Someone to Love Page 3

  She nodded. Survival—she understood that. Her family had never been bone poor, but everything had become more difficult after her father’s operation. They lived on his disability and what her mother earned. Not too much.

  “What bothers me,” Mitch said, “is the thought, Can I survive in the real world? The world where people don’t have everything handed to them. I’m finding out. I’m testing myself. I’m learning things, Nina: how to work, how to take care of myself. I’m finding my strengths,” he said so earnestly that her dream, her first dream about him, floated through her mind. Not the dream, exactly, but the tenderness of her feelings for him and the way she had put her hand on his arm.

  On a dark corner she stood up on her toes, gripped his shoulders and kissed him. They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed for a long time. Nina became light-headed and thought of the Chagall paintings she’d seen by chance in the library. Women in drifting wedding gowns, and dogs, and violins, all floating in blue-green skies. They kissed and kissed and Nina floated in a blue-green sky.

  “Nina.” Mitch said her name in that caressing way. Neenah. They moved even closer to each other.

  Nina Bloom

  Some Thoughts About “I Stand Here Ironing”

  I liked “I Stand Here Ironing,” the short story by Tillie Olsen. I could understand the story very well. The mother is worried about her daughter Emily. She thinks that she made a lot of mistakes in the past with Emily, who is nineteen years old now. It seems that Emily is in some kind of trouble, but the reader never finds out what the trouble is. For one thing, Emily is probably still feeling bad that when she was seven and sick her mother had to put her in a home. Something like that would make a child extremely upset. I know because things happened to me when I was younger that upset me, even though I was always with my parents. I was very upset, for instance, the year my father had his open heart surgery—and I was a lot older than Emily. (I didn’t know if my father was going to live. He did, but he was not like his old self at all.)

  At the beginning of the story the mother is ironing, and she’s ironing at the end of the story. Nothing really happens, but we find out about her life and we understand why she made mistakes. It’s very believable. She was alone, and she was poor, and she had children to care for.

  But the ending is terrible! The mother compares Emily to a dress under the iron. And she says, “Let her be. So all that is in her will not bloom, but in how many does it? … Only help her to know … that she is more than this dress on the ironing board, helpless before the iron.”

  I think that this means that the iron is like all the terrible things that happen in life to people. It frightened me to think of a person like that dress, flat on the ironing board, being run over by the hot iron. Too bad that Tillie Olsen, who is really a wonderful writer, ended the story this way. I could see the dress on the clothesline, too, sort of waving in the wind, full of air. That would give a more hopeful feeling to the story. But maybe it wouldn’t be true enough. Maybe the mother couldn’t see that Emily’s life could change, because hers never had. She still had little children to care for, and no money and no time. So she felt hopeless, and that is why she felt hopeless about her daughter.

  The mother felt that things in life just happen to people. That is true sometimes, such as my father’s heart trouble. But still I think people should try not to be defeated. Maybe Emily will be the sort of person who won’t be flattened like the dress. Her mother can’t help her anymore, but maybe Emily will help herself.

  Nice, direct approach, Miss Bloom. You understood the story well. The analogy at the end, of the iron to fate, the dress to the person, is all-important and powerful. Notice how the iron, introduced as a concrete detail, takes on weight and meaning and becomes a symbol by the end of the story. Keep trying to understand what you read.

  N.L.

  Chapter Four

  “Pardon my French, but you’re an idiot,” Sonia said amiably as Nina hung half asleep over a glass of orange juice.

  “Mmm?” Nothing bothered Nina. Call her an idiot. Call her a moron. Insults slid off her skin. She was armored, wrapped in a shining shield. Love. Mitch. Ah, God. She sighed, smiled muzzily into her juice, then yawned so hard, her ears cracked.

  “Let’s stay up all night,” Mitch had said late last night when they’d stopped for something to eat.

  “We could have breakfast together,” Nina said.

  “I wouldn’t go to work. We’d both play hookey.”

