Its Always Been Her

Given how mentally and emotionally pulverizing the last couple of months have been on me, a getaway to Napa Valley was just what the doctor ordered. If only it hadn't been to be a fucking bridesmaid. But how could I have refused? Kylie is the dearest friend I've ever had. We go back all the way to elementary school. And in the end, I managed to have an enjoyable time despite myself. Thank God her sister was the maid of honor though.

Just then, the Boeing 757 that was ferrying me back to Chicago from California sharply accelerated as it zipped over the I-90 & I-294 junction, commencing its final approach into O'Hare International Airport. Looking out the window, I could see the gridlock of evening rush hour traffic already amassing and I began to speculate how long it was going to take me to get to my parent's house. Not that it mattered as I already knew exactly what was going on there tonight. The same thing that goes on every goddamn night. Just because it happened to be my parents' thirtieth wedding anniversary made no difference.

For most couples, the celebration of a milestone anniversary like the thirtieth would be a festive and commemorative event. No doubt there'd be a family dinner at a high-end restaurant or a party with friends and colleagues in a grand hotel ballroom complete with a Deejay, buffet line and open bar. After which, the couple would embark on an extravagant vacation such as a romantic cruise, an African safari, or a tropical island resort. And in a perfect world, the couples now grown, financially independent children would pick up the tab for all of it.

Right.

Even if we combined our respective incomes, my brothers and I couldn't finance a family dinner at McDonald's, a party at Chucky Cheese or a trip to the zoo, saying nothing about any of the aforementioned. However, as the bottom line of my father's financial portfolio currently stands in the low eight figures, contributions from his children toward such ends would be entirely moot. But all of that is irrelevant tonight as my father isn't even home. He's in Amsterdam on a long-haul trip, undoubtedly celebrating his wedding anniversary with one of his lovers that he has accumulated over the years throughout the world.

My brothers: Junior, Dave, Danny, and Chris are in the kitchen, eating whatever Mom has cooked for dinner, leaving their mess on the table with a promise to clean it up later. A promise always made but never kept. And if not in the kitchen, they're all down in the basement playing video games as they go outside in turns to smoke a bowl, all the while eating what Mom cooked for dinner down there but still leaving the mess for her to clean up.

I anticipate the latter.

Being a Friday night, my brother Sean is out on a date with his latest prospect by the name of Madison. And based on how long he's been seeing her now, tonight he'll either score or get dumped.

For her sake, I hope for the latter.

Meanwhile, my youngest brother Adam is either up in his room doing things a mother and sister don't want to know about or he's staying over at a friend's house doing the same. I hope to God for the latter because it means the crusty socks and contaminated pillowcases will be left at the friend's house for that poor mother or sister to deal with.

As for Mom?

Well, she's busy cooking, cleaning up the mess, washing the dishes, storing the leftovers, and taking out the trash, all the while doing their fucking laundry. Or in the best-case scenario, she's finished all those chores early enough to be able to go and read alone in her bedroom with her nightly glass of wine. Unfortunately, she'll be far too exhausted to enjoy either.

Okay, time for a little background.

*****

In the beginning, there was Jack and Diane.

No, seriously. Jonathan "Jack" Nicolas Wagner and Diane Corrine Tremaine.

My parents.

They were just two American kids who'd grown up in the heartland, and by the time they met, they were both doing the best they can.

Jack, while never going to be a football star, was instead a twenty-two-year-old second lieutenant in the Air Force having just graduated from the Academy. Diane, who was soon to debutante in the backseat of Jack's car, was a twenty-year-old high school dropout who started topless dancing to support herself after the death of her parents in a car accident, leaving her with nothing. They were set up on a blind date by Jack's older sister Emily, who was a bartender at the club in Indianapolis where Diane danced.

Two and a half months later, on a hot July afternoon at the Marion County courthouse, Diane Tremaine was the epitome of the beautiful, blushing albeit pregnant young bride as she became 2nd Lieutenant Wagner's wife. Six months after that, Jonathan "Jack" Nicholas Wagner Jr. was born on Kadena Air Force Base in Okinawa, Japan. Now thirty years later, Jack and Diane Wagner reside in a beautiful 7200 square foot home in Naperville, Illinois. And let's just say that:

"Oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of living, and fucking each other is gone."

