her sacred atonal life

her sacred atonal life

A Story by Philip Gaber

 
Mayzie was on stage at a slam competition reading from Isaiah 47.

"’And thou saidist, I shall be a lady for ever: so that thou dist not lay these things to thy heart, neither didst remember the latter end of it.’"

Just then, a decrepit, tipsy middle-aged man in a cheap suit stood up on his chair, and hollered hoarsely, "’Wrath is cruel, and the anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand before envy?’"

Mayzie shielded her eyes from the lights with her hand to get a clearer vision of the heckler.

"Daddy?" she said.

"’Open rebuke is better than secret love," the man said.

"Daddy?!"

The man got off his chair, and walked toward the stage holding a mentholated cigarette between his fingers. "’A continual dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike.’"

As the man climbed onto the stage, he wobbled momentarily, and then lost his balance, falling pathetically in front of his startled daughter, who squatted to his aid.

"Daddy, are you alright?"

"It never ceases to amaze me," the man said, pausing to blow a smoky sigh out of the corner of his mouth. "’Hell and destruction are never full; so the eyes of man are never satisfied’" He began sobbing quietly. "She was always there, your mother…she was very clever…give her a mirror and she turned it into a drama…it was as if she were irreplaceable…there was this incredible reaction between her and her clothes…a personality hidden somewhere in her face…"

"Daddy, please don’t."

"Is this how it’s going to be, Mayzie? Is this what it’s come to? Forgetting about your life? Is this it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You’ve always been so strong…everybody, all your teachers said, Mayzie’s a brilliant student, she’s so…" He trailed off, and then mumbled, "Magna cum laude…"

"Valedictorian…"

"Straight A’s, the honor roll, 1500 on your SAT’s, scholarships to…"

"I did it all for you," Mayzie said.

"1955 I was living in Boston, off of Commonwealth Avenue, going to B.U. when I got the call from my father…a flood had destroyed the store…he needed my help…I told him I couldn’t come home then, I was right in the middle of finals… he said, ‘screw your finals.’ I told him if I don’t take my finals, I don’t graduate…and he hung up on me…I tried to call him back; it just kept ringing… even my mother wouldn’t talk to me…"

"I know the story."

"So I took the first bus home…"

"And you did it for him."

He paused. There was an underlying bitterness in his tone. "Goddammit, I don’t have the energy to build you back up again…"

"Excuse me?"

"You were such a…"

"I was such a what? I was so lonely and you always denied me my feelings."

"Ohh crap!"

Mayzie was on the verge of tears. "You never allowed me to be unhappy!"

"Because I had enough unhappiness for the whole goddamn family!"

Neither one had the energy to say anything. Mayzie wept. Her father continued his wall-eyed stare; He began to break down, but tried to suppress his tears. "What happened to you is I happened to you… I knew what you were going through… I knew your pain because it was my pain… and I allowed you to be unhappy, I gave you every opportunity to be as miserable as you wanted to be…" Then he screamed. "YOU WERE MY LIFE WHEN MY LIFE FAILED!"

The stunned audience sat in confused silence for several moments. Then a single lonely pair of hands began to clap, followed shortly by another lonely pair of hands, then another and another.

Soon the entire audience was on their feet, cheering, whistling, whooping and hollering.

Mayzie took home first prize that night and was awarded fifty dollars for her slam, even though it wasn’t even a slam at all.

The following week, Mayzie brought her mother with her to another open-mike night competition.

As she stepped to the mike, she looked into the audience, caught her mother’s eyes and said, "’Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above pearls…’"
 


© 2024 Philip Gaber


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Added on May 20, 2024
Last Updated on May 20, 2024

Author

Philip Gaber
Philip Gaber

Charlotte, NC



About
I hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..

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