High Anxiety

The meal was awkward but not completely unbearable.

The Caesar was fabulous and I scarfed down every last bite and some of J.'s veal, and thereby managed to have my life spared. The kids kept things light so there was no overt violence, no interrogations about any unseemly comparisons I've made between Endora and several universally loathed people, no gushing about the wedding, and no yelling. (Except for the benefit of the bad ear.) I over-contributed to the payment toward the meal and tip, collected my progeny, and left through the door from whence I came, this time not waving like a dork, but still managing the maintenance of physical distance. No hugs and kisses goodbye for anyone but J. and the kids.

The next night was his tween's spring concert. A blossoming flutist, she had a solo in the flute piece. A big deal for sure.

But alas, I would not be able to attend, my tweens having numerous obligations themselves. Such is the life of a family in two households. There is only dividing. No actual conquering.

So that night, as was customary, J. would attend the concert, and so would his mother. And his ex-wife. And several dozen of her closest family members, all of whom looked recently sprung from the Psychoneurotic Institute for the Very, VERY Nervous. (Complete with regular gas lighting by Nurse Diesel.) Miserable affects, nervous twitching, attire dictated by thrift shop availability, and tragic footwear. They arrived shortly after school ended to save choice seats - and to place kitchen chair cushions on the entire front row, presumably to mark their territory and prevent hemorrhoids.

And there they would all sit, and under normal circumstances, would give the appearance of actually tolerating one another so that no one, especially J.'s tween would be wise to the fact that there was actually murderous thoughts pinging around in many of the heads sullenly dangling above the front row of folding chairs.

But this night, Sandy could not help herself. Even in the cool aftermath that follows the blistering flame out after a stunt like she had recently pulled, she did not have the typical moment of clarity, or the usual remorse. Those without a soul sometimes do have that lucidity - but not from guilt. It is usually a moment of reflection when they realize that there are those who will not see their purpose or their justification and who will judge them. Harshly. And maybe even distance themselves a little. And those people will have to be cast off. Pity.

If Sandy had had that moment, she had crushed it in its infancy. And as if to build support for the deplorable actions she'd taken, she chose to continue the affront in public. Right there at the concert. In front of family and friends. And the entire woodwind section.

And fortunately for me, in front of J.'s mother.