was turned off and her questions stayed with her.
They turned a corner to what she assumed was their room. Entering it felt about as welcoming as a sterile quarantine room. More white walls, a navy sheet set, barefaced wood furniture. “Well, I am beat, bed in a minute, but shower first.” He walked into the bathroom. She looked down at herself. She wore what she was wearing the night before. A 70’s band t-shirt, leopard print jeans, and combat boots. Her mini backpack still on her back. Checking her phone it read 11:00 P.M. What to do? For the most part, she had concluded that wherever this place was, she needed to get away from it and make her way home. Would it also be changed? Would her family still be living there? About to sneak out and just order a ride and get the hell out of dodge, her phone made the unmistakable “I am out of battery power” noise. Oh God, now what?
It was late and she was exhausted in every way possible. Spending the night seemed like the best answer now. A dresser was to her right. Peeking inside it, it contained what looked to be plain unsexy nightdresses. Cementing the plan to spend the night, she changed her clothes and got into bed. It was cool and as comfortable as it would be when the weight of the situation was so heavy on her. Albert came out of the bathroom wearing dark blue pajamas. “Goodnight,” hung in the air and he turned off the lamp next to the bed. No kiss, not even a look her way. She hadn’t expected to be fucked into oblivion or anything, but when she had imagined this life hadn’t she thought of love or sex? The truth was she hadn’t. Whenever she went into her little whiskey haze of shabby chic and homemade jam, she never thought about passion. It seemed like something she would have to give up to attain a “normal life.” Laying there watching the tree branches leave shadows on the flat screen across from the bed, she remembered how when Albert had been on top of her trying to feign giving her an orgasm, she put him on her vision board as her husband. She wondered what it would be like to be married to him, to have his children. How she would have to go back to being that people pleasing Bertha for a man like him to stick around; compromise everything about herself.
At the restaurant, before they went back to his place, she had asked him to call her Bertha. She was tired of going by Bertie. Mrs. Belrose, her 1st-grade teacher had started calling her Bertie when she couldn’t bring herself to say Bertha. “Bertha sounds like a woman who works on a construction site and chews tobacco. Bertie sounds so much more pleasant, like a girl who’s polite and courteous.” She wanted to tell Mrs. Belrose she WAS polite and courteous and liked her name the way it was. Bertha took up room. You needed two lung fulls of air to say it. It sounded to her like the name of a woman who told people what she thought and didn’t care if they liked her or not. Albert had made a face at her over the sushi and said “Bertha? Like Big Bertha? Come on, you’re beautiful, not fat, I think I’ll stick with Bertie.” He was lucky he caught her at the tail end of her period and she was ready to hump his furniture or she would have asked for the check and gotten the spicy tuna roll to go. Sleeping with him had been a mistake, but oh well. Now she was in a strange place next to a version of Albert that she apparently had built a life with.
Her breathing started to turn static and her heart started to leap from her chest. She needed to leave. A panic attack was imminent. Getting up, she made her way to the hall. More pictures of what she guessed was her college graduation. Tears started to prick her eyes, next to the pictures was her diploma. “A diploma is given from Abels College on this 27th of May, 2007”…The brass ring…there it was, she had caught it and had gone farther. Next to her bachelor’s was a master’s from a top school on the West Coast. It was there, in her fake home, like it was her birthright. A quiet sob escaped her mouth. She needed to go, now! Forget her phone, forget her bag, forget her shoes.
Running down the stairs with just the nightdress on her back, she made for the door. Flinging it open, the night air was freezing, but she didn’t care. Almost to the white picket fence, she looked behind her. Elizabeth was standing there staring at her with a forlorn expression on her face. You could hear a pin drop, she was talking yet no noise came out of her mouth. But Bertha could see that she was silently mouthing “Don’t go.”
They stood there in a standoff, a small part of Bertha wanted to stay and live out this life. It seemed so easy. No worrying about anything at all. Everything was sanitized and fair. No one went hungry. A set schedule, time for violin, time for the PTO. She had a husband and a family. She was Mrs. Clark. But she wasn’t. Bertha was Bertha. Art, loss, fashion, fate, mistakes. It was her story and she was finally on the road to loving it, accepting it for what it was. One last look at Elizabeth and she unhitched the fence and ran into the dark Sierra Madre night.
