Friday morning. Becca strolled to the campus center café to let her mind wander and wake up. She wasn’t looking forward to the coming weekend. Spring break was two weeks away. Midterm exams were coming next week. She'd been procrastinating on a research paper.
Marisol had stopped wanting to have sex. She was acting distant and moody. Becca could usually open her up after they shared an edible or took a bath together, but Marisol was determined to stay sober and took a solo shower instead. Becca feared that the economics classes were changing Marisol into a cost-benefit robot.
Becca’s mind had been racing when Reva texted about Jules going missing. Even though it was only an hour or two. She couldn’t fathom her life without Grandpa Jules there on the periphery, even if she only saw him every two months or so.
Through the second-floor window of the café, Becca gazed out at the quiet campus. She sipped from the paper cup. Black coffee. Her mom would be living with her grandpa for a while. Putting her own life on hold, something that Becca couldn’t quite believe, but also understood. It was time. For at least a few months, the three of them would be in the same state again. Neve would visit at some point, crossing the desert.
Becca planned to study for the midterm, then collect more notes and write more of the research paper. She’d meet Marisol for a walk at 12:30 then leave by one. She munched on a pumpkin muffin. She needed to get gas and car snacks, which would hold her over until she made it up to the house in Santa Barbara. After a few hours at the library, Becca and Marisol met and they walked through the oaks and sycamores bordering campus. Marisol started the conversation.
“I know I’ve been busy,” she said, kicking a rock to the side of the path. “I have to get a good grade on this Econ mid-term, and I’m kinda tired of pot.” She looked up at Becca to gauge her reaction.
“It’s fine,” Becca said. “I get it. I need to make sure I’m on top of everything, too. Feels like this semester, everything’s more serious. Like the stakes have been raised,” Becca said.
“Junior year coming soon,” Marisol added. “College moves too fast.”
Becca stopped walking and held her arms out. Marisol stopped, turned and walked into Becca’s embrace. Marisol moved in to kiss Becca. Their lips met and they made out for a minute, holding each other’s heads, and Becca running her hands through Marisol’s gorgeous black hair. Then, despite a flood of desire, Becca restrained herself.
“I have to get up to Santa Barbara this weekend. My grandpa needs help. My mom just flew in and she’s going to live with him for a little while.” Becca sighed. “I’m afraid my Grandpa isn’t fully there anymore.” Becca’s voice trembled.
“Damn…” Marisol responded. “My grandma is like that. My mom can’t take it. Can’t adjust. I guess you just enjoy the time you have. Try not to hold too tight to who they were, but kinda impossible to do that, though,” Marisol shook her head.
Becca nodded. “I love him.”
Three hours later, Becca drove up Maple Avenue. Becca pulled into the driveway and parked. Reva came out to greet her. As they hugged, Becca noticed the bags under Reva’s eyes. She hadn’t slept well. “You okay, Mom?” she asked. “I will be, eventually,” Reva replied. “Let’s go in and take a nap.”
Becca brought her bags in. Overnight duffel, school backpack and a brown paper bag from the deli. Three sandwiches: Italian for Jules, turkey club for Reva, and a vegetarian on rye with avocado for herself. Becca walked into the hallway and peeked into Jules’ bedroom. He was asleep on his back, chest rising and falling peacefully. She cleaned up in the bathroom and then curled up next to her mom on the bed.
Reva was reading a collection of Chekov’s short stories. “Uh-oh, mom. Chekov? Don’t you think this situation calls for something a bit lighter? Less brutally realistic?” Reva smiled. “You know me. Always diving into the existential and lonely truths. The somber Russians felt appropriate. The literature of our ancestors.”
“Okay. I get it. Still, I’ll find you a nice collection of essays,” Becca added.
Reva explained that they’d both been on edge for the first night or two, but now, about a week in, they’d developed a routine. Morning walks. Lunch. Quiet time. Reva kept up with her emails and had an occasional zoom meeting. Late afternoons on the back porch on the warmer days. Reva made appetizers before a light dinner while they listened to some of Jules’ favorites from the 1970s and 80s.
Becca passed out while Reva read.
Hours later, Jules and Becca were sipping lemonade at the table. Reva was chopping vegetables for a Greek salad. Jules was thrilled to see her, but she could tell he wasn’t quite sure what questions to ask. Jules seemed to know she had a girlfriend, but forgot Marisol’s name. He knew she was studying psychology, but forgot about the neuroscience. He seemed fuzzier than usual when she tried to bring him up to speed.
Reva came over with the salad. They unwrapped their sandwiches. Jules said, “Ooh!” as he took half of the sub, noticed the green slices of pepperoncini and chomped into the salty meats. Reva and Becca grinned at each other.
Becca announced that Alexa should play Bob Marley as they ate. Soon, they heard Bob’s familiar wail in “Redemption Song.”
As she bit into a creamy slice of avocado, Becca considered how trapped Jules might have felt within his mind. As he wiped sourdough crumbs from the edges of his mouth, Jules thought about how Reva needed to escape her own worried mind. As she chewed the turkey, bacon and thinly-sliced tomato and pickle, Reva considered the ways in which “emancipate” could apply to so many people in various ways, but how Marley was speaking to oppressed people all over the world, encouraging them to transcend the mental barriers that came with decades of colonialism and racist ideology. Mental slavery indeed. Our own minds can imprison us.
After dinner, they each had a drink. Jules poured a whiskey for himself. Reva sliced the lemon pound cake she’d baked the day before. Becca and Reva each had a glass of Moscato. Reva went over to the computer and then The Police’s “Walking on the Moon” filled the living room. As they sipped, Becca took Jules’ hand in hers. The two began to slowly spin around the room, arms around each other. Jules laughed and said, “Take it easy on me!” Becca motioned Reva to come over.
They danced to Gordon Sumner’s voice, filled with an eerie combination of joy and melancholy: “Let’s hope my legs don’t break. Walking on the Moon. We could walk forever. Walking on the Moon. We could live together. Walking on the moon.”
As the wine took effect, Reva’s mind unwound like a ball of yarn, somehow containing synapses and electrical impulses. Jules needed a break. He went over to the glass of whiskey and sipped it, sitting at the dining table, realizing a grin had taken over his face. Becca poured herself another glass of wine. An hour later, after more living room dancing, Jules suggested they all take a walk before dark.
“Okay, Grandpa! But just around the block this time. No craziness.” said Becca.
“Just around the block. Another walk before your mother moves me into a home,” Jules winked at his granddaughter.
