{"id":4240,"date":"2021-01-01T10:26:36","date_gmt":"2021-01-01T17:26:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/?p=4240"},"modified":"2021-01-01T10:26:36","modified_gmt":"2021-01-01T17:26:36","slug":"rosalinds-choice","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/archives\/4240","title":{"rendered":"Rosalind’s Choice"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

This is the sequel to After Rosalind<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The only child of a well-known American\npoet, Rosalind Peoples always thought she would be a poet, too, but at twenty-five\nhas yet to develop the habit of writing poems. An attractive gal with short\nauburn hair, a yoga practitioner and dutiful twice-daily walker of her cute\nbrown mutt Bianca, Rosalind lives in Seattle, works in a bakery caf\u00e9 called Caf\u00e9 Bleu<\/em>, and shares a small apartment\nnear the university with her boyfriend Zorro Bernstein, an aspiring filmmaker\nten years her senior who makes frequent schmoozing trips to Los Angeles and directs\nvideos for musicians hoping to go viral on YouTube.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosalind\u2019s mother, Dez Peoples, lives\nin the small town of Ophelia, Washington, a three-hour drive from Seattle. Dez has\npublished fourteen volumes of poetry with American publishers, and all those\ncollections have been published in German-English editions by a Swiss\npublisher; and her last four volumes have been translated into French, Spanish,\nItalian, and Japanese, yet she still works in a stationery store to make her\nminimal ends meet. She has been offered teaching positions at several\nuniversities but declined the offers because, as she said in a recent interview\nwith a German literary magazine, \u201cAll I know about writing poetry is to try to\nmake poems I\u2019m satisfied with, but I have no idea how to teach someone to try.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosalind graduated with a degree in\nEnglish from the University of Washington, her special interest the comedies of\nShakespeare and the stories of Edith Wharton and Isaac Bashevis Singer. \u201cThat\nand three bucks,\u201d her boyfriend Zorro likes to say, \u201cwill get you a cup of\ncoffee and no refill.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a cold Saturday morning in late October,\nZorro is smoking dope and watching a college football game on television in the\nliving room of their small apartment when Rosalind comes in with a letter in\nhand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo you have another dupe in Los\nAngeles,\u201d she says, throwing the letter at him. \u201cI didn\u2019t open it, but the\nreturn address is North Hollywood and she wrote on the envelope See you soon, honey pie<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh God, Roz. I\u2019m\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to know,\u201d she says,\ncutting him off. \u201cI\u2019m going to my mother\u2019s for a few days. Please be gone when\nI get back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosalind arrives at her childhood\nhome in Ophelia in time for supper, after which she and her mother sit together\non the sofa in the living room, a fire crackling in the fireplace. They sip\npeach brandy and enjoy the cats Miranda and Gonzalo and the mutt Bianca nestling\naround them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After Rosalind vents about Zorro\nending their three-year relationship in such a sneaky cowardly mean-spirited\nway, Dez, who is sixty-three and hasn\u2019t been in a relationship since Rosalind\u2019s\nfather left when Rosalind was a baby says, \u201cA blessing he\u2019s gone.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe loved<\/em> talking about integrity,\u201d says Rosalind, furious with herself\nfor trusting the wastrel. \u201cArtistic and otherwise. Now watch. He\u2019ll end up\nmaking horror movies.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas he born Zorro<\/em>?\u201d asks Dez, who always wanted to call him Zero<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBorn Malcolm<\/em>,\u201d says Rosalind, making a spluttering sound. \u201cHe said the\nname Zorro<\/em> came to him in a dream.\nThat should have set off warning sirens but lust made me stupid.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAs lust will,\u201d says Dez, gazing fondly\nat her daughter. \u201cSo now what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh I\u2019m keeping the apartment,\u201d says\nRoz, shrugging. \u201cHousing in Seattle is insane. I just have to find a good roommate,\nsomeone who won\u2019t mind sleeping in the living room.\u201d She grins at her mother.\n\u201cWant to come live with me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI would love to live with you,\u201d\nsays Dez, a tremble in her voice. \u201cBut not in Seattle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou want me to move back here<\/em>?\u201d says Rosalind, wrinkling her\nnose. \u201cI love it here, Mama, but not yet. You stayed away for twenty years.\nShouldn\u2019t I stay away for at least ten? Prove I can make it on my own? Find my\ncalling?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve made it on your own since\nyou were seventeen,\u201d says Dez, getting up to put another log on the fire. \u201cAnd\nyour calling will find you when you\u2019re ready to be found.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you okay, Mama?\u201d asks Rosalind,\nsensing her mother\u2019s disquiet. \u201cMissing Grandma?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, not at all,\u201d says Dez, shaking\nher head. \u201cShe was a ghost those last two years. A very confused ghost.