Bearable Pain

by Lark Lucente

Pain slammed into Lauren’s left shoulder and radiated down her arm. Pain that escalated with movement, robbed her of sleep and seized her reasoning. That’s why she backed into her mailbox as she drove off into the night. That’s why she forgot to walk the few steps inside to pay for the gas. Because of the pain.

The doctor said she had a frozen shoulder and went on to explain something about capsule tissue contracting around her joint. Restricted mobility, joint inflammation and inability to sleep on her left side plagued her. Her treatment called for physical therapy and home exercises. Healing would take months. When the insomnia set in, she’d given into it by driving. She found some comfort in the quiet darkness and learned to position her left arm at the bottom of the steering wheel. Nevertheless making turns and backing up spiked the pain. So she frequented the straight road out of town. Sometimes on the way home, she stopped at the diner for doughnuts.

But tonight, other than getting gas, she hadn’t planned on stopping. The idiot driver in front of her who knocked down the telephone pole had made that decision for her. And the lights. Dead ahead blue-white flashes from the squad car threw out blinding beats of caution that sliced into her throbbing. Across the way the yellow soft glow from the diner beckoned.

She detoured into the space closest to the door. Even in the car, the sugary smell overpowered her. She reached over with her right arm to push open the door, careful not to move too quickly, then paused. Her daughter and husband lay sleeping in their beds while she bred edginess. Of course they knew about her wanderings. They worried; she would stop soon. Surely the exercises would produce some improvement. But right now she needed coffee. A warm coffee cup to place against her shoulder. She needed distraction.

The jangle of the bell on the diner door cut into the silence and seemed out of place at midnight. She went to a booth in the back, sat down and turned over the stoneware mug, then waited. The place radiated cleanliness and looked too spiffy for its age. Silver-white flecks in the Formica table top sparkled. The smooth red leather-like booth cushions showed no signs of cracking or stray crumbs. Even the plastic coated menus gleamed. Places like this needed some stray grease splats or sticky spots on the tables.

At home her oven needed a good scrubbing, clothes covered the laundry room floor and algae clouded her daughter’s aquarium.

A lively young woman bounded through the swinging doors from behind the counter. She juggled a tray of doughnuts in one hand and bundles of napkins in the other. Even though she didn’t look up, she called out, “Well hey. You’re early tonight.”

Julie. The night waitress. She envied her energy, her effortless mobility. She wanted to lift dishes out of her dishwasher, remove clothes from the dryer and vacuum without hurting. Oh to wash her hair with both hands, to hook a bra without struggling, to sleep on her left side again . . . to sleep. Coffee steamed in her cup and in her right hand she held a half-eaten chocolate iced doughnut. Twelve-fifteen. She’d drifted.

“Ernie insists on serving them fresh, even at this hour. But I certainly don’t have to tell you that.”

She’d become a regular to them. They accepted her and probably assumed she got off a night shift somewhere. Other than telling them her name, she liked feeling anonymous, yet welcome.

“I told him what a chocolate lover you are. In fact, he never made the iced ones past three o’clock till you started coming in late nights. Julie topped off Lauren’s coffee, walked back to the front counter and started pulling out the napkins. “We got a huge order cooking up tonight. A big fund raiser. Schools like to pick them up early, the doughnuts. Sometimes those people show up before the paperboy.”

Her daughter’s fundraiser. She’d need to take the paperwork to school. When? Had the deadline passed? All the other kids would bring in large orders. Well good for them. Let Mommy and Daddy cram the catalogue down their coworkers’ throats. The school didn’t even get fifty percent. Cheap merchandise guaranteed to wear out in a month. Oh and there were the selling prizes, one step above cereal box giveaways. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“The fundraiser sheet.”

“You’re picking them up?”

“What?”

“The doughnuts.”

Lauren stared at her. “Oh no. I meant my daughter’s sheet.” Here she didn’t feel the need to clarify the relationship. Yet sometimes, she still found herself dealing with awkward moments that started with preschool. Yes, she was the mother, not the grandmother. Yes, she’d had her at forty-two. No, it wasn’t an accident. My God, were there no older mothers in town? At first she had ignored the questions. Finally at the first grade Halloween party she startled them all after one mother kept badgering her by asking, ‘Now when are we going to finally meet Kim’s mother?’ Lauren in her smoothest honeysuckle voice, admitted, “This old hag is her mother.”

