engagement

“Brett wants to marry me!” I gloated to the other girls. They looked at me skeptically.

“He offered me a job this weekend. On a turnover.”

The girls collapsed in giggles against each other. I stood stoic in my delusion, wanting to prove them wrong.

“He could have picked any of us for the job. Why did he pick me?”

“You need it more than we do, that’s why.” Mags said, not unkindly.

This was true. These girls had rich daddies to pay their tuition and living expenses. All I had was my calloused hands, a bad back and a bus pass back to Jersey every night. But still, I held fast to my dream.

“He said, and I quote, ‘I have something really important to tell you when you get here,’” I said in my best Brett-imitation voice.

“And that’s your proposal?” Mary Carolyn shook her head sadly at me. I nodded with pride.

“Girl, call us from the honeymoon!” Mags made kissy faces at me as Mary Carolyn moaned. I would show them.

I donned my cleanest work boots and tightest coveralls and boarded the train for Connecticut. It was going to be a long night. No one wanted to work turnovers. The job started as soon as a play closed down. The crew moved in quickly to demolish the old set, then erected the new set all in one night. The jobs started around midnight and could stretch until past noon of the next day. It was grueling work, but I knew I’d be fueled by Brett’s amorous attention.

I had only met Brett a few months before. He was five years older than me, and three inches shorter. I worked as the scene shop forewoman of our theater department. As such, I built and lit all of the shows we produced on our main stage, and I also taught carpentry, welding and electrics to the new kids coming in. We had hired Brett to work as a carpenter on one of our larger shoes. A few years before, Brett had had to drop out of school. He ran out of money one semester before graduation. This bonded us instantly.

Brett taught me to drink Guinness and throw darts. He and I would go to the local Irish dive after work some nights, and he would always treat. I became shy and quiet in his presence. I pictured our carpenter babies, and dreamed of the home we would build as a family.

After the job ended, Brett kept in touch and threw me jobs whenever he could. I appreciated it, as he knew my loans alone were not enough to pay tuition. But this was the first job that Brett had invited me to work on with him. Our future together was finally about to blossom.

He was waiting on the icy platform for me. I saw him before the train even stopped, and I waved like a puppy wags its tail. Brett greeted me with open arms and hugged me to his chest. He patted me warmly on the back. (I would later read that if someone pats you heartily on the back during a hug, there is no romantic intention behind the embrace. Sadly, I did not have this information at the time.)

“Good to see you, kid!” I balked at his word choice. But then I pictured us on a porch surrounded by our grandchildren, and decided that it was a sweet term of endearment that would keep me feeling young forever. I could live with that.

We rushed to Brett’s waiting VW Bug. It was yellow in the spots that weren’t rusted through. It looked as though Brett were living out of his car. Bags and pillows and pots and bowls littered every surface of the interior.

“Sorry about the mess,” Brett said as he cleared off the front seat for me, always the gentleman.

“It’s okay. Are you moving or something?” I could picture the house in the hills Brett was now busy building for us.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you.” We sat in the toasty Bug. Brett moved closer to me, and I licked my chapped lips in preparation.

“Betsy and I are getting married!” His long blonde ponytail bobbed with excitement.

“Who?” I was baffled. Betsy? Isn’t that the name of a doll who wets herself? He couldn’t be serious.

“She said yes! I’m moving in with her this week.”

“Wow. Great. Cool.” My face scrunched up as I were smelling parmesan cheese.

My ears could not take the assault of happiness being hurled at me. I heard bits and pieces: “together since high school”, “works with handicapped kids”, bla bla bla. My heart had been smashed against the dashboard, and all he could talk about was some do-gooder girlfriend teaching the blind to read? Please.

Brett chattered on endlessly until we got to the theater. Once there, I drifted away from him and tried to get to work. Brett had failed to mention that this was a union gig, and I was no card-carrying member. I was also the only ovary-bearer with a tool belt. The Teamsters were decidedly not happy to make my acquaintance.

I walked in a fog, the name Betsy banging around in my head like an eight ball. Our first task of the night was to assemble scaffolding. I tried to worm my way towards the scaffolding and prove my worth, but the Teamsters muscled me out of the way. I watched from the side, and noticed that they were piling the scaffolding without inserting the pin that would hold it all together.

“Fellas? ‘Excuse me? Um…the pin’s not in. It’s gonna collapse if you don’t….”

“Yeah yeah yeah, girlie. We got it. Why dontcha run and get us some coffee?”

I turned on my heels and walked away before the structure could come crashing down. After taking two steps, I heard screams and shouts and felt a searing pain in my head. The next thing I remember is waking up with Brett’s angelic face hovering over me.

“You okay, kid? You took a hard hit from that scaffolding.” Brett sat me up slowly. My right elbow was wet and throbbing. A woodpecker was boring a hole into my forehead. I felt my elbow and blood pooled in my palm. My stomach swam and I turned and threw up on a Teamster’s shoes.

“Let’s go. We’re taking you to the hospital, kid.”

“No! I’m fine. Let me just get a drink of water. I’ll be all right.”

I stood and watched the world spin. Brett held my waist firmly. I swooned into his arms, happy to let him hold me. But then, I remembered. Betsy.

I struggled free from Brett’s grip and weaved my way to the bathroom. A large horn had sprouted on my forehead, and the flesh was torn from my elbow. I bandaged it as best I could, and went back out to work.

Brett kept a close eye on me for the rest of the night, bringing me one water bottle after another. The Teamsters kept their distance and said nothing else. I worked harder and longer than all of them, only stopping every once in a while to puke in private.

The next day, we sat in the middle of the newly erected set drinking tea. The pain was no longer centralized to my head or my elbow. It ran through me like a current, pulsating hotly. I was ready to go home.

Brett drove me back to the train station in silence. He helped me out of the Bug and walked me to the platform.

“Sorry about what happened.”

“It’s okay. It was an experience.”

“Maybe you could come to the wedding. I told Betsy all about you.”

“Yeah. Great.”

The train pulled in and Brett handed me an envelope containing $500 in cash. It was $100 more than I was expecting, and it was enough to make my final tuition payment for that semester. I thanked him by vomiting one last time at his feet.