Breeding Like Rabbits Read online

  Upon entering the Old Time Dine and Dance with its pink walls, subdued lighting, and cushy burgundy couches, Britt knew this place was trouble. It was too comfortable and intimate. A bar occupied the left rear corner of the room, and in the right rear corner, an organist sat at a Hammond organ, flanked by the other two members of the trio—saxophonist and drummer—playing the “Blue Skirt Waltz.” In front of this trio, four couples were dancing on a little dance floor.

  Crossing the floor, they entered another room, the dining area. It also had pink walls and subdued lighting, but here the couches had given way to small tables seating two to six diners. They found a table for two off to the side yet close to the other room and its dance floor. A waiter wearing a white jacket appeared and took their order. Music from the small band was piped in but kept low. The music caused memories to flood Britt’s mind—nights of skating on a frozen pond under a full moon, afternoon baseball games in the summer with hotdogs and boxes of popcorn, and picnics in a park on a Sunday afternoon.

  “Britt, your eyes are dreamy. What are you thinking?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Remember ice-skating in the moonlight on the pond not far from my dorm? You walked me back to the dorm, and the housemother, Mrs. Grey, stood at the door, scowling. She refused to let me in—it was five minutes past curfew. You put your arm around me and smiled your blue-eyed, little boy smile at her, and she let me in. I knew you were a good guy then.”

  “You looked frightened—I had to put my arm around you, and now I want to put my arm around you again. Come, let’s dance.”

  The band began a soft rendition of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” and Jesse took Britt’s hand to help her up, and with his arm around the back of her waist, he led her out onto the small dance floor. She turned to face him, putting her right hand in his raised left hand and then allowing her left arm to curl up and embrace his shoulder. Britt caught a whiff of his aftershave—it was spicy, like her dad’s when he shaved and got dressed up in his church clothes.

  Britt moved in closer. She wanted to be able to read his body, to anticipate his moves—she’d never danced with him before. They glided around the floor, listening to the music, enjoying the smoothness of the dance. Britt found that she was singing the words of the song in her head as they danced: When your heart’s on fire, you must realize, smoke gets in your eyes.

  Jesse held her closer, so close that she could feel him hard against her thigh. Her body responded. It felt like every nerve in her body was on fire; she feared she’d melt, and she didn’t care.

  The music ended, and they walked, his arm still around her waist, back to their table. Seconds later, their waiter appeared with their order. Britt could only nibble at her food. She was still under the spell of the dance. She hesitated to look up at him for fear he’d see the raw hunger in her eyes and that she’d recognize a similar longing in his. They were playing with fire.

  Britt took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked up. “I love these old songs. This place is everything you said it would be. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “You dance so well. You and your husband must go dancing a lot.”

  “No. He doesn’t like to dance—he has trouble feeling the rhythm—but we both like the songs of the fifties. The song we just danced to is one of my favorites. What’s your favorite song from that time?” Why is it so hard to talk to him now? It was easy before we danced. Britt looked down at her hands. They were strangling her napkin, twisting it all out of shape.

  “It must be our lucky night, because they just started playing it, ‘The Tennessee Waltz.’ May I have this dance, oh beautiful one?”

  “I’d love to, but I’m pretty tired—too much excitement for one day. I’d really rather get some sleep so I’m ready for all the doings tomorrow.” Yeah, right. Sleep with you is what I’d really rather do. I’ve never, never felt like this before—this ache, this yearning. Was this the “feel good” her mother had warned her about so long ago? The time the gale wind blew down the cottonwood trees and they pretended the slanted stumps were their saddle horses? I know one thing: I feel weak, and that’s not good.

  Jesse signaled the waiter to bring the check. Britt escaped to the ladies’ room. When she came out, Jesse put her shawl around her. It was getting chilly at this late hour. A taxi waited. It was a silent ride, but they sat close together, and Britt put her hand in his. I wonder what he’s thinking. He could be angry—he took me out, fed me, and then I wouldn’t dance with him to his favorite song. But his eyes weren’t angry—they looked worried. Perhaps he is thinking the same thoughts I am: Why now? Why, when we both have families? When we’re trapped? Life is cruel. But I would never do something that would wreck two families. And it would, even if it was just once. It would be like a cancer, eating away the good in us.