Where was she going? The soles of her feet were the only noise heard besides labored breathing. There were no cars on the street. Only the houses that they had passed earlier in the day. A turn left, then right. In front of her a candy store Albert had signaled out as having great caramel, the one next to the bus stop. The bus stop! Looking up, the sky was being peppered with pink light. The sun was rising. That meant that even if she had to wait for the first bus out of here, it would be running soon enough. Jaywalking, she sat down looking at the bus sign gleaming in the street lamp light. The only other illumination besides the street lamps was coming from the denim shop next to the candy store she jokingly had said was owned by Sally Ann.
It looked like Sally Ann was in and would hopefully help her. Approaching the shop, the woman in the window had a pair of scissors in her hand and a measuring tape draped across her back. An asymmetrical blonde bob framed her face and her glasses rested on the tip of her nose. The shop looked pristine and nauseatingly well organized; how long before this woman called the cops? She had to try. In the moment of deciding what to do, the woman stared unnervingly through the window. Bertha was sure she could see her, but the woman looked right through her as though she was as see-through as the glass. And she smiled this weird opened-mouth smile, like the kind you would see on old wig heads. There was no choice. This woman was the only one who could help her, maybe she would even be able to get her a ride home. She walked in.
“How are you? How can I help you today?” she said it so nonchalantly, like people walked into this shop every day wearing sleep attire and no shoes. “ I am Libby Mae.” Ok, not Sally Ann, but Libby Mae. “ I am so sorry to bother you, Ma’am, but I am in a very, um, interesting situation. Is there any way you would be able to get me a ride to an address in Pacoima? I know that’s pretty far from here, but I swear I can give you my information and I’ll pay you back as soon as I get home.” 15 seconds passed, 40, almost a minute. “You want to go home? Are you sure? This is a very nice neighborhood, safe. Quiet.” What the fuck was she talking about? Maybe walking into a random shop that was for some reason open at 4:00 A.M. wasn’t the best idea, but what else could she have done besides waiting for this Goddamn bus? “Uh, yes I am sure. Can you help me?”
She walked from behind the counter towards Bertha, Bertha took a step back. “ Of course dear,” Before she knew it, this Libby Mae was pushing her towards the door. Man, all that, and she was just going to throw her out? Panic invaded her again, she tried to get out of her way, but she would block her every time. She kicked open the door and now they were on the sidewalk. Inching closer, she whispered “ Home sweet home it is,” and pushed Bertha into the street. She spun around and noticed high beams coming from where she was facing. The bus! The bus that brought her here was heading right for her! The same bug-eyed driver made no moves to indicate he’d even seen her. Honking came from the back of her. Albert’s red Nissan was coming fast from the other direction. His sneering face was all she could make out since she now had 2 sets of high beams coming for her. Frozen she crouched down covering her head, waiting for the impact; light and blaring horns engulfing her.
“LAST STOP, GOOOOOLD LINNNNNE!!!” Fuck. The bus floor smelled, well, like a bus floor did after Friday nights in LA. Bertha tried to get her eyes focused. Deja Vu hit. Once again she had been woken up by sharp pain. This was a bus, not like the one she had been on earlier yesterday, but brand new with all the bells and whistles. Her hands and knees were scraped up, it hurt to stand. “OK, time to get off. I’ve let you sleep long enough.” This bus driver had black hair and was in his mid-20s, not like the one before. Setting her hands to her side, she went to wipe the soda that she had landed in, on her clothes…a nightgown? She was still wearing the nightgown she had on last night! “Not going say it again, last stop!” Yeah, yeah. She limped off the bus. The Gold Line stop? Fear wanted to bubble up in her again, however emotional and mental exhaustion won out. She could figure this all out later. Making her way up the escalator, the digital train times informed her it was November 10th, 8:00 A.M. The 10th! Why was it still Saturday? And Lord, how was it only an hour after Albert dropped her off?!
