Sugar Magnolia by Susan Demchak

HM

Sugar Magnolia by Susan Demchak

I was conceived at Woodstock. Seriously. My parents met at Woodstock and my birthday is May 2, 1970. Do the math. Anytime I meet someone new, it almost always comes up, sooner or later. It’s just part of who I am and I feel like if said person is going to be able to “get” me, this is important for him or her to know. Or maybe it’s just important to me. My parents were flower children, all grown up to be hard working sensible people. My Dad was an insurance adjustor, who was good with money. He has suffered the moral injury of wanting to be a nomad and a free spirit but also enjoying the comfort and the security of a steady paycheck and disposable income. He coached my little league team and led my Scout troop. My Mom stayed home with me until I went to school, and then worked parttime teaching art and yoga and volunteering in soup kitchens. They were always the first to volunteer to chaperone field trips. They told me I could do anything I wanted in life and that it was important to find something that made me happy. I went to the College of Charleston and majored in Psychology, but then changed my major junior year to Philosophy with a minor in music. I started 2 different Master’s programs, then took some time off to try to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. They were still pretty supportive, but I was starting to sense little more angst about my making some kind of decision about school and a career. They were both BIG fans of the Grateful Dead. My Dad owned all of the albums. When Jerry died this past August, I thought my Dad would be crushed, and he did seem sad. But he just said, “Well. Jerry didn’t take very good care of himself.” He was right about that. I had seen an interview with Jerry on TV, I don’t know… January? It occurred to me, if I wanted to see them in concert again, this was the time. The tour kicked off in Philly in the Spring, and I didn’t make it to that show, but when the tour came to Charlotte in March, I scraped up the money for the show, some gas and stuff to make tee shirts out of the trunk of my car. My dad loaned me a tent and some camping equipment. “When do you think you will be back?” he asked. “Well… when the tour’s over, or I run out of money.” He reached in his pocket and took out some money. He counted out 10 twenties. They were generous with me. And not too strict. The one time they had caught me with pot, I didn’t get in trouble. The unspoken agreement was that I would make good grades, stay out of trouble, and though they hovered a little, they generally kept their mouths shut. I always believed they had smoked my pot, but could never prove it and they never admitted it. Despite their anxiety about my under-employment and lack of a plan to finish my education, they admired my freedom to pick up and go. It’s the Grateful Dead! They had followed them too, once, before jobs and kid and responsibility. They always told me to travel before life got too complicated. I wondered if they regretted saying that.

My Mom hugged me and arranged my belongings in the trunk. “I wish you had a car phone. You know they have those bag phones. It’s like a brief case with a phone in it. You charge it on the cigarette lighter. Oh! And your father bought stock in one of those companies. Was it Motorolla, Honey?” “I hope not too much. I hate those things. It’s a fad. It’ll be over in 5 years. People will get tired of always being reachable.” “Peter. “ (In her mother voice.) “Please call. Find a payphone.” I agreed. I was going 15 miles up the road from our house but I think they knew they wouldn’t see me again for months. I was almost 26 years old and I had followed the Dead a few times. Not my first time at the rodeo, but I sensed that my life was about to change. Something was about to happen. I had an apartment in Charleston, but my roommate was good about covering rent andI would pay him back. Life was a series of feasts and famine lately but he was cool about it. He had a steady, good paying job but hadn’t gotten around to wanting a grown up place yet. The show in Charlotte was good. Bruce Hornsby played the piano. I sold Tshirts and grilled cheese sandwiches and made the money for gas and tickets in Atlanta and off we went. Memphis, Birmingham, Tampa. All of the East Coast venues I was either there or working to get there. I made enough money to move to the next town and then put some away to pay the roommate back in Chuck or for an emergency. I did have that much of my dad in me. Anyway, the summer melted away and before I knew it, we were at Soldier Field. The last song of the encore was Box of Rain. Phil wrote and played it for his father on his death bed, and it turned out to be very appropriate. I will never forget it. No matter what happened to me, no one would ever be able to take it away. I imagined it as part of the end of life montage that would play in my head right before I died…. Such a long, long time to be gone and a short time to be there…. I drove straight through back to Charleston. I was pretty tired and who knew when was last time I had a shower. My roommate seemed relieved and a little irate. He was pretty cool as usual. I had a wad of cash in my pocket and I paid him back rent and utility fees for the last 3 months. Mark and I had been friends since freshman year. He was a little bit preppy and was on the sailing team at school. He came from money, but didn’t really seem to care about it. He majored in accounting and had found a civil service job. He liked the Dead and had gone to a few shows with me. His taste in music was eclectic. He liked everything from Lynyrd Skynrd to Metallica and I had even found a mix tape with some Duran Duran on it, but that may have been given to him for all I knew. I wasn’t going to judge. Music was a personal thing and not everyone was brought up like me. He took time off and we drove out to Lalapalooza one year. He has always been a really good friend and a wingman. Since graduation though, and employment, we didn’t seem to have as much to talk about as before.

