Ei Mihi, Difficile est Imitari Gaudia Falsa, Difficile est Tristi Fingere Mente Iocum
 

LANGLY:

I go for raspberry tea this time. That mint stuff gets a bit much after a while.

Did seem to settle my stomach a little, though. Have to tell Ally about it. She's nauseous a lot lately. Says it's part of having a baby, not to worry about it.

Like I could help it.

I don't know if I'm worried about Joanie or not. It's like, I am, but I think I'm mostly worried about myself.

What I'll be like when I don't have her anymore.

She seems like she's made up her mind.

Lots of people talk about dying with dignity. But when it's somebody you love, and that's their wish, and they're being so fucking rational about it, you just want to scream.

And do anything humanly possible and maybe impossible.

She's got her eyes closed when I come back in. I wonder if she fell asleep.

We're a pale group, us Langlys, but we got nothing on what color she looks like now. She's dead white. Maybe it's the green sweater. She's got on these black velvet pants and a bright green sweater.

She wore this Christmas day. And it's May, and it's warm. She's freezing.

"Ringo, first of all, whatever I tell you, I want you to know, you're my baby brother, and I love you."

This is sort of a creepy intro, actually.

"Things are going to get very bad, very soon, Ringo."

Well, duh! My sister's dying. How much worse does it get?

"I believe Roy is very much at the center of it." Once again, no emotion.

I think she overestimates him. I mean, he's probably got a part, to be sure-he's a fairly powerful asshole. But at the center of it? Roy? Hey, he's not that bright.

I mean, he's a fucking lawyer. Never had a real job.

"I think more than Roy, Chris is involved."

My fucking nephew? That little pompous shit? I ought to take him out back and whip his silly little ass.

"I've heard Chris talking to Julie...talking about a 'new order.'

Look, we knew that. It's our job, me and Fro and Byers, to know that.

But this thing about Chris...I think she's got delusions of grandeur about her son. He's only 25, for one thing. To think he could be doing anything...

And what the fuck was I doing at 25?

Spending a taxpayer subsidized vacation at Lompoc CC...

Guess you can do stuff when you're young.

I did.

But, and I mean this sounds real arrogant and stuff, but I think I'm a LOT brighter than my nephew. Sorry. I mean, everybody thinks he's hot stuff just 'cause he's got an MBA.

Any lame fucker can get an MBA.   I bet I could get one with my eyes closed.

I'd like to see what that brat could do with Fibonacci's paradox. Twist his little brain into circles he never even thought of. Give him a few Diophantine equations to work.

Bet the little shit never even got the Pythagorean theorem down, which most eighth-graders have no trouble with.

No, I don't think it's them at the heart of it all. Sorry, Joanie. You're family's not that killer. I mean, Julie's a brainy kid and all...but I don't trust her. She hasn't been e-mailing me much...I'm seriously wondering if she's gone over to the dark side.

But I'm not gonna bug Joanie with all my shit right now. She doesn't need it She doesn't deserve it.

There is some stuff I wanna see, though. I wanna see if she's got any pictures of me and her and Scott and Mom and Dad.

I ask her this, she looks a little surprised, but says she'll get them.

I don't think so. I tell her to just tell me where they are. She seems kind of grateful and she sinks back in the sofa cushions. Jo has a real comfy sofa. Even better than ours, and ours is real nice.

They're in her room. I know this sounds sort of freaky, but I've never been in her room at Jo's. No reason to.

I'm kind of surprised that it's such a mess. I mean, Joanie's house was always like perfect. Course, Roy seemed to think that not having a neat house made Joanie some kind of pagan or something, so I think she always tried real hard to keep it going. And later on, she did have a maid.

I got to get one for Ally, or pretty soon we're gonna drown in our own mess. Ally's not the greatest housekeeper, but at least when she does it, you can sort of see the floor again.

I haven't seen the floor all week.

There's still tons of stuff in boxes. Well, not tons, but we like had to get it out of there fast and we just sort of threw stuff in. So it takes me a while to look for what I want, but on the fifth box, I strike pay dirt.

Photo albums. Three of them.

I'm tempted to go through them myself, but Joanie might get mad if I stay up in her room by myself, so I take them back downstairs. Maybe she'd like to see them, too.

She shows me which one comes first. There's pictures of my mom and dad in England, where my mom's from, and where she met my dad.

She was a pretty girl. Blonde, of course. Both my mom and dad are blondes. Where do you think I got this coloring?

My dad looks a lot like me. Shorter hair, but the face is the same. And what's real funny is, so are the glasses. He was blind like me.

Then there's pictures of them when they get married and come back to the U.S. I didn't even know they got married in England. We never talked about it. But they did, and the church they got married in, it was real small, but old and pretty. Stained glass in the windows. Wish these pics were in color.

Wonder what my dad thinks that I got married by a rabbi. Probably nothing. Things like that didn't mean anything to him.

And then there's pictures of when they come to the States, pictures of the house they bought near Fort Detrick. Baby pics of Joanie. She was cute. I mean, I hope if it's a girl, it looks like Ally, but I suppose it can look like Joanie if that doesn't work out. She had white hair and she looked like a real happy kid.