Apologies flowed after that. But despite sleepovers and party invitations for her daughter, the other mothers had never quite accepted her, didn’t know how to act around her. They could never get past the age difference.

Just then a policeman and a woman came into the diner. Maddie’s mother. Kim and Maddie went to school together. Even at this hour she looked morning glory fresh. She patted the officer’s arm and beamed, “I’m fine. See, not even a scratch. You don’t have to stay with me. My husband will be here soon.”

Within seconds, she dismissed him and called over to Julie. “Could you get me some hot tea? I’ve had a bit of car trouble.”

Julie looked out over the parking lot. “Is that your car over there, the one holding up the telephone pole?”

I don’t think my accident is anything to joke about, especially since I was on my way here in the first place.” When Julie didn’t respond, she said, “To pick up the order. For the school, the Athletic Boosters Club.” She turned and spotted Lauren.

Don’t come over here to sip your tea. Of all the seats to choose from . . . . Lauren closed her eyes and counted.

“Lauren? You’re out late. She slid into the booth. I certainly didn’t expect to run into anyone at this hour.”

Lauren felt the woman looking her over, staring at her fatigue, her faded sweatshirt. “You’re lucky you weren’t hurt, Courtney.”

“I’m fine. I just looked away for a second. What in the world are you doing here at this time of night?”

“Your accident blocked the road.”

“Well my goodness, why didn’t you just back up and go around the side street? Wouldn’t you rather snack at home? But now that you’re here, you can help me out. Since I can’t use the van and Tom certainly can’t cart the doughnuts in his sports car, your wagon will be just perfect.”

“Courtney, it’s much too early to pick up the order.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course it’s not too early. What else do these people do at his hour besides watch the clock?”

Julie brought the tea and a plate of chocolate iced doughnuts. “Thought you might like some comfort food. On the house. Lauren loves them. Try one. ”

Courtney leaned across the table and pounced on her newfound information. “She knows you. Surely you don’t make a habit of coming here at night do you? Tell me you don’t.”

Lauren knew she didn’t seriously care about her whereabouts. Previous efforts to develop friendships with her and the other mothers had gone unreturned. For Kim’s sake she had always tried to appear positive.

Courtney squinted her eyes and pointed her finger. “Are you doing research for one of your stories, or whatever it is you write? Maddie said something about a contest you won. You should help us with the PTA newsletter sometime.”

“I’ve offered. Several times. “

Courtney swirled the tea with her spoon, then fished out some stray leaves. “Really?”

“I signed all the committee sheets. You know, at the membership table each September, during the open house.”

“Those things? Oh we just file the papers away with the minutes. No one actually looks at them unless someone drops out or we get desperate.”

Desperate. Lauren felt her face flush. “I thought the purpose of the sign up sheets was to recruit new people. I even called the chairpersons.”

“But the calls and sheets aren’t really necessary. What with jazzercise and Junior League luncheons, committees form themselves. It’s just easier that way.”

“Is it just easier to ignore the suggestion box as well?” Stay calm. She picked up the coffee cup and placed it up against her shoulder, welcoming the penetrating warmth.

“What the heck are you doing? You’re going to spill that coffee all over you.”

Lauren put down the cup. She felt that stinging sensation hovering inside her that had nothing to do with her shoulder. It came from not fitting in. It came from seeing the boredom and indifference crawl across Courtney’s face as she checked her watch and shifted in her seat.

“What’s keeping Tom?” Courtney slid to the edge of the booth to look past Lauren.

“I thought my suggestions were worth a try.” She persisted, forcing a response.

Courtney snickered. “Oh come on Lauren. “Paper drives and carnival cake walks? No one does that anymore. We’re into curb side recycling and bake sales now. Be practical. Do you know how many cakes it would take to run a cake walk?”

“But lots of people would offer.”