He did introduce me to my girlfriend Lucy. They had a class together senior year. When a mutual friend got married, he escorted her to the wedding. It was just platonic though, and when I met her we hit it off right away and I asked her out. Mark was OK with it, said it was just a date to go to a wedding. Lucy was super smart and pretty, which means she could be a real pain in the ass. She was finishing a PhD in Chemistry and was amped all that spring. She had a business degree also. I thought she would end up in research and development of something not too awful. I hoped it was something that would save the environment. She was one of those people who looked really put together on the outside but when I saw her apartment it was a complete disaster. It made me wonder if she was OK. There were little piles of scientific journals and magazines and paper everywhere, and every drawer was a junk drawer. Somehow she made it work to the tune of Summa Cum Laude and thus far a 4.0 in grad school. Sometimes I thought I was the boyfriend equivalent of her apartment. Speaking of Lucy, she was pretty pissed that I had dropped out of sight for 4 months. But it was the Grateful Dead! She let me have it and really good when I called to let her know I was home. I thought she would be glad to see me. I bought her some flowers and made her dinner and tried to make it up to her, but she just kept getting mad again. She has screamed at me several times that my lifestyle wasn’t sustainable long term and why couldn’t I grow up? We were off and on, and off and on and then back off, and she was making sounds like this was it. She told me to pack up her stuff and she was coming by to get it. I had gotten a job at the Market Street Candy Shop when I got back into town. I had worked there a few times during my time in Chuck. They always needed help and didn’t seemto mind if I came and went. I came home smelling like caramel. On the night Lucy and I had it out I got home and Mark was already kicked back on the sofa, reading the newspaper and drinking a beer. He looked pretty tired as usual. Work sucked his brainpower without feeding his soul, but the income was comfortable and it kept his parents off of his back. He greeted me with a grunt. “I see you packed her stuff. She coming by tonight?” “Yeah. Guess she means it this time.” “Sorry man.” “Hard to believe. 5 years.” “Hate it for ya. But the writing was on the wall.” “Yeah.” “You disappear for 3 months. Your girlfriend is going to get worried. Then she’s gonna get pissed. She didn’t know where you were and couldn’t get hold of you.” “She knew I was in Charlotte, and Atlanta, Memphis-“ “You might consider getting a cellphone.” “That’s what my mom says…She could have found me. Where ever the Dead were, I was there or trying to get there.”

“Peter. She had school and teaching. And writing her paper. And defending her paper?” “Can you believe that? A PhD. My girlfriend's gonna be a PhD. Dr. Lucy Pratt. “Ex-girlfriend.” “You know she still loves me. She's such a pain in the ass.” “Smart women always are. You find a smart one who's also pretty... You're royally screwed.” He took a draw of his beer and sank into the couch. How could I make any of them understand? This was my last chance. My last chance to see him. To tour with them! Jerry died almost exactly a month after I saw him at Soldier Field. “If I had missed out, I could’ve never gotten that back-“ Mark fired back “And you gotta understand, that you may not get her back.” He sighed. “ Yes, anyone who saw Jerry Garcia in the last, say 10 years, could tell he was probably not gonna be around much longer. You just happen to have been right. Heart attack, drug overdose... all of the above. It was bound to happen... eventually.” We had an answering machine and I noticed that the light was blinking. I hit the button. After message announcing one new message, I heard Lucy’s voice. “Hi guys. Peter... I don't know when I'm gonna be able to get over there today. Something's come up... I'm sorry. The rabbit died and I have to make some arrangements. I'll come by as soon as I can. Bye.” Mark and I looked at each other. I realized we really did hear that. Mark spoke “Did she say that-“ “SSSHHHH-“ I rewound the machine. We hear the garbled sound of the voice rewinding. Lucy’s voice again “-the rabbit died-“ I rewound “-the rabbit died-“ Again “-I'm sorry. The rabbit died.” I listened a few times. It was the same each time. Lucy’s voice was clear as a bell but I heard another voice that sounded more like I was under water. “Peter-“ The machine repeated “-the rabbit died.” The other voice gets louder. “PETER! “ I looked up. Mark was standing next to me. “You can rewind it all you want. Its gonna say the same thing. We stared at each other. Finally Mark said ”Where I come from, that means that-” “Somebody's uh, you know-“ “pregnant-“ I said “Yeah. That.” “In a family way-“ “Uh huh.”

