Either/Or
by
Antonia Callas
If I get to Greektown by 11:35 am there is a pretty good chance I’ll find a metered parking spot on the street. If I get there at 11:55 am, there won’t be any spots left within a 3 block radius of Halsted and I’ll have to park five or six blocks west. And, I predict with the recent spate of new construction, within six months it will be impossible to find a metered spot any time. Things change.
Most people wouldn’t care about the availability of parking spots, but I do. It’s in my nature to analyze things. I’m a cost estimator for A-Athena construction. I’m sort of like a fortune-teller, but with statistics. I study data and then I make predictions on how much materials and labor will cost for a project. My boss, who also happens to be my Uncle Gus, says that I’m like a goddamned gypsy. But there’s no mystery about it. It’s knowing how much things cost now and how long it’s going to take to get something done before it costs too much more.
When Frank called yesterday insisting on lunch, honestly, I was relieved. The truth is I’m at the point where I need to talk and Frank has been my best friend since the third grade. We suffered together through Greek school, interminable church services and the perils of high school dating. I was the best man at his wedding. Right now he is the only person I want to talk to. I told him we’d have to make it at noon. I always eat at noon. Normally, Frank wouldn’t dream of putting anything more than a black coffee with two sugars in his stomach before 1 pm but he’ll compromise today. We’re meeting at Nine Muses, our regular place.
It’s raining and there are no open spots, of course. There’s a pay lot across the street from the restaurant, but I hate paying for parking in this neighborhood during the day. At night, it’s different – I don’t mind paying when we go out. I’m not cheap. I circle the blocks hoping that someone is going to leave. Adams, Peoria, Sangamon, Jackson, nothing is open and the cars look like they’re not about to leave anytime soon.Like I said, things change. Things change in an instant. They change in a look. The windshield wiper brushes the rain from the glass in front of me. Rain, no rain. Rain, no rain. There is the briefest instant when the blades wipe the blur of drops from the glass and in that moment you can see the gray, rain-soaked street clearly. Then the fat drops of rain obscure it. My phone is ringing.
“Where the hell are you?”
I glance at the dashboard. It’s 12:20. “I got hung up. I’m parking now.” I realize I’ve been stopped, idling in the middle of Green Street for the last fifteen minutes. I head for the pay lot.
When I walk into the restaurant, Frank is already waiting at a back table. He’s a lawyer in a mid-size firm downtown practicing municipal law and zoning, and already in with some of the city politicos. He’s married, got a baby on the way and beginning to go soft in the middle. You might say his life is starting to take off and from a certain perspective, you’d be right.
No sooner than I sit down and start looking at the menu than I am startled by a familiar voice speaking at decibels loud enough to be heard by the entire restaurant. “Hey, hey, look here’s here!” It’s my Dad and he’s got Uncle Gus. “What a coincidence!” Dad booms out, jovially. He seems strangely happy for someone who eats at Nine Muses at least once a week with me. “Mind if we join you?”Before I can say a word, Dad is already pulling out a chair and Frank is saying, “Sure, sure! Come on, sit down, sit down. How the hell are you, Bill? Gus, good to see you.” Frank is blabbing away, either unaware of the death looks I’m giving him or pretending not to see.
My Dad and his cousin, Gus, are the two halves of the whole that make up A-Athena Construction. I’ve worked for my Dad and Uncle Gus for seven years. The story of how they made it is one you’ve heard plenty of times. Two immigrant brothers come to America for a better life and their kids build up a business from nothing. They grabbed the American dream and now it’s worth $5 mil. Dad is the steady one, the one who brings projects in on time, the one who makes things work. He’s smart, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not a high flyer. I’m his only son and, I’ve been told, a lot like him.
Nine Muses is all dark wood and stainless steel. It’s the kind of place you go to with your friends when you want to drink iced coffee and play backgammon for hours. The food is pretty good too. It’s a real Greek hangout.
We order appetizers and then lunch comes and for a long time, we’re just eating the good food and talking sports and business.
After the plates are cleared and the coffee is ordered, my dad clears his throat loudly.
