Elise Ch 05

"Elise," Chapter 5 -- no sex

Sandy

That night, I texted Rachel that my first meeting with Elise had gone well -- in fact, could not have gone better. I gave her no more detail than that, since she had made it clear she did not want to know, and I knew it would be sensible for her to have as little information as possible.

Zirconia's next home volleyball match was the next Wednesday, so that gave me time to think about and plan for our next meeting. I wanted to gather a little intelligence on my own, so I spent the weekend researching Elise and her family using publicly available records.

It appeared that Ross, her Dad, still worked in San Francisco during the week. He was 49, a fund manager with one of the biggest firms in the Bay Area. I found his photo on the company's website, and an address for an apartment there where he was the resident of record. I don't like to judge people by photos alone, but from his appearance he did seem like a bit repressed-looking to me. After going through what was available, I was left with not being able to understand why a father would be willing to work that far from home on a long-term basis like that, being away from his wife and children most of the time. I was uncertain whether he was actually better off financially for doing this, since rent alone for his San Francisco apartment had to represent major additional overhead for a second dwelling. That kind of arrangement just made little sense to me; of course, I had always been a devoted family man, close to my wife and daughter, and would have, without a thought, sacrificed that type of work situation in exchange for less money but much more time at home.

Elaine, Elise's mother, was 43 and a nurse at a local hospital. There wasn't a lot about her in the public record, but I struck gold in that she did have a Facebook account on which she occasionally posted. Her postings indicated that nursing was the most important part of her life. There were a lot of photos of her and fellow nurses, as well as her with a few patients and an occasional doctor. I scrolled back through her timeline as far as it went, and I saw mention of very few friends, and literally nothing about her family except a few photos taken at her son Brett's high school and college graduations. It seemed to me that those were the only two family-related events during the entire period of her timeline that she deemed important enough to mention to her virtual friends.

I considered how unfortunate this was, and I felt sad for Elise -- and for her mother. I had now met the daughter, experiencing firsthand how enjoyable it was to interact with her. It was beyond mystifying to me that her mother -- probably both parents, for that matter -- were clueless about what a delightfully lively and interesting daughter they had, and that they were, from all indications, missing all or most of their opportunities to really get to know this intriguing young lady living right under their roof. I wondered if, apart from my admittedly prurient designs on Elise, there was also a role I could play to help provide some of the adult interaction, outside of her school environment, she was missing out on with them.

Elise's brother Brett had graduated from the University of Washington, and from what I could gather, had found employment and stayed in Seattle afterward. Being so young and no doubt just getting established, there was not a lot of information on him. He had Facebook and Instagram pages, but they were not well populated. I saw a couple of photos of him and Elise together, and a few at college with classmates or friends, but not a lot else.

Online, I found the Madrigals' address on Lark Lane, which I knew to be in a fashionably upscale, established part of town, a couple of miles north of the high school. I naturally wondered why Elise walked such a distance to and from school every day, if indeed she did, as almost all children that age living in such circumstances would certainly drive a car of their own.

On Monday, after Elise would have left for school, I drove over and checked out her house and the neighborhood, gaining no particularly fresh insights. The neighborhood was about the best you'd find in town, though more established, consisting of large ranch and two-story brick homes like Elise's, well kept, with large attached garages and, accordingly, very few vehicles parked on the street.

***************

Wednesday's game was another 4pm start over at Zirconia, so I again got a little walk in on my way to the gym. I was hoping to have another relaxing walk back, the first part of it in Elise's company, and hopefully celebrating a victory this time.

Not long after getting seated, I again studied Elise as she was doing her pre-game stretching. Not long after I started focusing on her, she noticed me. We made eye contact, she giving me a shy smile and a slight nod, and I giving her a little wave.