“with child-“ “Yes.” “Got a bun in the oven-“ What is his deal? “YES! ALRIGHT! I think we're on the same page!” “Sorry.” He headed back to the sofa and his beer. The reality sank in. “Oh my God.” “I know... I'm sorry man…Or well... maybe congratulations. Whichever way you want to go.”

I paced around. “Hmm. Well.” I had not really ever thought about having a kid. But I had never really thought about not having a kid either. “Congratulations. Yeah, of course its congratulations.” “All right then, congratulations.” I paced the floor some more wringing my hands. “What does it mean? Are we still breaking up? Do you think she'll still want to break up?” “I don't know. You'll have to ask the lady herself.” Of course we couldn’t break up. “We can't break up now. I mean. A baby's a lot of work. She's gonna need help. “ Mark eyed me cautiously. “Be careful, Peter.” “What do you mean? She's got to let me be part of this. I mean... there's a baby. My baby. Unless...” “Unless what?” “Oh no...You don't think she would... She said something about making arrangements. She wouldn't!?” “I don't know. “ “Well... I hope she would at least talk to me about it first.” “It’s her decision. She probably would.” “She would. Well, we can't break up now.” I had packed her belongings into an overnight bag. Absently I dumped it out. I picked up her fleece pajamas, bedroom slippers, a paperback novel, some lacy underwear and a toothbrush and took it back to my room. Mark called to me. “What are you doing?” “Putting her stuff away.” I returned to the living room. Mark was still on the sofa. “Why?” I told him I figured if we didn't break up, then she would still want to keep a few things here. He sat there silent but there was something hanging in the air. “You're thinking something. Just say it.” “Do pregnant women usually stay out all night at their boyfriends’?” Good question. “I don't know.” I really didn’t know much about pregnant women.

Anything in fact. I knew nothing of the activities of pregnant women. And I had not wanted to know. They were as alien to me as Quakers. Or vegetarians. “I think she'll need a lot of rest, so she'll want to stay at her own place. “ It sounded right. “Hmm. And after the baby's here, she won't be able to go out, because there will be a baby. We probably won't be able to go anywhere for a while. I guess I'll be moving to her place! I'm sorry man.” “Peter. Just slow down.” Oh my goodness. This again. “What do you mean slow down? Look, have I stiffed you on any rent? No. I'll pay the rent until you find a new roommate.” “I'm not worried about the rent.” “Then what is it, man?” “I think you may be jumping to conclusions.” “What do you mean? You heard the message.” “I can't believe she would leave you a message like that... on a machine.” “Hey, I was fired from my last job on that machine, AND a girl dumped me once. Nothing surprises me.”\ He looked like he thought I was right. Something dawned on me. “I'm gonna have to get a job. A real job.” “What? Are you admitting that selling t-shirts and grilled cheese sandwiches out of your trunk for 3 months isn't gainful employment?” “I made a boat load of money!” He made a sarcastic comment about my entrepreneurial prowess. It seemed like jealousy. “What is with you man? I mean it! You've changed. You didn't used to be like this.” Mark took another draw from his beer and placed the bottle on the end table, which was a card board box turned on its side and covered with a pillow case. “Maybe... maybe Lucy isn't the only one who is mad about you being gone all summer. “What?” “Nothing. Forget it.” “No, man. You've been acting like some... pissy woman for weeks and I want to know. Just say it! Out with it!” “OK! I don't appreciate you just up and leaving for 3 months! “ “Dude-“ “Don't ‘Dude’ me-“ “DUDE! Last I checked, we aren't married.” “You said you were going to the Dead show in Charlotte! The next I hear from you is... a message ON THE MACHINE, saying” in what I guessed was his dumb loser Peter Furr voice, "Hey dude, me and Ashley and a few more numb nuts are gonna camp for a few days and see a few more shows. I'll see you in a week or so." In his Mark voice- “Three months later, you came

