Matt Smith: All My Children

Matt Smith was commissioned by Hugo House to write a new piece on the theme of Visiting Hours as part of the second event of the 2009-2010 Hugo Literary Series. Smith presented his piece at Visiting Hours on November 20, 2009, along side novelist Benjamin Parzybok, poet Elizabeth Austen and songwriter Molly Rose.

All My Children

The last time I spoke here—a lot of you were here—I was dealing with issues of self worth. Still am. After that I started doing some stinking thinking—I hate that term, but that’s what it is—thinking about old girl friends. There were six women in my life that I might have married had I been more mature at the time. And I got caught up in thinking about how my life would be different now, had I married this one, or this one, or this one, or this one… and maybe had a family with them. And that can kill some time. With the help of Ben, here, I decided to make amends to them for the troubles I had caused, except when to do so would injure them or others.

So I started doing some research and I discovered some very interesting facts, at least to me. Each one of them had gotten married within a few months of leaving me. That was a little hard to look at. Like I was the guy who makes the next guy, whoever he is, look like a decent person. As if I left such a bad taste in their mouths that they had had to wash it out immediately. So I found that interesting. And also very interesting is that they all had kids about a year later, like right away. And they all had one and only one child. All six of them.

So I was thinking that maybe I’d messed up their navigation system—that they got themselves knocked-right-up—because of me—that’s where my head was going and after they had a kid they realized that this guy should have been a rebound, but now they were stuck with him, and there was no way they were going to have another kid with him…and that’s crazy thinking. I know that.

But I stewed on it for a while, and eventually, as with every amend I’ve ever decided to make, I waited a while and then didn’t do it.

But I kept doing the research. I found out that my first love, Bambi, I don’t think she went by that name later in life, but she did in high school—I found that Bambi had died a couple years ago of cancer. I called her daughter, Jennifer, who sounded just like Bambi, and she was eager to meet her mom’s old beau. So I didn’t know exactly how but I figured this could be some form of amends to Bambi.

Jennifer was coming to Seattle for a conference so I took her to The Hurricane for lunch. Not a great restaurant but it used to be The Dog House and her mom and I used to go there. Turns out she’d been there with her mom and she liked it. She was like 34. Very straightforward, semi-corporate. Not someone who would move to Olympia to go to Evergreen, but someone who would grow up there and work for the legislature, which she did. We were totally getting along. I brought some old photos of Bambi and me that made her laugh so I gave them to her. It turns out that her dad wasn’t in the picture as much as she would have liked. He’d moved to Phoenix and started another family when she was in middle school.

And I don’t know how this happened but certain words came pouring out of my mouth, and as I was saying them, they felt true, and once I spoke them, it was as if I’d taken off and laid down a 40-pound backpack that I’d been carrying for years and didn’t even know it. These words just eased out of my mouth and it was thrilling. I said, “I’m your real father.”

I’m not. It’s not possible.

Jennifer looked at me for a long time with this perplexed, curious and only slightly disappointed look on her face and said, “And it was going so well…” And she calmly started gathering herself, and her stuff, to leave.

And I said, “Wait!”… “Please—I had a good reason for telling you that—I have a hard time articulating it, but I had a good reason—”

She said,“Try.”

She was toying with me now, but I tried. I said, “Bambi would want me to tell you that. Here’s why. If I had been your biological dad I’d have left you the same way your dad left you guys when you were in middle school when you most needed me, but I didn’t! I pulled out! -which was the responsible thing to do, me being who I was… I didn’t do what your dad did, so you can trust me.

She let that settle for about 10 seconds. The lunch ended the way long relationships end. Awkward. I thought I could hear the ocean in the background but the ocean was four hours away. I told her that I had some other stuff that belonged to her mom and that if she wanted it I would be happy to give it to her. I had nothing of the kind. I was just saying some words.

And as fantastic as it had felt to spew those words, it felt equally bad now.

Are there any runners here tonight? You know what I’m talking about. I couldn’t stand myself the same way runners can’t stand themselves. I cleaned my house, like with a toothbrush, for two days.

I continued my research and soon found myself on a train for Michigan. Even though I was certain I wouldn’t do this again, I also knew that I would take the train every time. Mitsuo is the son of Hanako, my fourth girlfriend. Hanako is very much alive and living in Dearborn with her husband as an empty nester. I met Hanako under the cherry blossoms at the University of Washington when I was studying Japanese. Mitsuo is 24 years old and getting an M.B.A. at Michigan State.

On the train I could be in the bubble; soak in every possible outcome of the luncheon encounter to come.