\nExhausting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo what\u2019s bothering you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have to make a decision about\nsomething that involves you,\u201d says Dez, her eyes brimming with tears, \u201cand I\u2019m\nhaving a difficult time, which is why I\u2019m so glad you\u2019re here, though I\u2019m sorry\nZorro ended things the way he did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf he\u2019d just been honest,\u201d says\nRosalind, unused to seeing her mother so emotional. \u201cWhat do you have to\ndecide?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell\u2026\u201d says Dez, heading for the\nkitchen. \u201cTea?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama, what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve won a prize,\u201d says Dez,\nstopping on the threshold between the living room and kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Pulitzer?\u201d says Rosalind, who\nthinks all her mother\u2019s books should have won the Pulitzer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dez laughs. \u201cNo. I don\u2019t think I\u2019ll\nnever win that one. This is from a university in Switzerland that gives writers\nstipends so they can write without having to work at another job. I would be\nfree to do anything I want.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFantastic,\u201d says Rosalind, ever\namazed by what her mother\u2019s poetry brings her. \u201cSo what\u2019s to decide?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI would have to move to\nSwitzerland, to a beautiful house in Lausanne on Lake Geneva.\u201d She pauses. \u201cFor\nfive years.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou would live in Switzerland for five<\/em> years?\u201d says Rosalind, stunned by the\nthought of being apart from her mother for so long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf I accept the prize,\u201d says Dez,\nnodding. \u201cAnd I\u2019ll definitely accept if you\u2019ll come with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI could come with<\/em> you?\u201d says Rosalind, grimacing in disbelief. \u201cFor the whole\nfive years? They\u2019d let<\/em> me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI told them I might only accept if\nyou came with me, and they said that would be fine and they would increase the\nstipend to accommodate you. Of course you don\u2019t have to, and I may accept even\nif you don\u2019t come, but I\u2019m not sure I can be happy living so far away from you\nfor five years. This is my dilemma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about my dog?\u201d says Rosalind,\nwho is so flummoxed she can hardly think.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou would bring Bianca,\u201d says Dez,\ncalmly. \u201cAnd the cats would stay here with whoever I rent the place to. Cat\nlovers, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rosalind has been to Europe twice\nwith her mother, once when she was eleven, once when she was thirteen, their\ntrips paid for by Dez\u2019s Swiss publisher. And they certainly would have gone to\nEurope a few more times except Ernestine, Dez\u2019s mother, began to falter\nmentally and Dez would neither take her to Europe again nor leave her in the\ncare of others and go without her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning, Sunday, heavy rain\nkeeps them inside, and after breakfast they play Scrabble by the fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs this what we\u2019d do in\nSwitzerland?\u201d asks Rosalind, smiling sleepily at her mother, neither of them\nhaving slept well. \u201cPlay Scrabble and loll around?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf we want,\u201d says Dez, using all\nher letters to spell gigantic<\/em> and\ntaking a seemingly insurmountable lead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut seriously,\u201d says Rosalind, her\nhead throbbing. \u201cIn Seattle I have to work six days a week to pay the rent and\nbuy food. If I didn\u2019t have to work\u2026 what would I do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can get a job in Switzerland if\nyou want,\u201d says Dez, grouping and regrouping the letters on her tray. \u201cOr you\ncan travel. Take pictures. Build birdhouses. Raise rabbits. Work in the garden.\nThe house has a lovely garden and a big lily pond. You could write a play. Take\npiano lessons. There\u2019s a fine piano in the house. You can do anything you want.\nOr nothing. We just get to live in a wonderful place and not worry about money\nfor five years. What a concept.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI feel like such a failure,\u201d says\nRosalind, spelling fritz<\/em>, the z<\/em> landing on a triple-word-score square,\nwhich makes the seemingly insurmountable lead suddenly surmountable. \u201cI\u2019m\ntwenty-five and I haven\u2019t done anything with my life except make lattes and live\nwith a phony jerk and pick up dog poop and ride on your coattails.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen have you ever ridden on my\ncoattails?\u201d says Dez, frowning. \u201cYou had after-school jobs in high school, got a\nfull scholarship to college, and you\u2019ve supported yourself ever since.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou know what I mean,\u201d says\nRosalind, disconsolately. \u201cMy resume reads BA in English, University of\nWashington, used to take pretty good pictures, daughter of brilliant poet. I\ndon\u2019t deserve a five-year dream life in Switzerland. I need to make<\/em> something of my life. Become<\/em> something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t publish my first poem\nuntil I was thirty-nine and you were two,\u201d says Dez, spelling index<\/em>, the x<\/em> on a double-letter-score square. \u201cUntil then my resume was BA in\nDance, San Francisco State, three years with money-losing dance company,\nwaitress.