  “No classes for me?”

  “Definitely not! We’d watch the sun rise, then go back to my place and sleep all day.”

  “Then stay up all night again,” Nina said. “And sleep all day.”

  “We’ll never appear in daylight again. Our skin will turn white. We’ll grow fangs and live on nothing but blood and white worms.”

  Hours later, leaning against each other, they’d gone up the stairs in The Lion’s Arms, sleepily nuzzling and kissing. Behind the door, Nina heard Emmett scratching. “Poor Emmett. He feels neglected. He looks at me like, What the devil is going on, Nina? I run in, feed him, and run out. He’s used to lots more attention than that. Okay, Emmett,” she called softly. It was so late that even the guys on the floor below, who played reggae half the night, were quiet. “I should go in now,” she said.

  “And I should leave.” The next moment they began kissing again.

  Every night for a week she had gone to sleep thinking about Mitch, and awakened in the morning with his name in her head. She was in love. Loved him. Loved everything about him. Easy to love his eyes: deep, soft-brown, big eyes; dark irises; long, dark, deep eyelashes. And his hair: curly, thick, glossy, beautiful hair. “Mitch has beautiful hair,” she said to Sonia, just to say his name. She loved his hands, too, even the calluses on the base of his thumb. Loved his long, bony, intelligent feet, and his knobby knees, and the little pad of surprising baby fat around his waist. Skinny all over except for that one secret place.

  “You’re making a wreck of yourself, Nina,” Sonia went on, her voice lowering to a sorrowful motherliness. “Nobody can keep going on three hours sleep a night.”

  “You’re right. You’re right.” Except she was going on three hours or four hours of sleep. Maybe she’d never need more. Love would fuel her. A modern miracle. College Girl Amazes World, Never Sleeps More Than Three Hours. Another miracle: He loved her. Miracle of miracles? Said he loved everything about her. Looked at her legs (stumpy legs which she hated) and said, Adorable … love your legs, cute, solid little soldier legs….

  My legs? You fool. She had laughed with gratitude, shame, pleasure.

  “What time did you come in last night?” Sonia asked.

  “Don’t know. Three, I think.” She had been coming in late night after night. Or was it morning after morning? She yawned again, and her eyes teared.

  “Hon, you look like death warmed over.”

  “Don’t tell me, please!”

  Sonia herself looked fresh and rosy as she chewed an English muffin with appetite. “Lynell, wait, wait, I’m almost ready,” she called.

  A short while later, avoiding herself in the mirror, Nina pulled a comb through her hair and went out with knapsack slung hurriedly over her shoulder. The scaffold was gone: Mitch had finished the job two days ago. And now the house next door bloomed raspberry in the gray morning. What if she hadn’t gone into the sandwich shop that afternoon? Hadn’t met him? Had let it all slip through her fingers? Impossible thought. Didn’t everything happen the way it had to happen?

  Moving with less than her usual briskness through the tide of students, she thought that Sonia was right. She should really come in earlier, get a little more sleep. It was murderous trying to stay awake and alert all day on so little sleep. Later that day in the Poli Sci lecture hall she fell asleep sitting up, her chin propped in her hand, but only for a minute or so, and no one noticed.

  The night before, she and Mitch had talked about going to an early movie, bu
t then, instead, they had done exactly what they’d done on their first night and nearly all the other nights since: walked for hours, kissing and saying, What if? What if Mitch hadn’t taken that painting job (he’d had a choice)? What if she hadn’t worn Richie’s slicker inside out (this had given him his opening remarks to her)? What if, in fact, weeks earlier, Nina hadn’t accidentally gone into the music building, seen Lynell’s and Sonia’s notice for a roommate? It struck them with wonder that so many details had had to fall into place for them to meet.

  No, I’ve got to get in earlier, Nina told herself several times as the day wore on. She was tired. But later, instead of eating supper, she took a nap. And then, when she met Mitch, getting to sleep on time didn’t seem all that important.

