March 1976
Marilynn, Shannon's mother, was as polite as Howard, Shannon's father, was gruff. I often tried to compare her to my own mother, but Marilynn seemed more assured in some ways. My mother usually acquiesced to my father's moods and whims when she was pressured, but Marilynn seemingly acquiesced to nothing. When Howard bellowed and cursed, Marilyn either simply stared him into submission or left the room. I always had the impression that she had dealt with bullies throughout her life, and she knew that bullies are given power more than they earn it.
To a fault, though, Marilynn also refused to acquiesce to growing old. For her mother's fiftieth birthday on the last day of winter, Shannon had arranged a surprise party that, Shannon told me, was more expected than a true surprise. "It's how my family works," Shannon said. "We pretend to not care about these celebrations, but we feel slighted for a long time if there are no celebrations." The party was held in the back room of the Breaker's, Marilynn's favorite restaurant. The gathering was small. Howard arrived late from a plumbing job, and Marilynn held court in the center of the room as her sisters, brother, and assorted relatives drifted in and enjoyed the catered dinner. When Howard finally entered the room, he was dressed dirty work clothes. His name was stitched onto his shirt above the left-hand pocket. From my seat in the corner of the room, I watched as he walked toward his wife before stopping short when he saw the look on her face. When he turned and found a seat across the room from me, Shannon patted her mother's shoulder, and then she sat down next to me.
"You think you're safe in the back of the room?" Shannon asked.
"I've been ignored, so I guess that's the same thing."
"Did you see my dad? Good god."
"I saw how your mom looked at him."
"He'll pay for it," Shannon said. "One way or another."
"He's here, though," I said, finding myself in the strange position of defending a man who didn't seem to like me.
"That's not enough," Shannon said. "But look at her. She's loving this--this attention."
"She should enjoy it. She looks happy."
"She is. At least, she's happy with the party. She's not happy about being the big five-oh."
But Marilynn wore her age well, and her dress formed in such a way to advertise how slim her hips and waist were, how they curved into each other. Shannon said that her mother's hair was naturally brown, but she had recently begun dying it a dark blonde to, according to Shannon, "hide the grayest roots a woman could possibly have." In the months I had known her, Marilynn seemed to have worked hard at changing her appearance so that she looked more and more like her daughter.
Shannon learned into my shoulder. "She cut her hair to look more like mine. She asked me this morning if I mind that she's started wearing some of the dresses I left at home. That's my dress that she's wearing."
"Maybe she admires your looks," I said.
"Yeah, maybe. I think she had some surgery on her eyelids, or something, but I can't be sure."
I hadn't known Marilynn long enough to have noticed if her eyes had changed, but she did seem to be dressing as though she were twenty years younger. "Your mom's attractive," I said. "There's nothing wrong with her trying to look good."
Shannon nodded. "Then why can't she just be an attractive person who's growing older? Christ, look at my dad. I don't even know when he last combed his hair."
"So, you're unhappy with your mother because she's trying to look younger than she is, and you're unhappy with your father because he's not trying to do anything like that?"
Shannon looked at me the same way her mother had looked at Howard when he'd come into the room. "I'm going to go help my mom open her gifts."
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