home! Smelling like some god- awful combination of patchoulie, body odor and... what WAS that?” “Curry man.” He groaned. “There was this Indian chick that we camped with, Lakshme, she could do some amazing things with Curry and a charcoal grill. “ He just groaned again and rolled his eyes. “I can't believe you don't get it.” “Get what?” “IT! You used to understand. Its the GRATEFUL DEAD!” “What can I say? I grew up. Having money to pay rent and food to eat became important.” “Did I stiff you on any rent? No. I paid you back every penny!” “Yes, I know. You made a boatload of money.” “Don't knock it. It was a great time. You're jealous.” “I am not. I'm just... making a life for myself. “ “Some life. Since you took this soul crushing bureaucrat job, you just seem so... right!” “I am not RIGHT! I voted for Bill Clinton and will do it again!” “Oh whatever! I mean you're always right. You're like the Establishment. The Man.” “What is this? The sixties?” Mark used to be so much fun. Just the summer before, I caught him making out with the bass player in L7. I reminded him of that. I went to the fridge and helped myself to one of his beers. He didn’t say anything so I guess it was OK. “So. You think she'll marry me?” “I don't know. Do you really want to get married? “ “Yes. Its the right thing to do. Mrs. Peter Furr. Dr. Furr.” “Never figured you to be so traditional. She'll probably want to keep her name.” “You think so?” “I would if I were her. “ “You would? Never figured you to be such a feminist.” “Say it three times fast. Lucy Furr.” “Lucy Furr. LucyFurr. Lucifer. Oh... yeah. You're right.” Truly. I had never considered this. “Uh huh. You don't have to get married, Pete. And she may not want to. “ “Wow. I mean. I'd be a great dad.” I had never even considered it before, but suddenly I was certain it was true. “I'm sure you would. You'd love the kid to pieces.” “I'll go back to school. I almost have two Master's degrees, you know.” “Yes, and I still maintain that actually having one is better than almost having two,

or ten for that matter.” “You’re right. It’s time to get on with my life.” “Really?” It all seemed clear. “ Yes. I think that's been what this was all about... I know in ten years, I'm gonna be going to work everyday. Sitting behind a desk pushing a pencil, or worse, in front of a computer. This was my last chance to be a kid...” Mark shrugged. The doorbell rang and we heard Lucy’s voice as she let herself in. She put a key on the table next to the door. Her key. “Anybody home?” And there she was. My Sugar Magnolia. Takes the wheel when I’m seeing double. Pays my ticket when I speed. “Hi guys.” I rushed to her and tried to take her in my arms. She awkwardly hugged me. “How are you feeling? Are you OK?” She looked tired, but pretty as always. She was just cute. She could make tired wearing a flannel shirt look good. “I'm OK. Its been a rough day. I got stranded in Summerville.” She looks around. “Where's my stuff? Did you have time to pack it up for me?” “Just hear me out. We can't break up now.” “What? Why?” “Listen, I know I hurt you when I took off this summer. I thought you didn't need me and would be fine without me. I assumed you would understand, or just not care. I realize that I hurt you, and I'm so sorry. I want you to take me back. This baby changes everything. I want you to give me another chance. I'll take care of you and the baby. Let’s get married.” Mark opened his paper and tried to hide behind it. Lucy gasps. “PETER!?” “I know. I know. Just listen. You know I would be a good father. I haven't had time to think it through, but I could keep the baby while you do your post-doc, and I could have a job at night to help out. Or I could go to school at night. I'm going over to the school tomorrow to see about enrolling to finish my Master's. I'm not sure which one... but the point is, I have direction now. I'm gonna get books about parenting and babies and even pregnant women-“ “Peter-“ “And if you don't want to get married, I understand. I just want to be in this kid's life. I'm gonna bake cookies... and I'll coach little league. I don't know much about baseball, but I'll learn. I'll go buy a book tomorrow. And I'll teach him how to read and appreciate artwork and music, and I swear I won't take him to any concerts until he's at least 13, except maybe U2 and that's pretty family friendly. And I'll convince him that ‘Mulan’ is the best Disney movie ever, because I