  The clouded sky had cleared up. It was a warm, starry night, with a faint sharp smell of burning leaves in the air. They climbed the hill in Beaumont Park to the water tower and lay on the grass, arms around each other, Mitch’s sweater rolled up as a pillow. “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “Mmm.” She moved closer. “You?”

  “Not bad. We could go back to my place.”

  “I know. But it’s nice here.”

  “Not as private.” There were cars parked lower down, and other couples passed now and then. “Nina … don’t you want to make love?”

  “Yes … but not yet.”

  “Why?”

  “I want it to be—don’t laugh—”

  “I won’t.”

  “I want it to be right. Not something we do just for the hell of it.”

  “It wouldn’t be,” he protested. “You think I’m running around screwing any girl I can get my hands on?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  “I’m not worried, Mitch. It’s just a feeling I have … that it’s not time yet. But we’ll know when it is the time. Do you think that’s stupid?”

  “No, it’s not stupid. Don’t say that about yourself. As long as you want to—because I sure do!” And after a moment he added, “You’re strong. I knew you were strong the first time I saw you coming down the street. You can tell a lot from the way people walk. I knew you were connected, a person who’s hooked in. You don’t get confused.”

  She was flattered, but felt compelled to say truthfully enough, “I get confused lots of times. I’m not that clear about things. I wish I was.”

  “Are you clear about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “No doubts?”

  “None.”

  “How do you see me? Do you have an opinion about me?”

  “Of course!” She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I see you as someone—wonderful. You think about things. You have high ideals. You have principles. When you believe in something, you believe in it all the way.”

  “My God! Where did you get all those ideas about me?”

  “From the way you walk. You can tell a lot from the way someone walks.”

  “I’ll get you for that.” He bear-hugged her until she screamed, then released her and lay back with a smug smile. “Now tell me about my high principles and ideals.”

  “Well, look at the way you left college,” she said, still a little breathless. Her cheeks were burning. “When you told me, I first thought, Now, why didn’t Mitch go to school part-time and get a job part-time? That’s what I would have done. I mean, my mind works in a very practical way. But then I realized, No, that isn’t the way you are. When you get an idea, when you think something is right, you go for it all the way. And I admire that.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t cowardice? Maybe I was failing in school and ducking out to avoid all my problems.”

  “You were probably very smart in school.”

  “Not that smart.”

  “I bet you were always on the honor roll in high school.”

  “Does it show that much?”

  “So you weren’t failing in college, were you?” she pressed.

  “My marks were okay. It wasn’t the studying I couldn’t handle. It was thinking that I was avoiding real life. I’ve been sheltered and taken care of all my life, and there I was, going on twenty-one and still being sheltered.”

  Nina stared at him in amazement. She didn’t feel sheltered at all; on the contrary, for her, being in college reminded her of nothing so much as the time her father had thrown her into the water and told her to swim. She’d learned, but it hadn’t been easy. “Who said it would be?” her father had asked. “Is your family mad at you for quitting school?” she said.

  “Not mad exactly. More … disappointed. My father’s pretty certain it was a stupid thing to do. My mother doesn’t get mad at me, even when she should, but I know she wishes I’d go back to school. And what about you, Nina? Does it bother you that I’m a dropout? Because I know school is important to you.”

  She hugged him and rubbed her nose against his. “My own little dropout.”

  “You make me sound like a cookie.”

  “A chocolate chip dropout.” The silliness stifled an impulse to say, Yes, it does bother me a little that you’re a dropout. She thought it unworthy of her love to be doubtful about anything Mitch was, did, or said. She was going to get her degree, though. Nothing was going to stand in the way of that. “We’re very different. You think first, and then you act on your beliefs and what you’ve figured out. Whereas I don’t know if I even have beliefs, as such.”

  “Sure you do. Everybody does. Everybody thinks about things.”