Before long, the match was underway. The opponent was from a smaller school in the next county, and it was clear from the start that this time, the Zephyrs were the taller, quicker, and better squad. The one-sided nature of the match gave me a good chance to observe Elise almost the entire time. Again she was all over the place, blocking, digging, and hustling right until the end, her short ponytail flopping as she did. It was clear that this was the way she played, no matter the level of opposition or the score: all out at all times, ultra-competitive. Again, I saw that there were a couple of Zirconia players who were better athletes, could jump higher, hit harder, and so forth, but none gave more effort than the tall, lean, attractive girl wearing number 25 in red and white, who was slowly capturing my imagination.

The Zephyrs made short work of the opposition, winning in three straight sets. A short time after the match, Elise emerged from the locker room, with nearly the same get-up as on Friday. Again she wore a nice white shirt, and this time a fashionable tan and green plaid skirt.

She walked toward me, and we smiled at one another. I held my right hand up for a high-five, but instead of returning the gesture, she surprised me by coming in right up to me for a hug. It's a good thing I'd been a hugger all my life, or that might have been a little awkward to me, but I gratefully leaned to her, briefly embracing her before separating. She held both my hands in hers for a moment, beaming at me, saying "That was better, wasn't it?"

I deadpanned right back at her, "What, the game or the hug?"

"Well, both, I'd say," she came right back at me, still beaming.

As we started slowly walking out of the gym, I countered, "I can't argue with that. The team really took care of business today. And my favorite member of that team just made an old man pretty happy."

***************

Elise

I don't know why I went to hug Sandy. It was an impulsive thing, and I don't usually do that. But after a rough and tense start to our season, it was nice to have a laugher for a change.

The thing is, I don't get hugs. My family isn't into it. They're very much of the mind that I'm my own person and can manage on my own, unless I tell them I can't for some reason. They've forced me to function on my own and take care of my own needs as much as possible. And apparently to them that includes emotionally; hugs and affection don't really enter into it. I love my parents and my brother, and I know they love me in the ways they can, but I guess it's a different kind of love than you'd find in some other households.

Despite Sandy telling me I had just made an "old man" pretty happy, I still found a need to make sure it was OK. After a chuckle at his comment, I turned serious, quietly asking him, "You don't think it's funny I wanted to hug you? I hope you didn't mind -- don't want it to be weird or anything."

"No, my dear," he replied, equally seriously. "I most assuredly didn't mind. I love hugs. Always have. In fact, I seek them out because they give me a good feeling inside. It's that human connection, I think. And I consider it an honor that a wonderful young lady like you would want to hug me after knowing me so short a time."

I smiled, and I'm sure I blushed a little. "I don't know how wonderful I am. But I DO know that you're NOT an old man. Or if you are, you're the coolest old man I know, except for my Grandpa Jeff. And a hug just seemed right at the moment. I don't get that many. So, when I meet someone I like, it just feels natural."

Sandy immediately responded. "Elise, before we head out of here, I want to make sure you know that I'm dead serious about what I'm about to say. From all I can see, you ARE a wonderful young lady with just a terrific life ahead of you. Let me review just what I'm sure of so far: You are your own person. You are articulate, unafraid to engage someone older and more experienced than you as an equal. You are competitive and you love to win, which I interpret to mean that you love being successful in whatever you do -- AND you will no doubt be successful in whatever you endeavor because of that. You take good care of yourself. You have a sense of style that very few I've seen in your generation have. You are unfailingly polite and well-mannered. And, last but not least, all of this makes you extremely attractive -- inside and out."

I shook my head as he was telling me all this. And then, feeling the tears come, I was shocked to realize that I was going to cry right then and there. I covered my eyes for a moment, and with a shaky voice, I said, "I think I need to sit down for a minute. Can we go sit over there?", pointing to the bleachers.

"Of course," he said. We walked over to sit down. "Gee, sweetie, I didn't mean to make you cry." He placed his arm over my shoulder and gently brought my head towards him. I buried my head in his neck and rested there for a moment, hiding my face from view. Thinking he had messed up somehow, he said softly, "I'm so sorry. Please tell me what I did."