  The taxi stopped, and they got out. Jesse took her arm. “I’ll walk you to your door. I want to be sure you’re safely behind it and that it’s locked.” They stopped at her room. “May I come in for a while? We’ve barely begun to catch up on all that’s happened since college, since the baseball game. You looked so terrific, and you still do. We may never see each other again. We need to make the most of it.”

  That’s true. But I doubt he just wants to talk. Right now he’s talking and looking at me as if he wants more than just talk. I do want him, but I can’t. I don’t think I’d be strong enough to resist him. And if I didn’t resist him, I’d become a different person—a person for whom I’d have no respect. I’d not be able to live with myself. She shook her head. “No. My roommate, Delores, is probably in there, sleeping. I wouldn’t want to wake her.”

  “We could go to my room. It’s just one flight up and to your left, and I don’t have a roommate.”

  “No, but it’s tempting. If I wasn’t so tired …”

  “How about lunch tomorrow then? Meet you at the same time and place as we met before? It’s our last day here, Britt.”

  Britt looked at him, knowing that she should say no, but she nodded. Jesse hugged her, a bit too hard and a bit too long, and kissed her cheek. She opened her door and stepped in. Delores was watching a movie. “Britt, you’re missing a really good golden oldie, Casablanca, with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.” She turned and looked at Britt. “You look sad. What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, I’m just tired. I think I’ll shower and go to bed. We’ve got a big day again tomorrow.”

  Britt met Jesse the next day at the display of America literary classics as arranged. And as before, they went downstairs for coffee.

  No quiet, no fresh cinnamon rolls scenting the air this time. It was the last day, and people were crowding into the coffee bar to drink coffee and say goodbye to old and new friends. They were slapping each other on the back (males) and hugging (females). Cries of “See you next year!” echoed around the room. They’d had a good time, but now they were willing and eager to get back home.

  The “willing to go home” part was bittersweet. Conventions had to end, and usually people were ready to get back on schedule—back to normality. With emotions so high, around and inside Britt, she found it hard to believe normal would ever again be possible. She felt numb. For the moment, sipping coffee and looking at each other was all they could do.

  Jesse shook his head, as if to break a spell. “What now, Britt? I’m not ready for us to just go away from each other.”

  “I’ve been sitting here, Jesse, just looking at you, trying to memorize your face. I won’t forget you or our time together, but any us thoughts must end here.” Britt stood up, picked up her empty cup, put it on the counter, and started to leave.

  Jesse hurried after her and grabbed her arm. “Britt.” He drew her to him and held her, whispering—his moist, warm breath caressed her ear. “I know, I know, but I’ll miss you so much.” They turned and walked out, hand in hand.

  Britt skipped the banquet. She didn’t feel lik
e eating, and she knew she’d not be able to concentrate on the speakers. She’d never see Jesse again. Was it grief she was feeling? She wanted to cry, to bawl, to howl out her misery, but she wouldn’t. She hated crying—she’d heard enough crying when growing up.

  At home, she was distant and distracted. She went through all the ordinary, familiar motions of being a teacher and a homemaker, but she felt like a robot, one of Isaac Asimov’s creations. I wish he’d pressured me to have sex so I could be angry at him. Maybe I’d have slapped him good, and then I’d have been left feeling virtuous and good about never having to see him again. But he wouldn’t do that. He was gentle and loving—a gentleman, and now I can’t get him out of my mind or my heart. I wanted him, and that was wrong, but there it is. I would never destroy two families—too many people would feel pain, and causing pain is evil. Perhaps he thought the same as I do on this. If he did, that would only make him more lovable. “Stop it, right now.” She looked down and realized that she’d just poured half a box of laundry soap into the washer. “Damn!”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Sara left for college in the fall of 1973, leaving a hollow, sad place in Britt’s heart. She wanted to fulfill her dream of becoming a veterinarian and had decided that the School of Veterinary Medicine in Madison, Wisconsin, was the place for her.