She's a little older, and then there's baby pics of Scott. Scott, the great unknown to me. Once again, white hair, not so cheery looking as Joanie, but not real unhappy, either. Looks like he was a tall skinny dude, too. Three of us, we all run true to type.

Lots of pics when Joanie and Scott are little. Then they get a little fewer...and fewer...instead of like pages of pictures for a year, it's more like a page for years and years...

I don't see a baby pic of me until the third album, which I think was Joanie's, not my folks. At first I think it's Scott, but it's dated '63, and Scott was born in '51. Typical Langly kid, white hair, skinny.

Wonder what mine's gonna look like. I keep hoping it's got Ally's red hair. And her nose. She has a way better nose than me.

Joanie kept my class group pictures...I'm always in the back row, being one of the tallest kids. Ally used to get so mad because she was always the shortest one in her class.

I seem to look less happy each year. By the time I'm eleven, I pretty much stop smiling.

And then my dad dies...no pictures that year. She's got one of me when I'm thirteen, I started growing my hair then...I look like shit.

Last one she's got when I was younger was when I was fifteen and it was my high school graduation picture. God, it sucked. Photo's been airbrushed, but you can tell I had acne and I was uglier than sin.

And then, in the last pages, are wedding pictures from me and Ally. I sort of laugh, because Ally's hair is like superflaming and I've got this huge purple nose, but it's the first time I see myself look happy since I was real small. Everybody's laughing in these pictures. It's great.

Course, when Eleanor puts on a party, you don't have a good time, you got nobody to blame but yourself. It was a GREAT wedding. Eleanor's final bash.

I'd like to think that if there is an afterlife, and I do doubt this possibility a lot, but if there is, she's bashing it up somewhere. And all the drinks are free.

We look at the albums for a long time, I tell her I'll take them back up.

"Ringo. Take them with you."

Oh God. She really knows the end is coming.

I don't want to think about this.

"What if you want to look at 'em sometime?"

"Little one, they're of more use to you than me now."

She isn't going to give me a chance to back down on this, is she?

"Joanie...what if I found a way that you could get rid of what you have, and live like you were never sick?"

I expect her to laugh at me, but she just smiles and shakes her head. "Ringo, you're not a child anymore. Please. There is nothing. Were that a possibility, I'd seize it. But it's not. You have to live with that."

Don't tell me what I have to live with...

"I've got only one regret."

"What's that?"

"I wanted to live to see you become a father. I don't think that's going to happen, little one. But I would have liked that. I think you'll be a very good one, too."

That remains to be seen. Nice to get a vote of confidence, though.

"It's February. It's not that far off." Only about a million miles away.

She looks at me, real gentle. Real faraway. "Ringo, every day, I get a little weaker. I know it. It's getting harder to move and breathe. I need more pain medication this week than I did last. I can barely eat anything. Don't fool yourself into thinking that a miracle will happen here. It will, but not in this form."

Then in what form?! Huh?

"And Ringo?"

"Yeah?"

She gets this evil gleam in her eye, and I know she means she's gonna whip my ass...

"You tell my kids this, I will kill you."

"I'm not gonna say anything to them." God, they barely talk to me.

"Good. Because the last thing I need is to have the minions over here, praying over me for a divine healing. You know, Roy always says that God speaks directly to him, tells him what to do. I always figured I was a lesser being because when I pray, all I hear is to have patience...have faith...believe...find peace." She looks real tired now. "Believe me, all those healings you see? They're staged. Trust me on this one."

Hell, I KNEW that.

She looks a little bit evil, even if she's totally beat. "I believe in the power of prayer. It's just a lot more subtle than you think it is."

Well, Joanie, whatever works for you.

"You need anything?"

She sort of shakes her head, and she wheezes again. I think I better go. She looks like she's beat.

"Just come back and talk to me, Ringo. I wasn't going to tell you, but now you know, and since you do, come and talk to me about it. I'm still scared, you know."

She's not the only one.
 

FROHIKE:

I thought about going into the offices, trying to catch up on work that never seems to get caught up on...but then I had a better idea.

Eventually, the kids will come home.

What will keep them quiet and happy?

In the case of my children, one answer is reliable.

Food.

After a brief visit with CyberButtercup, a tasty blonde flower being featured on SmutNet today, I make a dash for the Safeway.

Of course, once I get there, I'm utterly baffled as to what to make. Is Leslie allergic to anything? Is she a vegetarian? What does she dislike?

My own child, and I know nothing of her.

It's easy with Michael. Michael will eat anything save for broccoli and cabbage. Pickiness is not one of his attributes, certainly not in the area of dining.

And Leslie was willing to have breakfast at the Greeks, which, in my opinion, shows either a total lack of taste or a great deal of intestinal fortitude.

What to do? What will please the lady's palate?

She put milk in her coffee, which demonstrates no dairy allergies. At least at the Greeks you get real half and half, not the petroleum based whitener you get in some other so-called quality establishments.