“I’ve been thinking,” he starts. “I’ve been thinking about retiring soon.” The day my dad retires is the day my dad dies. His only weakness is gambling, which he does badly. He and mom go to Vegas once a year and lose a crap load of money.
“Wha..?” Interjects Gus. “You never told me about this! What the hell are you talking about?”
“Sure I did Gus. You remember? Yesteday?” He fixes Gus with a stare. My dad was never any good at pretense, he’s a straight shooter. I wait to see where this goes.
“Your mom’s been talking about buying a second house in Phoenix. She’s getting tired of these winters.”
“When were you gonna tell me this,” says Gus, offended. “Don’t I get a say – half of the business is mine.” Gus works six days a week, every week of every year. Sometimes I think if you cracked the walnut-hard shell of Gus open, all you’d find is a bunch of dried wood ends and electrical wire.
“I did talk to you about it, Gus. Yesterday. So, Teddy, what do you think? You and I split my side of the business.”
“I thought you said you wanted to give me the whole half.”
“No one is giving nothing to nobody unless I agree. And why do you need to retire?” Gus is getting really pissed now.
“I didn’t say I was going to retire, I said I was thinking about retiring.”
“Just because the kid can push a pencil doesn’t mean he can run a business,” Gus declares, waving me off with the back of his hand.
“Why not? He’s saved us a mint.” My Dad is getting steamed now. And just like that, they’re arguing. Every conversation in our family devolves into an argument. Even this made-up, bullshit one. Suddenly I’m exhausted. All I want is to bang my head on the table until I pass out.
“Hold it. Enough. We’ve heard enough.” Frank says in his best lawyer voice. “You’re like two little old ladies arguing about pastitcho. He turns to look at me. “What do you think?”
For a second I actually think he’s asking me about pastitcho, but then he brings it home. “What’s the deal with you and Christina?”
“Your mother says you’re not speaking,” my dad chimes in. Suddenly I understand what this is about. It’s a family ambush. Fucked up, of course, but an ambush, nonetheless. “Son, I don’t want to interfere, but your mother… why are not talking to the girl you’re going to marry?”
It’s been 27 days since I last spoke to Christina. “This has been great, but I’ve gotta’ go,” I say. Before I can move, Gus grabs my arm. Since he’s spent a lot of time with a hammer in his hand his grip is like a vise.
“Sit down, Teddy,” Frank says. “Your father needs to talk to you.”
“Et tu, Brutus,” I intone softly to Frank. He just smiles at me. I should mention that Frank’s wife and Christina are friends.
“Did she say something?” said my dad, not catching the allegory of course.
“No.”
“Do something?”
“Not exactly.”
There is a pause while the waiter comes around and pours the coffee. Frank twins two packets of sugar together, tears them both open across the top, and expertly shakes them into his coffee. Then he stirs with calm precision. Something about the way he does it mesmerizes me. That must be why I’m not moving.
“What do you mean, not exactly?” Frank asks. “The last I knew you guys were nuts about each other.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dad says. He’s exasperated with me. They all are. “What are you thinking? Are you thinking?”
All I’ve been doing is thinking. I can’t stop thinking. Remembering. The memory of my love for Christina Zervakis is excruciating. I can recall it exactly. I loved her deeply, sincerely, anyone could see it. She was radiant. Our parents were overjoyed. We were engaged 5 weeks ago.
“Do you still love her?” Frank asks.
“If you don’t love the girl, tell her!” Gus exclaims, conviction flowing from every unmarried, unlovable pore of his body.
Except I can’t tell her that because I do love her. “Of course I remember that I love her!” I spit back Gus. I’m no good at these family things. I get irritated and then I explode. That’s the curse of being Greek. You can’t escape your fate, it seems.
“If you remember, then what the hell is the problem?” Frank says with some anger. “Your mother is about to lose her mind. Christina’s mother is a nervous wreck. Not to mention my own wife is making my life hell.”
“I don’t know,” I say, burying my head in my hands. “I’m not sure if I can explain.”