  Nina shook her head. “No, I go by my feelings.… It’s not the same. I know the way I am. I want something and … I want it. Or I get mad about something—that’s why I’m in college. I didn’t think that through. It doesn’t make me proud. I just got mad at Mr. P., didn’t want him to put me down. I don’t admire myself for that.”

  “You’re wrong not to value your instincts,” he said. “That’s really what you’re talking about. Instincts. Spontaneity. That’s what I meant when I said you were in touch, connected.”

  Above them the stars burned in the sky. From below rose the sounds of cars and a dog barking. It wasn’t safe to stay in the park too late. Soon, Nina knew, they’d get up, find someplace to eat, maybe go to Mitch’s place for a while.

  They kissed for a long time. Almost in a dream, Nina remembered a moment, years ago, when she’d seen her mother playing with her baby brother, swinging him into the air, her face shining and a look so pure in her eyes that the little Nina had wanted to cry out in anguish.

  “Mitch, I love you,” she said against his lips. Had she been looking for someone to love—and in turn to love her—in that purehearted way ever since that day she’d seen her mother swinging her baby brother? She hadn’t even known she was searching, and yet now, hadn’t she found what she wanted and needed in Mitch?

  A few nights later, in Mitch’s apartment, they made love. It didn’t go well. Nina blamed herself; did it mean that she was not a warm, sexual person? It couldn’t be Mitch. She had tried to act joyous and ecstatic throughout, but in truth, whatever was supposed to happen hadn’t happened for her. And afterward, instead of being exultant, she was only conscious of her shoulders aching.

  “Not so good, huh?” Mitch said sadly.

  “I’m sorry … I guess I was kind of tense. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe I don’t know what to do so well,” he said. “I mean, for the girl and—”

  “No, no, I’m such a dope. I don’t know anything,” she wailed. And despite herself, the tears came. She sniffled angrily and wiped her eyes on the sheet.

  “Don’t cry, honey.” He held her. “You were wonderful. It’s not you. I’m not that smart about this. I haven’t—you know—had that much experience.…”

  “You haven’t? But I thought—”

  “No.”

  “I haven’t, either. I mean, the one time—it hardly counts.”

  “One time? But I thought—”

  “One time,” she said
, half angrily, half sniffling. “One time. One time!”

  “Geez,” he said, and looking at each other, they began laughing.

  Chapter Five

  Skeleton cutouts hung in the windows and crinkly orange and black crepe paper was draped over lamps and doorways. “Why are you washing dishes?” Nina said, poking her head into the kitchen.

  Sonia turned. “Isn’t it disgusting? As soon as I get around D.G., I go all domestic.”

  “Want a sip?” Nina held a paper cup of wine to Sonia’s lips. Mitch hadn’t come to the Halloween party thrown by D.G. and his roommates. “No, thanks, Nins,” he’d said. “Hanging out with that crowd? No thanks. But if you want to go—”

  “What crowd? What do you mean? You liked Sonia when you met her.”

  “I don’t mean Sonia, hon. It was her friend D.G. I didn’t warm up to.”

  “He’s really a sweet guy, Mitch. I know he’s a little stuffy, but—”

  “What bothers me about D.G. is that he’s such a typical business school type. He’ll definitely be a corporate executive, a vice president in charge of—of something. He’s already got the initials to go with the job.”

  One evening Nina and Mitch had met Sonia, D.G., Lynell, and Adam to drink beer and talk. Nina had had high hopes that they would like Mitch, and that he would like them.

  “Did you hear what he said his ambition is? To make a million before he’s thirty. Only he says, ‘a mil.’ ‘I’m going to make a mil before I’m thirty.’ Come on, now! Is that all there is to life? And what if he doesn’t make his mil? Does that mean he’s a, quote, Failure, unquote?”

  Not answering, Nina had rubbed the back of Mitch’s neck. Why so vehement about D.G.? Possibly because making money was what Mitch’s family wanted him to do?