I interrupted my light sobbing with a little chortle, and then raised my head up and back, looking at him. "Silly. All you did was pay me the sweetest, most outrageous set of compliments I've ever gotten. I apologize for reacting like a big baby, but if you know how seldom I ever get complimented --." Still looking at him, I had to smile and shake my head.

He regarded me with a tender look. "Now Elise baby, every single thing I said, I meant. It's really hard for me to believe that people don't tell you this stuff all the time. Please tell me you do get SOME compliments."

Recovering and drying the last of my tears, I replied, "Well, I do get some, mostly from my teachers. Probably not as many as I should get, mostly because I hate calling attention to myself, so I don't exactly solicit them."

"OK, I get that. But damn, what about your parents? Other relatives? Friends? People who know you the best?"

I stared straight ahead for a few seconds, then took a big calming breath. "I'll tell you about that, but let's start walking, OK?"

"Sure. Let's go." I picked up my duffel bag, and we clambered off the bleachers and headed toward the gym door. It had felt so good being complimented like that, particularly by someone I had just met the previous week who didn't have to do that. But it had also felt good being consoled, him just letting me cry, giving me a minute to run through some emotions I didn't think I even had. I don't cry all that much, but one thing was for certain: at home, I'd never find the genuine sympathy and understanding that I saw in this kind man.

Once outside, we started the trek past the parking lot to the road in front of the school. I began, "Well, I don't really have any real friends. I suppose it's because I don't go out of my way to find them. You have to remember that like everyone else, I've gone to school with people my age as long as I can remember, and I've always observed them closely. Most of them have always seemed so childish, and I've never been one to act childish. I suppose I didn't feel like being childish just to win them over as friends."

"But dear," he interjected softly, "you WERE a child. Being childish is what children do. It's expected. No one would have held it against you."

I nodded. "Sure. No one outside my family, that is. But you have to understand how I've grown up. I've done for myself from a really early age. I remember sometimes having to get my breakfast in the morning when I was 5 years old, first starting school. Make my lunch, too. I just did it -- did it because it needed to be done, and if I didn't, for all I knew I'd just go without. And if I complained about something, all I'd get from my parents or my brother is 'Aw, grow up, will you?', or something like that. After a few times, I got tired of hearing that, and started feeling like I was imposing on the more important things they were into, so I just shut up and quietly went about my business. I learned that in my family, the less you bothered anyone, the nicer things were, and the more they left you alone. So I always just tried to be invisible, not cause any problems, and not get anyone mad at me."

He stopped suddenly and looked at me, dead serious. "Elise, I have to know this. Were you abused as a child? Have you ever been abused?"

I smiled thinly. "Aw, no, nothing like that. No one ever lifted a hand to me, that I can remember. No one really ever said much to me, either. None of them really cared enough to. It's more that I was just left to fend for myself. Neglected, I guess you'd say. As long as I didn't inconvenience anyone, I remained pretty anonymous in my own home. Everyone else had their lives, even my brother who was five years older than me, and obviously didn't want me tagging along with him everywhere, and no one included me unless it was something I needed but couldn't get for myself, like doctor's visits or something like that." I gave a small, bitter chuckle. "I guess I was fortunate I was always in good health. If I'd ever been really sick, in the hospital, or something like that, no telling how much they'd have been inconvenienced by having to take care of me."

I guess the little cry in the gym just now had loosed something in me, because all of a sudden I wanted to cry again, just thinking of my home life and how sterile it had always been. I held it together, though, and we resumed walking. Sandy asked me, ""Was it that your parents weren't around, or did they just not care enough to take care of you?"

I sighed. "A little of both, I guess. Since I can remember, my Dad's worked out of town, and he only comes home on the weekends. And recently, since my brother went off to college I guess, it seems like Dad's not come home a lot of weekends. And my mother, she's a nurse. She loves it, and she's good at it, I can tell. It's her life, taking care of others who need her. She works a long shift at the hospital, and then has a part-time job at a nursing home in the evenings. So I don't see a lot of either of them. And when I do, they both seem so tired, I hate to burden them further with my issues, when I'm fully capable of taking care of those myself."