“You know I didn’t even know what a paper drive was until I asked my mother. Did you really think that anybody would actually drag all those papers into school? And then someone would have to recollect the piles and haul them all off to the recycling center. Gee, Lauren, maybe you could do that job.”

Courtney’s unbecoming tone pushed Lauren to continue, “The kids would love it. Whichever class brought in the most paper for recycling would win a reward.”

“Just listen to yourself. You sound just like my mother.”

Just like my mother….my mother. Lauren kept repeating those words to herself, with a rhythm like waves ebbing at low tide. But instead of retreating she felt a strength budding within her. A growing strength. “I guess I do sound like your mother. Maybe that‘s because I’m old enough to be your mother.”

Courtney smirked, “You have my deepest sympathy.”

“I don’t want your sympathy. I just want to play an active part in Kim’s school.”

“Save it Lauren. You expect me to believe that when you can’t even participate in our daughters’ fundraiser? The Christmas gift sale ended two weeks ago. You didn’t turn in any orders.” She sucked in a mouthful of air, then exhaled slowly.” What the heck were you and Kim thinking? She’s responsible for her class not getting the pizza party. The fifth grade needed 100 percent participation. Couldn’t you buy one freakin’ roll of paper?”

Lauren controlled her anger by counting the number of times Courtney tapped her cherry blossom pink nails against the table. She watched Courtney’s lips tighten. Matching lips and nails. How long had finding the exact colors taken? Suddenly she relaxed. Maybe she’d been up too long. Maybe she just needed to let go. She laughed out loud.

“You think that’s funny? Don’t you even care? How could you forget something as important as this?” Courtney raised her arm, then slammed her hand down smack into the plate of doughnuts. Chocolate oozed around her diamond.

Giggles gave way to snorts. Doubling up only aggravated her shoulder pain. She winced through the laughter. As she watched Courtney reach for the empty napkin holder, she managed to choke out, “Here, I’ve got extras.”

Courtney ignored her. “Where is that waitress? I’m her only customer.” She held out her hand limply, as if in pain.

Lauren stood up; she’d had enough. “Seven years, Courtney. You and your group have never responded to any of my offers to help. You can’t even take a napkin from me. Do you really think I’d let you use my car?”

Courtney didn’t react. She picked up her teacup and sipped. “Go home Lauren. Get some sleep. You looked frazzled.”

“ Now you’re the only customer.” Lauren walked over to the counter and put down several dollars. She looked through the double doors and waved to Julie.

Julie reappeared and apologized, “Sorry, just trying to speed up things for the school order.”

“Don’t worry about her. Look, here’s my bill and some money for the school. Give me a box of doughnuts from that fundraiser. Just tell her you sold one if she gives you any hassle about the count. They always order extras. And don’t be in a big hurry. She hasn’t arranged for pickup yet.”

“I need napkins over here. Now,” Courtney screeched.

“Yes Ma’am. . . See ya around, Lauren.”

As Lauren pushed open the door, she looked back to see Courtney rubbing her hand like Lady Macbeth. Tom would rescue her. A crew had moved the disabled van out of the traffic lane and phone company workers were repairing the downed pole. Once in the car, she pulled around the back of the diner and turned onto the side road toward home.

She drove two blocks past households hushed with sleep. At the stoplight she paused and watched the moths flutter around the tawny halo from the corner streetlamp. As the light turned green, she wondered how long it would take the insects to break free.

In the distance flashing red lights signaled the 1:00 A.M. freight train passing through town. When she was little, she and her father had always counted the boxcars and together they wondered where they’d been, where they were going, and who might be stowed away in their corners. If it was an extremely long train, and she grew tired of waiting, he’d coax her out of the car. He would pick up worry pebbles and she would watch him toss them high across the open field next to the tracks.

Thirty-four cars tonight. When the last one clamored past and the warning rail lifted, on impulse, Lauren got out of the car and opened the passenger side door. She reached for the box of doughnuts. Using her bad arm, she began flinging the doughnuts toward the retreating train. She looked up into the velvety darkness and breathed deeply. When she could no longer see the last boxcar, she got back into the car. The pain seemed almost bearable. She could go home now.