Thank you and God bless you, John Mellencamp.

My father Jack is now a fifty-two-year-old long-haul commercial airline captain based out of O'Hare. He's also a partnered owner in high-end supper clubs and night clubs, primarily in Europe and Japan with a couple more in New York City and another in Washington DC. He's also well invested and professionally managed in the stock market. Suffice it to say, Jack Wagner's family has never wanted for or lacked a thing. Except for his consistent presence and active participation in our lives; not to mention his love, his affection, and his attention.

You know, meaningless shit like that.

Jack Jr. is now twenty-nine. He holds an MBA from the University of Illinois and serves as an Executive Vice President in a prestigious office in downtown Chicago. He owns his own house in Oak Park and is the father of a two-year-old son named Noah, whom he shares with his lovely fiancé Cara; his college sweetheart, who he's been stringing along and refusing to marry ever since. Yet despite all this, the dickhead still spends his time at our parent's house, down in the basement playing video games with the twins, Dave and Danny.

Now at twenty-seven, Beavis and Butthead, as we all often refer to them, even Mom, each hold a master's degree in engineering from the University of Chicago. Yet both work at a Starbucks in Downers Grove and share a dank, two-bedroom apartment with limited furnishings. Neither one of them has a girlfriend, if you can believe it. Thus, they're constantly at the house playing video games and smoking weed, all the while letting Mom feed them and do their laundry at no cost.

Then comes me, but I'm gonna wait to introduce myself.

Following me is twenty-two-year-old Christopher, who graduated from the Illinois Institute of Technology three years ago and is currently preparing his post-graduate thesis at DePaul. In high school, he was an AP, honor roll student with a brilliant scientific mind and the ultimate computer nerd. As a result, he was years ahead of schedule on the scholastic meter. We all often refer to him as Sheldon, as in Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory. Even Mom calls him that from time to time and it pisses him off to no end. And just like Sheldon Cooper, Chris Wagner had full academic scholarship offers from MIT, Caltech, and Georgia Tech. He needed only to choose one. But unlike Dr. Cooper, Chris turned them all down because he just couldn't see himself abandoning Mom.

WHAT? No, you couldn't see yourself abandoning her cooking, cleaning and caretaking services, asshole!

So, in the end, he commutes daily to and from campus via train because he still lives in his bedroom upstairs and spends his time down in the basement with Junior, Dave, and Danny. No girlfriend for him either, but we're hopeful that his own Amy Farrah Fowler will one day come along and relieve us of him. Or if not, that he'll build her himself.

My bet is on the latter.

Next is twenty-year-old Sean, who just completed his second year at Northwestern University, which just happens to be my alma mater.

Really? Fuckhead!!!

A natural born athlete, he was a varsity football and baseball player all four years of his high school career. Ruggedly handsome, suave, and debonair, Sean is a shallow, self-centered, womanizing player. Consequently, he has had a new girlfriend every month since junior high and always ends up crying on Mom's shoulder in the interval between getting dumped and hooking up with the next.

But the truth of it is that he doesn't give a shit about getting dumped; a reality that our mother fails to recognize or refuses to accept. He merely then plays on Mom's emotional attachment to him, toying with her maternal instincts to influence her into always supporting his cause and validating his purpose, whereby feeding his ego and further honing his craft of seducing, manipulating and disrespecting women as he thrives on the sheer sport of it. He then harnesses the age-old adage that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else like a self-serving weapon of justification and affirmation.

Just like Chris, but only on the athletic front, Sean had scholarship offers galore from the likes of the Universities of Michigan, Alabama, Nebraska, Texas, and Georgia that he turned down, citing the same bullshit reason of not wanting to abandon Mom.

Scumbag!

And if it weren't for Sean, I could rightfully declare that I've gotten more pussy in my life than all my brothers combined. Any wonder I despise him?

Last, but certainly not least is fifteen-year-old Adam, who'll be a sophomore in high school this fall. Oh, what a joy he is at this stage with puberty at full throttle and all the pimples, perils, pratfalls, and premature ejaculation that come with it. A late arrival to the family; undoubtedly one of those "oops" babies, though Mom would never admit to that. She'd also probably staple my pussy shut if she ever heard me say it. Aside from being a late arrival, he was also an extremely late bloomer that the five other dickheads give him tremendous shit about. But I adore Adam. I always have; even now.

