A Man Named Dave

life manage a baby?
    Clearing my head of Patsy, my thoughts turned to the one person I had to inform of my upcoming marriage. With the phone shaking in my hand, I punched the numbers to Mother’s private line. Even though I had secretly had her telephone number for years, this was the first time, since Father’s funeral, I had made contact with her. Holding my breath, I asked myself why I was doing this. Nothing was going to change. Mother still hated me and always would. But I still felt a bizarre need for her approval, and I thought maybe, because of the years gone by, the holiday season coming and the good news of getting married just might soften her heart. I shook my head at the thought, but before I could hang up the phone, Mother’s hacking voice came on. “Yes, hello?” Mother coughed.
    I swallowed hard. “Mrs Pelzer?”
    At the other end I could hear her gagging reply. “Yes, and who is this?”
    “Mrs Pelzer, this is David” – for a split second I panicked before completing the sentence – “David Pelzer.”
    “And how did you get this number?” Mother bellowed.
    As calmly as possible I stated, “I only called to wish you a Happy New Year, and … I, uh, wanted to tell you that, ah, I’m – I’m going to get … get married.”
    After a few seconds of dead silence Mother replied, “Well, yes, that’s good of you.”
    I wasn’t sure of Mother’s meaning, or if she had really heard what I had just told her. “I said, I’m getting married … a little after New Year’s.”
    “And the same to you,” Mother chimed.
    “Thank you … but I’m getting …” As I stumbled in my vain attempt to draw her out, the line clicked dead. All I could do was lean against the headboard while still clutching the phone. In the course of a few days, my life had spun out of control. With the phone still in my hand, I began to shake from anxiety. My thoughts continued to shoot off in a thousand different directions, until just a few minutes before midnight when I finally drifted off in an uneasy sleep. My last thought of 1985 was how unworthy I felt of becoming a father.
     
    Patsy and I were married in mid-February, in a small church of the town where she had been raised. Not a single member of my squadron – my air force family – came to the wedding. After several of them had given me excuses before the ceremony, I learned through the grapevine that they did not support my decision. One of my female co-pilots was so upset that she pinned me against a wall days before the wedding. “This is the real deal, Pelz,” the lieutenant stated. “I know why you’re doing this. We all do. There’s something you should know … It’s not easy for me to say, you’re like a brother to me … I’m not saying your fiancée's a derelict, but I’ve seen her kind before.”
    By then the frustration was too much for me. “Don’t you think I know? I gotta do this … you don’t know, I mean, it’s my responsibility.”
    “You’re wrapped pretty tight, Pelz-man. You don’t have to get married. You can still be the father, see the kid and all that. You better think about that baby and what happens if things don’t work out,” she warned.
    Agitated, I grabbed my fellow crew member – an air force officer – by the lapels and flung her against the wall. “Don’t you get it? That’s all I do is think about the baby? What do you and the others want me to do? I see you, all of you, looking at me, talking about me behind my back, saying what an idiot I am for doing this. You think it’s like I’m trapped into this. You’re wrong, you’re all wrong! You don’t know, you really don’t. You think I can just pack my bags, hit the bricks, and flee? Ride off into the sunset or fly off into the wild blue yonder? Well, I can’t do that!
    “I know the odds are against me. But you don’t know me. I’ve beaten the odds before. I’ll make it work, you’ll see. Besides,” I smiled, “Patsy loves me, she does. She really does.”
    My co-pilot leaned over to hug me. “Now, who’s the one you’re trying to convince? You don’t have to do this. You say the word, and … I could round up the rest of the crew and we’ll kidnap you and take you to Reno. We’ll make it a no-notice deployment. I’ve got it all planned. You think about it. We’re all just a phone call away.”
    “Thanks, Lisa.” I swallowed. “That’s about the kindest thing anybody ever said to me.”
    I had received the same response from David Howard, my childhood friend from foster care, who was so against the marriage that he