She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother (22 page)

There was a beat, then laughter, and she quickly added, “Well, of course sunflowers. I was just checking to see if you agreed, but sunflowers are so happy and that’s what we need indeed—some happy. Oh, Tommy, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. It’s just my way, I guess, for some reason I just have to ask everyone’s opinion, drives that son of mine crazy.”

“Try all three of us: me, Jay, and Tom. Mom, it only drives me crazy because you know damn well what you want, and how to get it, but you still play this little game of getting everyone’s approval. It kind of diffuses the value of our opinions.”

“Okey-dokey, lamb chop, I hear you loud and clear. That is going at the top of the list of self-improvements,” she agreed.

We arrived at Rachel’s with wine, a huge bouquet of sunflowers, and a wheelchair. In the show
Beauty and the
Beast
, I carried on both hands heavy pyrotechnic-capable candlesticks as part of my elaborate costume, and due to the eight performances per week, my arms were usually exhausted. I thought they were tired from pushing an empty wheelchair for miles and miles through the streets of Manhattan, but that was nothing compared to the strain of the added weight of Mom and a case of vino up Carnegie Hill. Lumiere was beat.

Everyone was there, candles were lit, food was being prepared, and the table was being set. It felt almost like an impromptu Thanksgiving dinner. And in a way it was. We had not yet learned, nor would we learn, of any close friends who were missing. Though my heart was broken by the day’s events, there was comfort in the communing. I think we all felt it. We did not know what the future held, or if there would even be one, but we were together this night.

“Rachel, dawlin’,” Mom said, beaming, “you look lovely as ever, and your home is just so roomy and chic, give me a hug, sweetie, and where’s your handsome lucky husband?”

She hugged Mom like she was a relative. She adored my mother and father, and while we were at Tulane together, she would drive out to our lakefront home just to watch TV with my dad or chat with Mom, even without me there.

“Oh, Mrs. Batt, we are so happy you are here. Lenny went to get some ice; he’ll be right back.”

“Angel, I am just going to cry if you don’t call me Aunt Gayle, or Gayle. ‘Mrs. Batt’ is so 1985.” With that, Mom
cracked herself up, and her gentle laughter reminded Rachel that we were family.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rachel replied, to which Mom pouted and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Aunt Gayle.”

“That’s more like it, puddin’. Now let’s get me out of this contraption before people think I’m as old as I feel. I don’t mind feeling old, just don’t love looking old!”

Cliff and Jimmy and John and Jeff came in the room, drinks in hand. They knew Tom and I would need a double Ketel and soda with lemon, and it was made and waiting. We hugged our dear friends, and soon the entire home was a buzz of hugging, stories of the day’s events, and friends to add to Mom’s prayer list.

Just then the door opened. It was another dear friend, Leslie, carrying baby Audrey, and her husband, Bryan, carrying the gumbo. She announced in her best Cajun accent, “Okay, y’all, da gumbo is here,
cher
!”

Mom clamored, “Where is that gorgeous baby, let me see that beautiful girl … of course you too, Leslie heart, and Mr. Bryan … Oh she’s a dream, those eyes, what an angel!”

Now the focus was on the baby and cooing, more kisses, more drinks, and stories of the day.

Soon the whole apartment was filled with the hearty aroma of Leslie’s gumbo and Rachel’s red beans and rice, both Louisiana girls who know Creole comfort food.

Mom spent the evening charming and disarming everyone’s fears as she told stories of living through World War II. She and baby Audrey were the perfect diversion
from the tragic events of the day, and although everyone still was in shock, this familial convergence helped ease the steely tension and pain, if only for a few moments at a time. Rachel had turned off the TV, there was no new news, just more sensational graphics, more fear, sadness, and shock. And soon it was time to make the pilgrimage home. Completely exhausted, Tom and I wheeled Mom back to our place, and while we got ready for bed, she made phone calls to friends and family. I overheard just a bit.

“Oh, Vilma, everyone was so nice. All of Bryan’s and Tom’s sweet friends got together and made gumbo and red beans and rice … and we are going to everyone’s home for the next few days for dinner. Honestly, everyone is shaken up, scared to death, but what can we do really, it’s all in hands of the man upstairs. No, they canceled all the Broadway shows, but I believe that Thursday Bryan has to go back to work. Yes, Thursday, well, we must get back to normal, whatever that is. Tell everyone that we are fine and I’ll be home as soon as I can … I am … I am so glad to be here right now, I’d be worried sick if I weren’t, believe it or not, and call me crazy, I’m actually happy that I am in New York right now. Love you too. Bye.”