Shhhh! Don't tell anybody.

How Mom has kept her sanity intact all these years is far beyond all my comprehension given the fact that every single one of my brothers has always been a bottomless chasm of need. Well, being the extraordinary woman that she is, Diane Wagner has done extraordinary things. Now at the age of fifty, she is even more exemplary and more beautiful than ever. I can't wait to tell you more about her. But first I need to introduce myself.

I'm Laura Wagner and I've just turned twenty-five. Being the fourth out of the seven kids, I'm officially the middle child with three brothers forward and three latter. But far more blatantly obvious is the fact that I am Jack and Diane Wagner's only daughter. So, one might inquire how I've kept my sanity all these years as well.

Okay, so in all fairness to my brothers, I don't exactly have the strongest leg, judgmental or otherwise, to stand on because I too, turned down scholarship offers from out-of-state universities to stay close to home. I'm also currently living back at home since my girlfriend of eight years, Brooke, dumped me a couple of months ago on her way to Los Angeles to pursue a film acting career. I have a bachelor's in fine arts from Northwestern University, which is about an hour and a half away from Naperville.

Upon graduation, I was offered a highly coveted position at the Art Institute of Chicago. Yet, at Brooke's beseeching, I turned it down, taking instead a job as an art teacher at the same intermediate school where she would be teaching drama and music. With the school located near the Chicago Theater District, Brooke was constantly going on auditions, but was seldom, if ever, cast in anything. Her lack of success in the Chicago theater scene and her subsequent scandalous behavior attempting to achieve it, was the leading contributor to the demise of our relationship.

She cheated on me. Quite frequently.

And it was during one of these philandering liaisons that she decided it was time to pull up stakes, move to Hollywood and become a movie star. Simple! So, that's what she did. Well, moved to Hollywood that is. That was two and a half months ago now, and we've not communicated since. But I did hear through social media that she's already landed a starring role.

In an adult film.

After Brooke moved out, the mathematics of me staying in the apartment we had shared simply did not work on only one income. And while I could have simply relocated to a cheaper apartment, the fact remained that I was losing my fucking mind over this break up. So, I quit the teaching job and moved back home to be near the one person that I knew could restore my sanity. After all, she'd sustained it my entire life.

My Mom.

From the very beginning, the relationship my mother and I shared was defined by a silent solidarity of sisterhood. Being the only two women in a house dominated by so many needy men - what other option did we have? Hell, even our three dogs were male, and they were every bit as needy, if not more. And given the fact that Mom was left to raise us all essentially on her own, with periodic assistance from my Aunt Emily and the occasional nanny, I therefore learned from an early age what my role was to be and how best to play it.

Her attention was not to be gotten by acting out as that would only add to her already very heavy burden of child wrangling and home management. No, it was to be obtained far more effectively by acting in. Meaning, by acting in conjunction with her, or better still, acting ahead for her.

In other words, being a parent's pet.

I kept my room spotless, did all my homework, took my bath, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, washed my hands before every meal, cleaned my plate at every meal, and went to bed on time, all without ever having to be told to do so. I would also help Mom with whatever I could without being asked, assisting her with all household chores, which were consistently extensive, particularly the laundry.

Additionally, I aided her with meal preparation, which was double duty in the morning with preparing breakfast and making school lunches while in the evening we'd cook dinner, set the table, wash the dishes, and store the leftovers. I became proficient and even independent in all these responsibilities during Mom's subsequent pregnancies following me, even though I was still so young myself. Then as the younger trio of stooges sprouted, Mom quickly came to entrust me as their primary supervisor as she tended to the elder trio of stooges.

Maximizing and managing our resources.

Dividing and conquering.

I never asked for anything when it came to birthdays or Christmas. Whenever we went to the grocery store, I always stayed at her side, assisting her through the shopping list and monitoring any present brother or brothers while never asking to go to the toy aisle or plead with her to buy me something, even though she could easily afford it. The only time I would have friends over or have a slumber party is when Mom insisted I do so. She would call it a reward for me being such a faithful lieutenant.