And she had cream cheese on her bagel. I found it a bit odd that she would order both waffles and a bagel on the side, but then again, I was never one to stand much on ceremony where food combinations are concerned.

You live for years on C-Rats, anything looks good.

I move through the aisles, doing battle with the other Saturday afternoon shoppers, of which there are many. No wonder we usually go late at night. This is nervewracking. I nearly have my balls deflated by a charging six-year-old who's become bored with the pace at which his parents are moving.

I feel like scolding the little monster, then I remember how awful Leslie and Michael were in the store when they were little, and I feel momentarily chastened. Sometimes, try as you might, you can't keep them in line.

I think about how many unlisted items we used to end up when we reached the cash lines...comic books, chocolate, cereal that was sweet enough to make your teeth ache and would arouse the ire of Jan, two flavors (minimum) of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish, ice cream...and I'd always say yes. It was easier to deal with Jan's irritation than that of my two children. At least with Jan it would be in the privacy of our own home; with the kids, it could quickly become a public spectacle.

I like to think of myself as a man who has his priorities straight.

Such as making a good dinner. Happy is he who dines well. No matter how destitute we Frohikes become, we manage to eat like kings. Sometimes this is at other people's expense, but even in lean budget times, we do all right.

I'm thinking cheese souffle. With a salad of baby greens and garlic vinegarette...perhaps some fresh bread from the bakery...and my proudest specialty, a raspberry pie. With vanilla ice cream, of course.

Yes, this will do nicely.

I stock up on the necessary ingredients for this project, but I remember to throw in some Goldfish as well.

Two kinds. For the kids, of course.
 

BYERS:

"Are you sure it's really necessary for you to go to New Jersey? Couldn't you conduct your investigation from here?"

I'm being utterly ridiculous now, but it suggests the level to which my anxiety has risen.

The nearest I remember my blood pressure being this off the charts was when Juliet took off for Michigan after her ill-fated proposal to me.

Why didn't I just say yes and be done with it? It would save me from agonizing over the decision, not to mention how to do it, when to do it, etc.

Juliet chuckles. "John, it won't be for that long, honest. Do you seriously think I could stand to be away from you for that long?"

I feel somewhat relieved at hearing her say this. She's not doing this to get away from me.

On a rational level, I'm aware that she is doing her job.

"And I'd miss Tivvy."

On an emotional level, I feel...abandoned.

If the three of us, Langly, Frohike, and myself, have a single factor in common, it's our fear of abandonment. We are all terrified at being alone. I think this is why we lived like college roommates for so long. It seems ridiculous to think of three grown men needing each other's constant company, but until others began to make their way into our lives, all we had was one another. And we clung to each other for dear life, even through all the arguments, the lack of money, the near-death experiences...

I think we can safely thank Mulder for most of the near-death experiences. Give credit where credit is due.

"I'll take good care of Tivvy," I promise, as I stroke her soft fur. She purrs appreciatively.

"John, the last thing I worry about is you not taking good care of Tivvy. My God, that cat is totally spoiled!"

"How can you say that?" I ask, as I set the cat down and head for the refrigerator to open a half pint of cream.

She points to the container in my hand. "I rest my case."

"She's thirsty!"

"Uh-huh. And she can't drink lowfat milk like you and me, no sir. Only the best for the children."

Something about that remark brings back an unwanted thought...from last night...

"Uh, Juliet? I don't think...I remembered protection last night."

This brings a gale of laughter from her. "John, you worry too much. I just finished my period, which means my chances of getting knocked up are pretty minimal." Then she turns to me and places one finger on my lower lip and brushes it gently, a gesture I find intensely erotic...

"And besides, would it be so bad?"

I don't care to answer that right now, thank you very much.

But I do need to make a trip to the market. I have a shopping list for tonight.
 

FROHIKE:

I can hear voices in the hall, and one of them I readily recognize as my son's.

They're ba-a-a-a-ck!

"Nice of you to drop by," I tell them. I'm heavily involved in grating sharp Cheddar. California, not Wisconsin. Aged 9 months.

"Well, considering who drove, you should consider yourself lucky to see us," Leslie tosses her hair.

"Hey, bitch! Next time you walk!" Michael shoots back at her.

Kelly is laughing at all this. She smiles at me like, how do you put up with them?

Much as I love them, I'm grateful they don't both live here.

I would've had my second heart attack by now. Probably working on my third. Throw in a stroke for good measure.

"We tried to get Michael some decent clothes, but NO! He won't listen to us!" Leslie's throwing dagger glances his way.

"Hey, you wear what you like, I'll wear what I like, thank you!"

And on it goes.

But in between all the bickering, all the carrying on, the name-calling, is something else.

They seem to be establishing some form of communication. Granted, it' crude, it's unsophisticated, and at best, very fragile.

But it's there.

I may do something I never expected myself to do tonight.

I will encourage Michael to go out with Kelly.

I don't care if they want to fuck like rabbits...I just want some time with my daughter. Alone.

She's leaving tomorrow.

Will she come back?

Well, maybe after she tries my cheese souffle...

END OF PART 17