I figured Mitsuo would be half white. My guess was that after me Hanako found a steady, hardworking nerd whose only shot at getting a woman as cool, or good-looking as Hanako would involve a shrinking visa; the kind of jackass for whom having an Asian girlfriend made him feel like a maverick. He was probably studying Japanese when they met.

But it was also true that when women recoiled from me, they landed as far away as possible, so it was feasible that Mitsuo could be half black or all Asian. But I figured I had this guy pegged.
 
Here’s how it went: When I got to the campus I called Hanako, told her that I was in the state doing some work at the university for a couple days, and just spontaneously looked up her number to say hi. I got her to tell me that her son was studying there at the university right now. I said, “YOU’RE KIDDING! Oh my goodness gracious, I’ve got to meet him! How about I buy him lunch?!”

So Mitsuo kind of reluctantly agrees to meet me. It is supposed to be the best restaurant near the campus, a steak house. So Mitsuo sits down and he’s a really nice kid. Turns out I was right, he was half white. In fact, Mitsuo volunteers that they often speak Japanese at home. Spare me. God, I totally know this guy.

He mentions that his dad went to Michigan State as well…ya, that figures too… and that in fact he played basketball here. I told him that I used to play a little intramural myself. We did OK. He says his dad played on the team.

The team? You mean varsity? Your dad played for the Michigan State Spartans?

What!?

I’m a basketball fan. I’m not a nut, but…How could I not know that Hanako married a guy who played for Michigan State? Overlapped with Magic Johnson! That’s important! God, his name sounds kind of familiar.

It also means that his dad could easily and happily come down and kick my ass.

And right then the insanity of what I was about to do appeared to me like a burning bush. I became rapturously grateful for that! I totally bagged the whole plan, and we had a really nice talk about Mitsuo’s pre-husband mom. We talked about living in Japan, and about a couple of old friends of Hanako that I hadn’t seen for years, and about his grandparents, and then I told him that I was his real dad.

It didn’t just ease out spontaneously this time. And it didn’t feel as if a 40-pound pack was removed. It was as if I’d hacked up 40 pounds of phlegm.

Everything froze. There was only this moment. Nothing else. Anything could happen.

I was Darth Vader. “Luke, I am your father.”
Slow motion. His lips were moving now.

“Why are you telling me this now?

Wow. I hadn’t banked on his believing me. I hadn’t anticipated beyond this moment. Kind of like Osama bin Laden. He hadn’t thought through how beautifully the Twin Towers would implode. That was a bonus for him. I saw a tape of him talking about it as one would abot an unexpected finish of a fine Burgundy.

I sputtered a little.

Mitsuo: “What do you want? Money?”

Max: “No.”

 Mitsuo: “Are you still angry at Mom? Lets call Mom.”

And he pulls out his phone. And I say, “Your mom doesn’t know.”

Mitsuo: “What!?”

Max: “It was her bachelorette party. I was a dancer at the time. It was a long time ago. I never would have taken the gig had I known it was for your mom. But I did my job. Everybody got hammered and we ended up fooling around. Your mom was a big drinker then. She would black out. I’m sorry to tell you this. I’m sure she has no recollection.

And Mitsuo picks up a knife, and says, “I’m going to stab you with this knife.”

Max: “Have you ever wondered why you’re not taller?”

Mitsuo: “Because my mom’s a short Japanese woman and my dad’s about your height.”

That guy! Ya! Shooting guard. First guy off the bench. Wiry. No defense.

Mitsuo: “I’m going to stab you with this knife. This stupid knife. It’s a butter knife, and it’s got a serrated edge. Plus, I’m a vegetarian! Did you think of asking me where I’d like to have lunch? I…am…going…to…stab you.

I explain that the knife is for cutting the individual, warm loaf that will arrive presently. That I didn’t get a proper butter knife either. And I raise my hand to get the waiter’s attention.

Mitsuo: “Shut up!”

And Mitsuo’s pointing this steak knife at me, and he very, very slowly starts to relax, and smile.

“Touché. Very good. Oh, I deserved that. Man, you are good. Where did she find you? Oh Roxanne, you’re gonna pay.”

He thinks he’s being punked.

And it’s only then that I become frightened. Up to that point I had been totally focused. Almost an out-of-body experience. I pretended to repress a laugh, then laughed, and called for the check, and paid…leaving him waiting for Roxanne to show up with a camera, or balloons or something. The only way it could have been better is if I hadn’t paid the bill.

I wish I could say that this was the last time I tracked down the only child of an ex-lover and told them that I was their real father, but it isn’t. My next encounter takes place again at The Hurricane.

I’m there to meet 21-year-old Rita.

