Chapter 2

DETROIT, SEPTEMBER 1971

We handled the DPS paperwork without evasion, but again without clarification. Insurance is the only benefit where having a spouse matters, but it’s cheaper for two employees to be individually covered. We each claimed one on our W-2s. Don’t fool around with a 1040. My driver’s license is totally legit. We say we’re both from Normal, which is true. Our anniversary is the day of our interview. We don’t wear rings, but that sort of formality is optional these days.

People believe what they assume they already know. We’re married in the intimate sense and the socially apparent sense, but it would be criminal if we had a license. Strange morality.

As long as they were with us, Mom and Dad thought it smart, their single children sharing the rent in the Big City. When we’d visit home, we’d revert to our childhood rooms and sneak conjugal moments when the opportunity presented itself.

Once Mom came upstairs when we were in the shower and I had to say through the door that Samuel was behind the curtain and I’d come because I had to pee. Everybody has some story about almost getting caught. My friend Stacy almost lost her black plastic sheet at a rainy football game, a much funnier story.

Then there’s Samuel’s physical fitness story. We were home for Christmas and he found my Mr. Howdy and put him on the far side of his bed, hostage. When I snuck in for a rescue, it was a trap, pretty fun for a cold winter’s night.

At breakfast Dad asked what was the banging about. Samuel said he did pushups every day, but had forgotten until he was in bed. You can’t do real pushups on a mattress, the exercise kind, anyway. My kind, I could.

BIRTHDAY PARTIES

The big event of the Bicentennial was my turning 30. I’d always thought that was so old, but now I had to change the threshold. We had a Howdy party, everyone a character. Samuel was Howdy. He said I had to be Heidi, but I said it was my party and I got to be the Princess -- I’d be Heidi afterwards -- and wore an Indian costume that revealed when I served the grape punch. Indian Princesses never wear White-man’s goods.

Ralph Brownel, my principal, was Buffalo Bob because he had a cowboy shirt. He had me refill his punch cup a bunch.

Marian, who teaches math, was Clarabell. As she’s the chattiest one at school, she honked her horn lots.

My friend Ruth Anne was Mr. Bluster. She brought her brother Ralph -- a big Howdy fan -- who wore a hat that said “Cameraman.” She tried to freeze my Howdy with an ice cube so she could fleece his front pocket for a magic key. Ruth Anne gave me a Howdy ice-tea spoon. Jack and Sandra gave me a Welch’s jelly glass with Howdy and Princess clapping for a trained seal, “Drinking Grape Juice is Seal’s Favorite Act.”

Samuel was probably a little miffed about my Indian attire and I was a bit chagrined by how many magic words Ruth Anne tried while picking his pocket, but then again, she was supposed to be naughty. She could keep being Mr. Bluster, I said, if it was just at my birthday parties.

We throw Howdy parties still and Mr. Bluster still tricks Howdy, one time all of us on the carpet, zigzag boy-girl-boy-girl on our backs with our head on the next person’s tummy and having to say. “Howdy Doody” so many times. Ruth Anne made sure her head ended up on Samuel’s lap, and Ralph’s ended up on my Princess outfit.

Another time Mr. Bluster stole all the light bulbs and Howdy and I had to sing “Happy Trails” in the dark. She was behind him, and Ralph, behind me, their hands making us mess up, though Samuel didn’t catch on about the cameraman and me.