  So far away! I remember her going off to her first day of school. Her dad walked her to school—it was on his way to his barbershop, a walk he took every working day. She was so brave! She didn’t even cry when I hugged and kissed her goodbye. Now she is brave again, going off to a new school in another state, Wisconsin. She was leaving the nest. The first to go, but it wouldn’t be long before they’d all be gone. Having five children in seven years guaranteed a speedy one-by-one exit. Britt felt her throat close and her eyes burn as she struggled to hold back tears. Andy and I will soon be all alone. What can we talk about? Our children have been everything to both of us.

  Britt struggled to breathe as panic threatened. When they were little, they all wanted me. “Mama, Mama.” Everyone wanted “Mama.” At times I felt that pieces of me were being torn out—that I was losing myself. I looked forward to their growing up so that I could have some peace, some time to put myself back together again. But to be without them—to have them all gone! She hadn’t wanted that; she just didn’t want them to be so gosh-darned needy! Britt feared that the time would come when no one would need her.

  The upheaval in the Hughes household reflected the events taking place in the nation: the US Supreme Court overturned state bans on abortion in Roe vs. Wade; on March 29, the last US soldier left Vietnam; ninety million people tuned in to watch Billie Jean King beat Bobbie Riggs, 6–4, 6–4, 6–3; in October, the Arab oil embargo against nations supporting Israel caused an energy crisis; Lite beer was introduced in the United States by Miller Brewing Company.

  In the next year, 1974, Daniel Hughes would graduate from high school and join the National Guard, and in the United States, upsetting events would escalate: a series of 149 tornadoes, the largest number in history, would hit thirteen states and one Canadian province, killing 315 and injuring 5,000; a package of Wrigley’s chewing gum would become the first product to have its UPC (universal product code) scanned, changing the shopping experience forever; Alberta Williams King, mother of Martin Luther King Jr., would be killed in an Atlanta, Georgia, church; the Watergate scandal would grow, forcing Richard Nixon to resign the presidency; Gerald Ford would become president; Muhammad Ali would knock out George Foreman and thereby regain his heavyweight title. So much would happen, not only with Daniel but in our nation that Britt would find herself being pulled more firmly into the present.

  Britt’s romantic memories would fade even farther into the background in 1975, as Communists took over Saigon, causing mass evacuations of South Vietnamese and Americans; President Gerald Ford would survive a second assassination attempt; Bill Gates would start Microsoft in Albuquerque, New Mexico; and the Weather Underground would bomb the US State Department office in Washington, DC.

  Crash! Sara drops out of school, comes home, and moves in with a Vietnam vet named Zack. Tony graduates from high school and goes to southern Minnesota to join the junior hockey league, hoping to be noticed and drafted by a college hockey scout and be offered a college scholarship. Britt hardly dares breathe lest she disturb something that will cause another change. She doesn’t have time for all the changes. Even her teaching has changed. Britt has to revamp her entire teaching program, for she’s been assigned to teach “Writing to Persuade” and “The Great Religions as Literature” to senior high students in the fall. And Andy’s life has changed, due to the Beatlemania sweeping the country. Ever since the appearance of those four longhairs on the Ed Sullivan Show, the livelihood of our nation’s barbers, at a time when unemployment stood at 9 percent, was threatened. Britt was thankful that Amy and Laura, still in high school, were leading normal, everyday lives.

  Back to Sara and Zack. Britt will never forget the first night Zack came calling. He had served his time amid the chaos and carnage in Vietnam. He wanted a wife and a home to help him forget what he’d seen and what he’d experienced. Zack wanted security.

  The evening Zack knocked on the Hughes’ front door, Andy opened it. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the young man standing there. What he saw was a tall, tanned, skinny guy wearing faded blue jeans, an unbuttoned khaki shirt, and sandals. His hair was long—an insult to a barber—and he wore love beads around his neck. The beads hung three-quarters of the way down his naked, almost hairless chest.

  “What do you want?”

  “Is Sara around?”

