Rebecca Schwartz 05 - Other People's Skeletons

their pathetic little mews; and wish all of life was baby animals. Why, I thought, not for the first time, had we screwed up our lives with machines? I’d gladly give up television and computers for a life of calves and kittens and goslings. Or so I thought sometimes— when I chose to ignore my deep gratitude for indoor plumbing and antibiotics, the two greatest inventions of modern times.
    Mickey and Alan were on their way out to a brunch, which left once again a deep hole in my day. I must have looked as miserable as I felt because Mickey asked me to dinner the next night, and Alan said, “Don’t bother coming in till Thursday— I’ve cancelled everything.”
    “What?” I was suddenly panicked. “I appreciate your enthusiasm for the cause, but I’ve got to make a living.”
    “You didn’t have anything that couldn’t wait. You were just going to look at your calendar and tell me to do it anyway.”
    Actually, he was right. What I mostly needed to do was spend a lot of time preparing a case that was set for trial in a month, so I’d already pared down my schedule. I sighed— it was as good a time as any for Chris to get in trouble.
    I went home and called Rob. No answer.
    Julio again. No answer.
    Halfheartedly, I looked up Sarah Byers in the phone book. She was definitely someone I had to speak to, but maybe not today. Yet I really should, I felt. She was in the book— at least there was an S. Byers, whom I promptly dialed. A machine answered: “Hi, this is Sarah….”
    Okay, fine. She lived on Green Street near Polk, more or less Russian Hill; very Chinese the last few years. I popped over and rang her bell.
    Even Sarah Byers wasn’t home that fine Sunday when I needed someone to talk to.
    I sat in my car, thinking. I could always go to a movie. That was a good escape. Or play the piano— but the mood I was in, I’d just play dark, draggy dirges and make things worse. What I needed was open spaces, contact with nature, more kittens.
    I could go hiking by myself, but I didn’t think that was smart.
    I could drive to Marin County— but since I’d grown up there, it was too familiar to afford an escape and besides, my parents lived there. Once across the bridge, I’d probably drive obsessively to their house, and that was the last thing I needed.
    I wanted support, but I didn’t want to be reduced to a child, and I’ve found, like most people I know, that it takes extreme lightness of foot to maintain adult status in the presence of one’s parents. I wasn’t up to it today.
    Having perfectly rationalized my decision, under the illusion that I’d exhausted all my options, I then turned my car south and headed where I wanted to go in the first place— to Monterey. If Julio still wasn’t home, the worst that could happen was I’d have a great little drive and a beautiful walk on the beach. There was nothing like sea air for spiritual renewal— that and your lover’s arms.
    Well, he wasn’t home. It was mid-afternoon by then— about three o’clock— and I was starving. So I went to the wharf and had a crab sandwich. Then that walk on the beach, which truly was invigorating, renewing, and thoroughly salutary. But lonesome. Marriage, I thought, would be good for times like this.
    The buddy system probably wasn’t a bad way to get through life. Now that my career was established, I really ought to give some thought to it. Suddenly I wondered: Why the hell aren’t I married, anyway? I’m such a good girl.
    It was unlike me to overlook an important matter of conformity; I have a very chicken-hearted streak under my tough lawyer’s exterior. I’d certainly done everything else the culture said I should do— it must be, I realized, that I hadn’t felt particularly pressured to get married. Perhaps women had made some progress after all. I was cheered by the thought, but only a little— I figured I was probably wrong.
    There still being no Julio, I did what I could as easily have done in San Francisco— went to a movie. And afterward, there was a light in Julio’s house. My heart lurched— I hadn’t realized how eager I was to see him (though hanging around all day should have been a clue).
    But a strange voice answered the door— a young, female one. “Who is it?”
    “Rebecca. Is Julio home?”
    Instantly, the door swung open and a tiny gold-colored girl launched herself at me. I just had time to brace or I’d have been knocked over completely. “Esperanza! Baby, baby, how