“Baby dear,” she called, “I have been trying to get Delta on the phone to change my ticket. I’m supposed to fly out Thursday, but no one is answering the phone.”

“Mom, you are not going anywhere, not for a while, not until the airports are up and running, and then I would like you to give it a few days, just to make sure,” I answered.

“Oh, but pumpkin, I can’t stay that long, I appreciate you both being so sweet, but I’ve got to get back, and I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Mom, you’re not a burden, and I am not letting you get on a plane until it’s safe, and that is final.”

“Okay, sweetie, but, well, honey, what are we going to do about the bathtub situation, I can’t get in that tub, and I noticed Rachel’s is the same. While I visited the ladies’ room I tried to get in her tub, but then I thought, ‘Don’t do that, Gayle, what if you can’t get out?’ That would be a fine kettle of fish. But sugar pie, I can’t just take little French baths for a week. There must be a spa of sort nearby. They may have treatments or something that could work.”

If I’d rolled my eyes anymore, they would have popped out of my head. “Mom, we’ll deal with that tomorrow. I’m about to drop, it’s been a grueling day, let’s get some sleep, hmm?”

She agreed. “That’s right, tomorrow is another day, Scarlett.”

And with that, she ambled into the bedroom while Tom and I arranged the makeshift combination air mattress and pillow bed on our living room floor, somehow knowing that despite our fatigue, no sleep would come. Goodnight kisses and hugs were dispensed, and the light was left on in the bathroom as a night-light for all. I realized then that I was very much like her, that if there was something I wanted or needed, no matter how foolish or nonsensical, I wouldn’t rest until it was mine.

In the middle of the night, after awaking from a short and light slumber, I overheard a voice coming from the
bedroom, so I made my way to the door, only to hear, “Yes, is this Delta Airlines? Oh good, this is Gayle Batt and I am scheduled to fly from New York to New Orleans this … Oh, there’s not … Well, do you know when service will be returning … Uh-huh, well, I just wanted to make sure that my ticket would be honored even though … um-hmm … I see, I understand, but you see, I was visiting my son Bryan, he plays Lumiere in
Beauty and the Beast
on Broadway … Oh yes, very proud and … what’s that? … Oh yes, I am staying with him and his partner now … Oh yes, he’s been in quite a few shows,
Cats …
me too, I loved that one, and let’s see, he was in
Sunset Boulevard
and
Starlight Express …
Yes, that one was on roller skates, he had a terrible knee injury from that one, you know I have to go back into the body shop myself for a hip replacement, that’s why I need wheelchair help at the airport. Oh, he was a dear today, he ran out and rented a wheelchair while Tom got food and water and milk for their friend’s newborn baby … who is a little dream … little Audrey … Isn’t it a pretty name, I love those old-fashioned names myself … No, just my two boys, I wanted a little girl but the good Lord saw fit that I have two sons and that is just fine by me … Beg your pardon … Oh yes, dear … blessings …”

“Mom, it’s three a.m., what are you doing?”

She placed her hand over the receiver so the Delta representative couldn’t hear. “Coach, I am just checking on my flight status, and you are right, there is no service as yet.” She then went back to the agent on the phone.

“Well, you have been so sweet, darlin’, what’s your name? Wanda? Oh, Shwanda, that’s a lovely name … for your uncle Sherman and aunt Wanda. What a coincidence, my godchild’s name is Donna-Gayle for my brother Donald and little ol’ me … I love interesting names … Well, thank you so much, Shwanda, you have a great night, day, morning … yes, bless you too.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Mom appeared in her housecoat, peering into the living room.

“Hey, you handsome boys, I didn’t want to wake you, but can a gal get a cup of coffee in this four-star hotel?”

Tom answered, “Sure, Gayle, a pot is brewing. Black, right?”

“That’s it on the nose. So what do we have on the docket for today? You know I am going to have to find a place that can do my hair; I think there is just a day left with this do. Honey, do you know of a nice salon that does a nice shampoo set and comb out? Oh, and by the way, did you happen to think of a spa nearby, that is a must.”