***************

Sandy

I'm walking along, listening to this tall, sweet, independent girl, saddened but resigned as she obviously was, by the neglect that she experiences daily. And I was trying to wrap my head around a life like that, one so foreign to the one I'd always had, cared for and nurtured by family. And I found myself wondering how in the world she'd turned out like she had at the tender age of 18, rather than as some psychopathic, bipolar, maybe even drug-addicted, sexually promiscuous, or suicidal wreck, from all the years of being basically ignored.

"OK," I said, "I get that. But is there extended family you could have turned to? Grandparents, maybe?"

"Well, maybe if any of them had known how bad it was, they might have stepped in somehow. But I never have shared this with any of them -- maybe a little bit with my aunt, but that's it."

"What does your aunt think of what you've told her?"

"She hasn't really shared her thoughts with me. But she's done what she could. You see, my Aunt Charlene, my mom's younger sister, has had an arrangement with us for a number of years now. She comes to the house on weekdays, maybe 9 until 2, and acts as maid, cook, shopper -- all of that. She keeps the house clean, puts dinner on in the crockpot, does our grocery shopping. All the things my mom's too tired or never home to do. And I'm really glad for it. Because I know that if she didn't do it, I probably would have to. It's the perfect part-time job for her. She's a stay-at-home mom, loves being one, and the job with us has always given her the flexibility to drop her kids at school and pick them up, as well as take care of things at home as needed."

She was smiling in the telling of this. "I spend some time with her, occasionally, during the summer and on days off from school. We also spend a lot of holidays with her and her family. Early on, she found out that I might have to prepare my own lunch to bring to school, and since then I've never had to again. She always makes sure I have a sandwich, or a cup of something left over from our dinners, that I can take. I've come to appreciate that a lot."

"So you must have shared with her, some of what you've told me."

"Some, yes. But although she's nice and she'd be willing to help any way she could, I know she has a family -- three kids younger than me -- and she's busy with that. So I don't put a lot of demands on her when I see her. It wouldn't be fair."

"So anyone else in your family you keep up with?"

"My mother is from here originally, so her whole family is in the area. But it seems like we don't see much of them, as they all have their own lives, and seem to run in different circles, you could say. Even Mom, due to her work schedule, doesn't see a lot of them.

"I do have a grandpa, I mentioned him before, my dad's father, who lives down in San Diego; for that reason we don't see a lot of him. But I really look forward to seeing Grandpa Jeff whenever I can. I go visit some during the summer, and they'll come visit maybe once a year at Christmas time. I love talking to him. He is not shy about expressing his opinions to me on anything, including his son, my dad. We can talk about anything. To be honest, you remind me of him some."

I smiled. "Since you seem to like Grandpa Jeff, I'll take that as a compliment."

"Oh, definitely. It's so nice to have an honest-to-goodness adult to talk to, and someone who doesn't feel they have to because they're being paid to do it, or something. I never seem to during the school year, and I always appreciate the chance. And, like him, you are so easy to talk to. You don't judge, and also like him, you always have an intelligent insight into things."

"Well, thank you. I have a lot of experience to draw upon. And you, dear, are a joy to talk to yourself. You're very mature for your age, with a good head on your shoulders and a practical way of looking at things."

"There you go with the compliments again, Sandy. Don't know if they're really deserved, but thanks all the same."

"Don't sell yourself short, Elise. I won't stand for it." I wink at her as we reach our breaking-off point. "There's one more burning question I have before I head on out. Why do you walk to and from school all the time, when I assume you must have a car at your age?"

"Oh, yeah." She chuckled. "Well, that's a story in itself."

"I have a minute if you do." I winked again at her.

Smiling, she looked up, amused. "Both Grandpa Jeff and my dad have a love of old cars."

"You mean, like antiques? Model Ts and the like?"

"No, not that old. They like 'muscle cars'."

"Ah, some of the cars of MY boyhood."