I’m there early and as I sit down I notice a young Christian couple in the booth next to ours. They were all coo-coo-lovey-dovey. I knew they were Christians because they both had T-shirts that said “The Fundamentalist Church of the Fundamentals Bible Camp for Children.” One had a name tag that said “Tim,” and the other, “Tami.” They were almost unbearable.

Rita arrives. She has shortish brown hair, undyed, dirty but cool looking. She’s pretty, and looks tired, wearing a sleeveless T-shirt even though it’s chilly. She has tattoos. One of them is a faded unicorn (or a bouquet of heart flowers) that she must have gotten when she was in middle school. She must have been hell on her parents. She still wears the pink and light-blue unicorn prominently, but next to it are some indecipherably serious tattoos, like an axe handle with a vagina or something for an axe. I can’t tell if it’s a vagina or not but that’s my guess.

Rita: “So what’s up? How did you know my mom?”

Max: “We lived together. I worked with your dad at Magnano’s 710. He was in the kitchen and I was on the floor. Neil’s a good guy.”

Rita: “Did my mom leave you for Neil?”

Max: “Your mom left me because I’m an asshole.”

Rita: “Sounds like my dad stole the woman of your dreams.”

Max: “He’s not the only guy to do that. They were a better match. Neil’s a good guy.”

Rita: “So you keep insisting.”

Then the waitress comes. I get a cheeseburger. She orders a Diet Coke and says she’ll just have some of my fries.

Max: “You don’t know that? About your dad?”

Rita: “Neil’s in India. Has been for a while. That’s what Neil does. He chants.”

(A supressed exclamation of surprise.)

Rita: “What’s so funny about that?”

Max: “Nothing funny. I’m just trying to see Neil at an Ashram. It fits, actually.

Rita: “Well it hasn’t reached me yet.”

Max: “What hasn’t?”

Rita: “The energy. The karma. The ju-ju. It’s swirling somewhere in the middle of the Pacific with Tom Hanks.”

Max: “I love that movie. I think about it all the time. How would I do, alone on an island for four years, without being mechanically inclined…”

Rita: “I think about that movie too. But in my fantasy I’m having regular sex with a young Tom Hanks.”

Max: “How young?”

Rita: “’Turner and Hootch.’”

Max: “Are you commited to being a junkie?”

Rita: “Is this an intervention?”

Max: “I’m your real father.”

Rita: “Good. Can I have $50?”

And I take out my wallet. And the couple at the next booth is still going at it. (coo-cooing) And I ask her, “Do you ever do that?”

Rita: “I have boundary issues. I gave a blow job at Denny’s recently.”

Max: “I’m not talking about that. Everybody’s done that. I’m talking about that (points to Christians) —prolonged Eskimo nose-rub in broad daylight.”

Rita: “No. That would be a new low for me. That would be bottom.”

And I interrupt them. I say, “Excuse me. Are you guys engaged?”

Christians: “Yes, sir.”

Max: “Are you Christians?”

Christians: “Yes, sir”

Max: “Do you ever take things that don’t belong to you?”

Christians: “No, of course not.”

Max: “I wouldn’t think so.”

And I take condom out of my wallet.

Max: “Tim, I’ve been carrying this for a long time, and I don’t think I’m going to use it. You take it. Tami, here’s an extra key to my apartment. You take that. (Starts writing on a little piece of paper). Yours is the small guest room, first on the right. Please stay out of my bedroom. Tim, here’s my address. It’s close. (Waves to waitress.) ‘I’m taking care of their check!’ What else. I’m never there between noon and 2 p.m. When you guys get married, congratulations! God bless you. Just leave the key on the kitchen drain board and leave the door open…. Go!... Consumate the relationship!....It’s the right thing to do!”

They’re both staring at me, kind of dumbfounded. And I say, “We’re angels.” And they both look over and she nods, as if to say, “Yes, we really are.”

And that seems to convince them. And they leave with the key.

Rita: “So you want to be my dad.”

Max: “Yes.”

Rita: “Can I have $50?”

Max: “Yes.” (Hands her $50.)

Rita: “Do you know what I’m going to use it for?”

Max: “I think so.”

Rita: “Thanks, dad. I’ll pay you back.”

She picks up a French fry, which is just arriving, and walks out. I call after her, “There’s a nooner at The Alano Club on Wednesday. I’m usually there.” But I trail out because she’s gone.

I see that Tami hasn’t touched half of her tuna melt, same with Tim’s Reuben. (Lifts the sandwiches into his own booth.)…I’m glad Rita didn’t order anything. Then the waitress plops down some to-go containers, and says,

Waitress: “I hope he doesn’t use that condom.”

Max: (eating a French fry)… “It’s in God’s hands now.”