By some miracle, no nervous breakdown happened and she rode the Gold Line to the Red Line, like a homing pigeon, just from years of going the same route and having taken thousands of trips. 5 minutes from North Hollywood Station, a teenage girl selling candy came up to her. “Some lady told me to give you this.” Her phone and bag were placed in her hands. “What? Who?! What did she look like?!” The girl made a face. “You know, I can’t remember, she gave me $20 to give it to you.” The train pulled up to the station and they both got off. “I wish this was the strangest thing to happen to me today.”
The sounds of North Hollywood greeted her. “Please God, don’t let anyone I know see me like this,” she prayed out loud. North Hollywood Station to Van Nuys Station to the 233. She was finally on her street. Everyone was at work, so she was able to sneak into her apartment building without notice.
Safely inside, a sudden feeling of dread washed over her. The vision boards! Moving the couch out of the way, the four paper vision boards flew across the room. They were soon paper pulp. Throwing on a bathrobe, she quickly threw them outside in the trash. Racing back to her apartment she opened her laptop and deleted anything and everything having to do with them on there, too. Her liquor stash quickly met its end down her kitchen sink. After the longest bath of the century, complete shock set in. The year had been a mess, a boring one. Why all of a sudden had she been plunged headfirst into whatever that was 24 hours ago? Had she had some kind of psychotic episode? Thoughts swirled and the only answer she could come up with was that yes, she had some kind of disassociation at Albert’s and he must have loaned her some ex-girlfriend’s nightdress, let’s hope he doesn’t press charges.
One long-winded text later, Albert texted back asking if she was ok. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he’s cool with casual sex and wasn’t looking for anything serious right now.
Rolling her eyes, forgetting it all was looking better and better, and then praying it never happened again. A vibrating phone shook her out of her thoughts. Thinking it was Albert, she was surprised to see Yuna’s number. Yuna was a performance artist she met two years ago. She wouldn’t call her a friend, but Bertha’s own self-imposed isolation is what really kept them from being real friends. “Hey, Champ, what’s up? Listen, I am calling to ask you if you’d be interested in designing some costumes for this piece I am presenting at The Board. Before you say no, it pays and you’re the only person I thought of. What do you say?” The first thing out of her mouth was “Hey Dad.” She always called Yuna, Dad. They had karaoked once in Koreatown to Queen’s “We Are the Champions” and Yuna had taken to calling her Champ ever since. She always responded with Dad, because it sounded like they were in the middle of some cheesy after-school special. “I am saying yes, more like hell yes.” A half sigh, half chuckle escaped her. “Wow, shit, that’s a miracle. I honestly expected you to say no, I thought you wanted to keep your retail nightmare job and go back to the fun and exciting world of financial analysis. This is too easy, I am not going to end up with pasties and some yarn, I am?” Bertha laughed out loud then and it was the most honest full laugh she had in months. “No, believe me, you’re not.” They caught up a little and it felt good to have someone to talk to again. She’d been alone so long.
Taking a leap she asked Yuna, “ Hey, I know you’re super busy, but I was wondering if you’d want to try that new ramen place on Miracle Mile? I’ve heard good things about it.” You could practically hear Yuna’s joy on the other end. “You’re reading my mind Champ! I was just talking to Goli about that place. Do you mind if she comes along and if we bring this guy, Phil? He’s new in town, from New Jersey. And to sweeten the pot I think he’s single, wink, wink.” Bertha rolled her eyes. Yuna and Goli had been together for 4 years now and were deliriously happy and being the wonderful women that they were, they wanted everyone else to be just as happy; oddly enough, they had a knack for setting up people with their future long-term partners. She had avoided it before because she felt like she deserved to be alone. Not any longer, not after all that.
“Yeah, sure what the hell.” She said it like she had been dating regularly for years. “Fuck, that’s two for two, do I have the right number, is this really Bertie Orgullo?” She laughed again “Yes it is beautiful, speaking of which, when you give me credit, can you give it to Bertha Orgullo, instead of Bertie? I think it’s time I started having some orgullo in myself.”
“Sure,” Yuna said. “Hey, before I let you go, Goli says hi and wants me to ask you if you can give her a really boring name for a humdrum character in her play, we can’t seem to find the right one.” With a Mona Lisa smile, Bertha replied: “How about Albert?”