“Mom, I haven’t had my coffee yet. Can we just turn on the TV and see if the world still exists?”

“By all means, let’s have some coffee and I’ll treat to breakfast. Would you call that cute diner around the corner that delivers? I’ll have eggs sunny side up with bacon, and wheat toast. My, I haven’t had eggs sunny side up in ages. Baby dear, you just order whatever you’d like. Tommy, what would you like for breakfast? Waffles, pancakes, omelettes, I just love New York, the fact that you
can call and order breakfast and it comes to your door still hot—well, it’s amazing.”

I love her, and maybe it was due to the life-altering traumatic stress we were all under and our different coping mechanisms, but on day two, I didn’t know how much more I could take.

After we had a great Green Kitchen breakfast, I quickly threw on my jeans and went for a short walk while Tom showered and Gayle applied her daily war paint, a process that usually took at least forty-five minutes. The winds had changed, and uptown we could now smell just a hint of what was unbearable at the other end of the island. I just needed to move, to gather my thoughts, to find a salon to coif honey-colored cotton-candy hair into a Rams football helmet, and a spa to hose down my mother. Luckily, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, a number of “set and comb out” ladies’ beauty salons remained, and as soon as I crossed Second Avenue, I recalled a new day spa that had opened. So I walked a few blocks down, all the while trying not to let the tainted air and the fear bring me to my knees.

Upon entering the Zen-wannabe spa, I must admit I was calmed for a moment, but soon the trickling sounds of water, mixed with Zamfir-like pan-flute tunes, just agitated my stressed state of mind. Finally an employee came to my aid and asked how she might be of service.

“I never thought I would actually ever say these words to another human being, but to be honest, I need someone to bathe my mother.”

I explained the bad hip and knee, the old high-lipped
bathtubs of prewar apartments, and this sweet lady actually informed me that there were many treatments in which clients were offered a finishing cleanse-rinse with mineral water and rose petals.

“Fantastic! Her name is Gayle Batt, she’ll be calling soon, have fun.” I quickly made my way back home. Within minutes I was wheeling her to the spa for a ginger-salt scrub and invigorating mineral and rose-petal rinse, and after that she was scheduled for a hair appointment.

About an hour and a half later, Tom and I retrieved Mother from her “treatment.” We found her chatting away with the attendants. “Well, yes, if they give us comps to the show, I will bring them by, oh, here are my son and Tom now. Bryan and Tom, I’d like you to meet Norika, Soon-lin, and Tammy.”

The kimono-clad ladies nodded and smiled and wished us well as they confirmed Mom’s appointment for the next day. As we wheeled to the next beautification station, Mom was a wealth of conversation.

“Sweetheart, if your producers offer any free seats or discounts, I would love to give those girls tickets to see your show. They have never seen a Broadway show, and I know they would adore
Beauty
. Now, Tammy is from Queens, but the other two are from Japan, I asked them if they knew how to perform the tea ceremony. Remember when Daddy and I went to Japan and when we came home I did the tea ceremony for your class?”

Tom, in disbelief, said, “Wait a minute, Gayle, you did the tea ceremony?”

“Oh yes, she did,” I replied. “For my whole second-grade
class. My teacher, Mrs. Dart, never forgot it, or my psychedelic painting of Mount Fuji.”

A slight sadness came over her as she shook her head. “I don’t know what happened to me. I used to be able to do so much, and I think after your daddy passed, I just kind of stopped.”

“Stopped! Stopped what? I’ve never seen anyone do more than you, missy.”

Tom added, “My God, Gayle, you’ve got so much going on, it makes me dizzy.”

The conversation drifted back to the spa as we neared the hair salon. Tom had wanted to know just what a ginger-salt rub was, and what a rose-petal rinse was like. “Actually, Tommy dear, it’s an invigorating mineral and rose-petal rinse,” she said with a giggle. “Well, to start, they rub you all over with this exfoliating ginger-scented salt, and then there is a massage, and then there’s this kind of, oh, I don’t know what you’d call it, a sort of wheel thing that comes down and passes over you a few times. Then from all sides a gentle spray of rose water mists and mists and mists. Then they dry you and apply a protective moisturizer.”

“Like a car wash?” he asked.

“Yes, sunshine, just like a car wash!”