For years she cried over Harry, like an abandoned child. She believed that if she cried enough, he would be moved and come back to her. Harry was Ma's second loss. Thirty years earlier, her first father had met his end with a streetcar. My mother's father-love was impossible to ignore. Her perception of men was forever child-like. At sixteen she had eloped, only to discover that what she sought was unattainable. It was a tragic fact she never admitted, even to herself.
It was my mother's emotional collapse, and not the pressures of school, that most threatened my contained existence. After my father left, she became "too tired" to attend to matters like cooking, buying food, and running errands. All of this became my department. In the past, I'd never left the apartment, except to attend school or the movies. Now, my domain became all of Flatbush, as well as areas of Riverside and East Manhattan. By getting out more, I naturally made the acquaintance of many new people. For the first time in my life, I developed close friendships. It seemed that I had finally lost my detachment; that the screen which blocked reality had at last been destroyed.
Not so. I resisted what would have been a tumultuous coming of age. Rather than face the abrupt end of My Life, I made myself over as another character in this saga. What friends and acquaintances perceived was what appeared upon the screen. My true self remained in the wings, detached, safe. "Dottie" had none of the neuroses ascribed to Buddy. She was open to new people and experiences, because she had not been hurt. Playing her was emotionally draining. I felt very much like Uncle Willard, the film editor in Hollywood. Deciding when to start and stop the tape became a necessary and all-consuming obsession.
To be continued.
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