know you like it. And eventually you'll decide you can't live without me and we'll be together.” Lucy blinked. She looked at me like she’d never seen me before. “Peter?” “What, my Sugar Magnolia?” “What on Earth are you talking about?” Mark finally looked up from his paper and leaned forward. “The baby, baby. You're, you know... pregnant.” “No, I'm not, not that I know of.” “What? But you said that-“ “When?” “The message... on the machine...” “What message?” You said... "the rabbit died." “What? Oh yeah- my car.” She gasps. “ Oh my gosh! MY CAR!” Lucy drove a silver 1985 Volkswagon Cabriolet. Her daddy bought it for her when she got her license. It was even featured in her high school yearbook as all the other sweet, smart, pretty girls loved riding in it so much. It was always borrowed by the school to transport the Homecoming Queen in the town Christmas parade. The years in Charleston, the humidity and salt air in addition to spending time parked on the street during floods, had not been kind. The thing had been acting like it was going to die since I met her. Suddenly, I felt the breath leave me. I managed to say “What?” “My car. It broke down... in Summerville. I was going to visit my friend. My car just died.” “Car?” The world as I had briefly known it, with me as a father to this unknown dependent creature, who it turned out, didn’t exist unraveled a little. My hearing was underwater again and I heard Lucy’s muffled voice. “Oh my gosh, Peter! You thought-“ I heard my own bellow. “You DRIVE A VOLKSWAGON CABRIOLET!” Lucy giggles a little. “Well, you know, it’s a Rabbit convertible.” “No... its A CABRIOLET!... Oh my God.” Mark had been fidgeting for a moment, stifling a laugh. He jumped up from the sofa. “What’s that Jesus? Leave the apartment? OK!” I heard him clattering for the door. I remembered he had a wicked sense of humor, but didn’tmuch appreciate it right that minute. I heard myself exclaim again. “IT'S A CABRIOLET.” “OK, you're right. It was a confusing message.” “Oh my God!” “Peter?” Lucy’s voice was very small and I heard something in it I had never heard before. I growled. “What?” “Did you really mean that about wanting to get married?” Was it hopefulness?

She looked at me and there it was. Expectation. Hope. Vulnerability. I glared back, speechless. Why would she even want me? But there she was, I knew, the best thing that ever happened, ready to take me back, but wanting something from me in return. Suddenly a few things came into focus. The distinction, that fateful turning point, at which my parents met at Woodstock and somehow changed from 2 young hippies tothe responsible people who were my mom and dad crystalized. I was born right smack in the middle of Generation X, a group of people who were never supposed to amount to anything. And if I was going nowhere in life, what was my hurry to get there? Suddenly it seemed possible that I could amount to something. This really cute scientist who was about to have a “Dr.” in front of her name seemed to want to be with me. The underwater voice. “Peter? Are you OK?” “Yeah. Just thinking about what I want to do with my life.” “You’ve been doing that since we met. Can I have a beer?” “Sure. You can have one of Mark’s beers.” “Thanks.” She went and found a beer. I unscrewed the top for her. “You know, I don’t think I ever told you, I am sorry that Jerry Garcia died. I’m glad you got to see him one last time.” It was one of those comments that didn’t really mean anything, but at the same time meant everything. “Thanks.” Life turns on a dime. Sometimes for better. Sometimes for worse. “You don’t really want to get married do you.” “I had not thought about it before today. But I definitely don’t want to break up.” “Well I guess there’s that.” And that I guess was the day I started being a grown up, which seemed to be a series of struggles and inconveniences, bookended by occasional triumphs. It involved planning for more than what was right in front of me at a given moment and considering the needs of other people. I guess if I had to point to the first day or night of my adulthood, it would be then. Because of a stupid message, left on a stupid answering machine, and this imaginary life that I immediately planned out with Lucy and our baby that did not exist. There were times that I wondered if she had done it on purpose. Probably not. Lucy was smart, but she was not calculating. We sat and drank our beer and discussed our future, which seemed like it would include each other. We made short term plans, and long term plans, and plans to make plans. I may have been conceived at Woodstock, but my life got started one fall day in 1995, with a failure of communication. Worse things have happened.

THE END