~ Not Your Everyday Housewife ~

by

Mary Campisi

Life was funny. Sometimes, the most outrageous possibilities turned out to be not so farfetched.

Like now, for example. What were the odds that three, middle-aged women would be imagining their lives in altered, totally different circumstances? What started out as over the top fun, with a few exaggerated gestures and accented speech patterns, soon had Cyn wondering what it would be like to change her life, to have a naked canvas once more where she could be anything she wanted. And erase the last five months.

The Great Do-Over, as Derry called it. Shea wouldn’t play the game. She said her life was right on track, exactly where she wanted it and there wasn’t a thing she’d change, not even the gray hair poking through her scalp.

Doubtful.

Cyn toyed with Sophia Loren’s accent, swept a hand through her hair in a slow, sensuous motion which got the attention of Todd, the Mickey Mouse waiter, who had just returned with more Diet Cokes and another scotch neat.

“It’s the accent,” Cyn said, after the flustered and blushing waiter backed away from the table.

“You sound like Zsa Zsa Gabor,” Derry said. “Drop your voice a little.”

“How’s this?”

“Sophia, what big eyes you have.”

“Thank you.”

“And what big... hair, you have.”

Another laugh. “Ah, yes, it’s the olive oil and garlic I massage into it. Don’t you love the smell?”

“Deeeeeevine.” Derry threw herself into a perfect Liz imitation. “And, Sophia, pardon my saying, but what big tits you have.”

“This is ridiculous.” Shea frowned, crossed her arms over her chest. “You two are acting like children.”

“Mickey Mouse boy doesn’t think we are.” Derry pointed to their waiter who stood by the kitchen gawking at Cyn. “Sophia’s got an admirer.”

“Oh, for goodness sake.”

“Okay, Shea, we’re done.” Cyn straightened in her chair and cleared her throat. “Just us, right Derry?”

“Imagine.” Derry’s voice vibrated between them. “Imagine if we could just start over. Be anybody, go anywhere, do anything–”

“That’s called a fairytale.”

“Shea, you have no sense of adventure.”

“I’m forty-one with two college tuitions to pay, a full time plus job with a supervisor I can’t stand, a body that jiggles, sags and puckers like a deflating balloon, a garage full of real estate signs and flyers, and maybe, just maybe, a baby on the way. So, no, right now, I have no sense of adventure. Zero. And I wish you two would just lay off and”–her voice wobbled–“let me be who I am.” The tears started then, huge drops spilling down her face, her chin, into her Diet Coke.

“Shea.” Cyn reached for her hand, covered it with her own. “We didn’t mean it. We were just playing.”

“I wasn’t.” Derry sipped her scotch and said, “I want a Do-Over. I’m thirty-nine and if I don’t take it now, when will I get it? When will any of us get it?”

“Come on, Derry. You can’t just leave your family,” Cyn said. “They’re not paper towels you use and throw in the trash.”

“I know exactly who they are.” She paused to enunciate, “Father and son.”

“Who need their wife and mother,” Cyn added.

“Right.”

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

“One month, that’s all. I’ll pay. It won’t cost either of you a penny.” Her eyes glistened. “Let’s go away, anywhere, just the three of us.”

“What purpose could it possibly serve?” Doubting Shea piped in between sniffs.

“Who knows? Maybe it’ll be nothing more than a grand vacation, away from husbands, children, good God, life. Or, it could turn out to be so much more.”

“Like?” Shea again.

“Like maybe you’ll find a tiny crack in a window and you’ll look through it and see what your life could really be like. A Do-Over, Shea. A Great Do-Over, starring the three of us.” And then a big smile split Derry’s face. “Just think of us as the Marilyn, Sophia and Liz wannabees.”

“No thanks.”

“Haven’t you ever done something just for the heck of it?”

“No.” Shea’s hazel eyes narrowed on Derry as though she was from Mars. “You’re not even being practical, Derry. Who would take care of our families? Cyn’s got two daughters in high school and a husband.”

“For God’s sake, Shea, it’s only a month.”

“Families fall apart in half that time.” She sat up straighter, ran a hand through her thick hair. “Teenagers are the worst.”

“You just shipped Kirsten and Kyle off to school. All you’ve got is Richard.”

“He needs me.” Shea’s voice slipped.

“Cyn? What about you?”

“I can’t, Derry. How would I justify it? The girls are running in a hundred different directions and Sam’s starting a new project in North Carolina soon.” She let out a squeak of a laugh. “Husbands aren’t much better than kids, I guess.”

“Kids so busy they can’t even remember your birthday, can they, Cyn?” Derry threw her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair. “You know, even if we never actually went, it would’ve been nice to know the two of you thought enough of yourselves to consider it.” She stood and worked her arms through her jean jacket. “I’ve gotta go, sorry about the lunch.” She slammed three tens on the table. “Happy Birthday, Cyn. Call me when you pick up the Kitchen Maid.”

She turned and wove her way to the entrance, sidestepping tables of toddlers with balloons tied to their highchairs and blue haired women crunching Heart Smart salads. Then she was gone, blasting out of the huge double doors, her black head bobbing to Steppenwolf’s, Born to be Wild.