  “What? Not for you she isn’t. She’s jailbait.” (She wasn’t.) Andy slammed the door in Zack’s face.

  Sara’s fate, or choice, was sealed. Her father didn’t like him. In fact, he forbade her to ever see him. Therefore, she would marry him.

  Andy may have brought out the rebel in Sara, but so did Britt. When Sara came home, announcing that she’d dropped out of school, Britt said she could live at home but only if she got a job and paid rent. She was an adult now, after all. Sara was shocked and indignant—this was her home! One did not rent space in one’s own home. She would make a home of her own with Zack.

  Britt tried to reason with Sara. “Calm down. Take your time to think about what you’re saying. Living with a guy without marriage is a pretty serious step, and it’s against your religion. What if you get pregnant?”

  “Then we’ll get married.” Sara lifted her chin and stared into her mother’s eyes. “But that’s not going to happen. We know how to prevent that.”

  “You’re on the pill. Who gave you permission to do that?”

  “I gave myself permission. I told the doctor I was engaged, and he wrote me out a prescription for the pill.”

  Britt had been unloading clean dishes from the dishwasher, but when Sara said that, she began putting dirty dishes in with the clean ones. She turned to face Sara.

  “Sara, you’re a Catholic. It’s a sin to use the pill … and you lied. You’re not engaged.”

  “It’s a sin for me to move in with Zack. It’s a sin to have relations without being married. So that’s already two sins—might as well make it three and prevent an innocent baby being called a bastard. This way there’ll be no baby until we’re ready. Mom, you’re going to hate what I have to say next, but sometimes you have to think for yourself—use the brain God gave you to do what you feel, in your heart, is best for you.”

  Britt was speechless. She’s thinking the way I thought when I decided that I simply could not have any more children—that I’d go crazy if I did.

  Sara packed her things and moved in with Zack. Britt busied herself with preparing to teach the two completely new subjects to senior high school students in the fall.

  In July, Sara shocked them all again. “Mom, Zack bought a little farm fifty miles south
of here. He’s moving out there, and I’m moving with him. The house and barn are in good condition, but we’ll need to do fencing. We’re getting married in the fall.”

  “What! You can’t, Sara. That’s only two months from now! I don’t have time to plan a wedding and be prepared to teach when school opens.”

  “Mother, I don’t need your help. I think I can plan a small wedding. Besides, according to you, I’m living in sin. Don’t you want me to make it right?”

  “Sara, I want you to have time to think about what you’re doing. We all have visions about how things will be, but those visions don’t always come true the way we thought they would.”

  “I love him, and he loves me. That’s all there’s to it.”

  “How do you know if it’s true love and not just lust and a desire to get away—away from family the way you got away from school?”

  “We’re getting married this fall, and that’s final. We have things to do before winter comes—wood to buy and stack for the fireplace, and we need to put up the storm windows on the house, things like that. It has to be this fall. You’ll see. I can plan the wedding, and I want you to come, Mother.”

  Britt, tears brimming and threatening to fall, grabbed Sara and hugged her tight. “Of course I’ll come, and so will your dad.”

  Zack and Sara took the marriage preparation classes required by the Catholic church. Banns were read by the priest in church for three consecutive Sundays. No one hearing the banns contacted the parish priest about any objection to the upcoming marriage.

  It was a nice fall wedding in the Catholic church. One of Sara’s friends from college was her bridesmaid, and Zack had an ex-army buddy for his best man. Sara looked lovely in her white dress with a wide, wavy-brimmed hat of lace that just suited her. (Britt loved the hat, and wished she’d worn something like that at her wedding instead of the cheap crown with veil attached. “If wishes were horses …”) Sara carried a bouquet of pink roses. Zack remembered flowers—or did Sara put them in her plans? Zack cleaned up pretty good. He wore a suit and tie, but to Andy’s dismay, his hair was long. Actually, he looked a bit like John Denver. So many young men wore their hair long. Those imports from London, according to Andy, should not have been allowed to enter the country. Beatlemania had taken a big bite out of his bottom line by making long hair a must if you wanted to be “in”; Andy feared for their future.