But there were other rewards she would generously bestow on me that I cherished so much more like on those occasional nights that I would wake up to find Mom lying in bed with me, holding me snuggly in her arms. Then there were the nights that she'd purposely wake me and then take me down to the kitchen where we'd share a bowl of ice cream. After that, she'd let me crawl into her and Dad's bed when he wasn't there, and we just talked about whatever I wanted to until I fell asleep. She'd also, from time to time, take me to McDonald's when it happened to be just the two of us on a grocery store run where we'd share a Happy Meal and milkshake. These moments of just the two of us together all alone were rare. Yet they were so meaningful and priceless to both of us.

I have always been very artistically inclined. I love to color, paint, draw, sketch and even sculpt. So, there were days when I'd arrive home from school to find that Mom had left a brand-new box of crayons or magic markers or coloring books or all three at once lying on my bed. At other times she would leave new watercolors, paintbrushes, canvases, sketchpads, chalk, or pencils. Whatever I needed or desired at the time without ever asking for it or even speaking about it, Mom somehow knew, and it would appear.

By the time I was in my teens, art supplies began to be accompanied by other things like premiere cosmetic kits, body lotions, perfumes, designer clothing and best of all, shoes! Then for my sixteenth birthday, there was a set of car keys. Brand new car keys for a brand-new car. I was the only one of the seven to get a brand-new car as a first car. Even though Adam getting a car is still yet to come, I'm more than certain that I'll remain the only one who got a brand new one.

Up yours, shitheads!

Though words of affection were seldom spoken between us, Mom always made sure that I knew just how deeply she loved me and how infinitely grateful she was to have me. And I would express my love for her and my gratitude to her through my artwork. I'm also an accomplished poet, so I would often write poetry for her. In fact, I've recently published my original anthology of poems, and they are all dedicated to as well as inspired by the woman I love more than anyone else in the world. My best friend and my hero:

My Mom!

Yet despite the solidarity of our bond and the depth of our connection, there was one matter that surfaced in my life that I feared would destroy it all, and that was of course, my being a lesbian. Looking back now, I cannot fathom why I ever thought such a thing or why I was so apprehensive about telling her.

I had been questioning my sexual orientation ever since I'd hit puberty. So, living in a house full of neurotic males who constantly feigned machoism to hide their insecurities proved to be vexing to say the least. Hence whenever the subject of sexual orientation might be raised, you can just imagine what I overheard. And I let this taint my perception of what Mom would think of me being a lesbian. So, I kept it to myself as I very discreetly experimented with girls early in high school.

But then I met Brooke.

Her family moved to Naperville from Florida in the summer between my sophomore and junior year of high school. We met when we were paired up as lab partners in chemistry class. Paradoxical one might say, for there was almost instantaneous chemistry between us, followed at length by a very deep connection that erased all lingering doubts regarding my sexuality. By our senior year, Brooke and I were deeply in love. And as we started making plans to go to the prom together openly as a couple, I knew it was time to tell Mom the truth. I just didn't know how.

But thankfully... Mom did.

Coming home late one Friday night after a date with Brooke, I found a stack of papers on my bed. They were printouts from Pinterest and featured a variety of young lesbian couples in formal dresses, on which Mom had made handwritten notes of how she thought certain dresses would complement Brooke's figure while others would complement mine. She noted how these assorted dresses would accentuate each other when paired together, making Brooke and I absolutely sparkle as the beautiful couple we already were. She had also made notes of a similar nature on the pages she'd printed out regarding jewelry, corsages and even lingerie.

She knew all along. She knew I was in love with Brooke even before I did. She even knew about the girls before Brooke.

With my heart suddenly about to burst out of my chest as tears flooded my violet eyes, staining my ivory cheeks, I raced to her bedroom where I found her sitting up in bed, as if she were waiting for me. Which of course, she was. I dove into her arms and sobbed like a baby, clinging to her with an almost frantic urgency, breathing in the wonderful scents of coconut and mango butter, her signature fragrance. When I finally collected myself and was able to look up into those big, beautiful blue eyes of hers, they were full of tears too, yet a radiant smile filled her lips, lighting up her lovely face.