“You’re messing things up,” my Dad says.
“This isn’t about family! I say, the heat rising in me again. “It’s about me. For once in my life, it’s about me!”
The last time I saw her. The last time I saw her we were watching TV together at her parent’s house. The profile of her face, the aquiline nose with the slight bump, the perfect wing of her dark brow, the way her bangs fell across her temple because she was always pushing them out of the way. She was totally engrossed in the show. I can’t remember what it was, some type of cop show. Then she looked at me. She looked at me with her warm, brown eyes, smiled and asked if I wanted something to drink.
“Okay, Teddy, okay. Of course it’s about you,” Frank says.
“Yeah, calm down,” my dad says.
“Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind?” Frank asks.
I lean forward and pick up my water glass. It sticks to the white paper that lies on the tablecloth, pulling it up. I take a gulp so big it actually makes a noise. The dense condensation on the outside of the glass drips into my palm and down my sleeve. Men don’t talk about things like this. I don’t talk about things like this. I look at my Dad, helpless. “I just don’t know how this is going to turn out.”
“It’ll turn out fine. Look at me. I still love your mother,” my dad says.
“You don’t even sleep in the same room anymore,” I point out.
“Don’t disrespect your parents,” Gus says.
Frank puts his arm out. “Look, Teddy, it’s natural, it’s normal to get worried about being with one person your whole life. I was worried about it myself. But it’s been really good. It changes everything. In a good way.”
“Is that why you’re out almost every night?” I ask.
“I’m busting my ass to get ahead for us, for my family. I have to hang with these guys, it’s part of the deal, you know that.”
“Okay, you have to go out to Harry Carry’s all the time while your wife sits at home.”
There is silence at the table. What I know is that we are four very mortal men, sitting here at this table, eating together. None of us knows what the truth is, none of us knows anything else but to stumble through life. I’m no better or no worse than them. They’re asking me what I know.
“I’m sorry Frank,” I begin. “That was a crappy thing to say.” The knowledge that I am going to tell them floods my body with relief. I take another swallow of water, aware of the silence in this moment, aware of the distant clatter of silverware and the burble of conversation at tables near us. I place the glass down next on the water ring on a clean, dry spot. “I was at Christina’s house. We were watching TV and then she looked at me. And I, I remembered the future.”
“Goddamnit, I knew it. You have the gift,” Gus whispers.
“No, it’s more like I was looking back.” I raise my head. No one moves. Even Gus has stopped fidgeting. My dad’s arms are folded across his chest tightly. “She asked me if I wanted something to drink. And then… it was as though time had already passed - our whole lives actually – and I was old already…we were old. And I was looking at Christina and remembering our life together. I could recollect the whole of our life in passing. Do you get what I mean? I mean, it was as though our lives had already been lived. I could see her, I… what we had become, where we ended up, the love and the disappointment of the way it turned out, who we had become. And it was over.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, son,” my dad says. “You’re getting cold feet.”
“No. I know exactly what I’m saying. I realized that there was no reason to get married. What’s the point? For all practical purposes I’m through with the whole relationship. I’ve already lived it.” This was the crux of it. I had effectively jumped over the whole of my life in an instant. I was done.
“You’re barely engaged and you’ve already finished?” Frank is incredulous.
“Basically, yes.”
“All this over a drink?” Gus asks, genuinely perplexed.
“She’s going to become unhappy. I’m going to become unhappy. Isn’t that true?” I point out.
“You’re gonna’ be unhappy if you get married, you’re gonna’ be unhappy if you don’t get married. That’s why life is fucked,” Gus says with relish. Then he adds, “That’s why I never got married.”
“Exactly. Whatever I choose, I’m going to regret.”
“Your mother and I, we’ve been happy.” My dad says with the conviction of a man who has something to lose.
“Have been happy. But you’re not really happy now, right?” I can’t stop myself.
“Son, you don’t know what you’re saying. Marriage is a sacrament.”
Gus says, “Who’s ever happy? This isn’t the way to think about things. About women...” about life. You have the family, your work, you do what you need to do. Happiness is…it’s nothing. It’s not important.”
“That may be true, but I’ve never been more clear about anything in my whole life. I see what will happen. Actually, in a way, I’ve lived it already. And I don’t need to repeat it.”
Frank is irritated. “Teddy. Be real. You love her now. Not in the future or whatever you’re thinking. I’m talking about today. Right? You love her now.”
I’m feeling a great sense of freedom now that I’ve spilled my story. I’m eager, hell, I’m anxious to tell them how I feel. “Of course. Of course I love her. She’s… she’s the most…she’s wonderful, beautiful!” I thirsty again, but my glass of water is empty. I take Frank’s glass and drink from it. He never touches the stuff. “Of course I think that now, but I won’t. Soon. And then it’ll be awful.”
“You kinda look like shit right now, buddy,” Frank observes dryly. I am who I am, a man who has already lived his life. An unhappy rememberer. Some days I think my heart is going to burst from my chest, it hurts so much. I can’t stop obsessing about her. I’ve even taken to secretly spying on her just to get a glimpse of her. I don’t think she’s seen me, though. I write poems about her. I’ve written one each day. That is 27 bad poems so far and I haven’t run out of things to say.
“Yes, I know that too.” I’m almost giddy. “I can’t stop thinking about her, remembering her.” I reach into my lapel pocket and pull out a narrow, rectangular packet and set it on the table. “I’ve decided that I need to break it off. For Christina’s own good.” The men peer at the packet. “It’s a plane ticket,” I say. “To Brazil. I’ve got to disappear for a while. To give Christina time to get over me. She’ll find someone else and then I’ll be able to live my life again.”
Frank rolls his eyes. “You are gone, buddy. Gone.”
My dad says, “What you’re doing is a sin, it’s a sin.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Brazil,” Gus muses. “Rio.”
“Gus, please.” My dad says. He looks sick.
“I’m going and I just want you to know. That’s it,” I say.
Frank looks at me hard. “Okay, Teddy. Go to Brazil. Christina will get over you. But before you go, you have to talk to her. She deserves that.”
This is going to be a problem. Even though I know I’m right, I’m so right I can feel it in my gut as sure as I can forecast a job that’s going to go over budget, I can’t face her. I’m terrified.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” I say, although I know I’ve already hurt her terribly. Twenty seven days is a long time not to talk to your fiancée. But that couldn’t be helped. “I just want her to get over me. It’s better that she thinks it’s all my fault.” That part I’m sure of. She’ll find someone else, someone who will love her forever. The thought makes me sick. Nausea rises in my throat and I grip the edges of the table to hold myself steady. I need to get a hold of myself. I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing steadily for a few moments. When I open them, my dad, Gus and Frank are looking behind me. Before I can register what is going on, before I can even turn my head, she’s there.
“Hello, Teddy.”
Christina is standing in Nine Muses, right at our table, right next to me. I can only focus on her dress. It’s white with little daisies on it.
“So. How are you?” she says.
I am on my feet in an instant. “Fine!” I say. She’s so close I have to lean backwards not to touch her. Her cheeks are flushed. Her dress is wet from the rain. The plain cotton of the fabric and the clean, damp smell of detergent rising from it is making me weak. “Christina, I …”
“Excuse us, please,” she says to the men. “Come here.” She takes my hand and pulls me to the bar. She takes both my hands tightly and looks with steady sureness into my eyes. She says with some small measure of sympathy, “Teddy, it’s me.”
And then it breaks and I feel a huge rush, an unstoppable flow of emotion roaring through me and of course, I just pull her right into me, into the utter right rightness of us. I’m holding her warm body close against me and relief flows through us. And she lets me hold her and we’re breathing together against the inevitable and terrible knowledge of what we will become. Around us the whole restaurant pretends nothing has changed. The weighted breeze pushes down from the whirling fans above us, the revolving door of the restaurant turns lazily, the bartender squirts pop into glasses. I know I have to hold Christina like this for a little while longer. I have to hold her and keep looking at the revolving door of the restaurant until it stops and then I can let go.