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, but you were always writing\npoems,\u201d says Rosalind, spelling alarm<\/em>.\n\u201cYou knew what you were. A poet. What am I?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo let\u2019s say you don\u2019t<\/em> come with me,\u201d says Dez, getting\nup to answer the loud knocking at the door. \u201cAnd you stay in Seattle working as\na waitress. Why would that be a better way to make something of your life than\nliving with me in Switzerland?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI would not be dependent on you,\u201d\nsays Rosalind, closing her eyes and seeing the picture she took of Dez twelve\nyears ago, standing at the prow of a ferryboat plying the waters of Lake Zurich.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dez opens the door and here is Becky\nFletcher and her adorable children, Wade who is four and Jenny who is two. Becky\nwas Rosalind\u2019s best friend in elementary school and high school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI should have called first,\u201d says\nBecky in her booming voice, \u201cbut we were driving by and saw Roz\u2019s car, so\u2026 hey\nRoz.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey Becky,\u201d says Rosalind, coming\nto give her old pal a hug. \u201cOh my God. Look at your gigantic children. They\u2019ve\ndoubled in size since August.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me about it,\u201d says Becky,\nlaughing uproariously. \u201cCan you believe it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome in, come in,\u201d says Dez,\nsmiling at the little cuties. \u201cI\u2019ll make some cocoa.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh don\u2019t go to any trouble,\u201d says\nBecky, who would clearly love<\/em> for Dez\nto go to some trouble. \u201cI should have called first.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s fine,\u201d says Rosalind, helping\nBecky out of her sopping raincoat. \u201cCome get warm by the fire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI like cocoa,\u201d says Wade, frowning\ngravely. \u201cOnly not too hot or I burn my mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have to pee,\u201d says Jenny, doing a\nlittle jig.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFirst we pee,\u201d says Becky, scooping\nup Jenny and carrying her down the hall to the bathroom, \u201cand then we have not-too-hot\ncocoa.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And in this moment of Becky\ndisappearing down the hallway with Jenny, and Bianca coming to sniff Wade as he\ntakes off his raincoat and drops the soggy thing on the floor and follows Dez\ninto the kitchen, Rosalind decides to go to Switzerland with her mother, though\nshe doesn\u2019t realize she\u2019s made her decision until some days later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only when she gets back to her tiny\nZorro-less apartment in Seattle and she\u2019s sitting on her ratty futon and the\ntraffic is roaring by outside her too-thin windows and another long week of\nmaking lattes and clearing tables awaits her, does she realize she\u2019s made up\nher mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMama,\u201d she says when Dez answers\nher phone. \u201cI\u2019ve decided to come with you and be your fellow artist in\nSwitzerland, though I have no idea what kind of artist I\u2019ll be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh darling,\u201d says Dez, who has only\ncalled Rosalind darling<\/em> a few other\ntimes in her life. \u201cI\u2019m so proud of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy are you proud of me?\u201d asks\nRosalind, mystified by her mother\u2019s choice of words. \u201cI haven\u2019t done anything\nto be proud of.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you knew you as I know you,\u201d\nsays Dez, vastly relieved that Rosalind is coming with her, \u201cyou would know why\nI\u2019m proud of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI would have to tell you the story\nof your life,\u201d says Dez, crying for joy. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me one thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dez closes her eyes and waits for a\nmemory to emerge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA year ago when you took that marvelous picture of me for Ordinary Amazement<\/em>, you dressed me in a long gray skirt and a white blouse and stuck an overblown yellow rose in my hair and had me stand in the vegetable garden while you went up on the roof of the house and took picture after picture of me looking up at you, my fearless daughter moving around on the steep roof with the sureness of a practiced acrobat, never doubting you\u2019d get something good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

fin <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Darling<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is the sequel to After Rosalind. The only child of a well-known American poet, Rosalind Peoples always thought she would be a poet, too, but at twenty-five has yet to develop the habit of writing poems. An attractive gal with short auburn hair, a yoga practitioner and dutiful twice-daily walker of her cute brown […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[6383,6388,6379,6368,6384,6387,6385,6380,6389,6378,76,6377,6375,6386,6376,51,9,33,6382],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4240"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4240"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4240\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4243,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4240\/revisions\/4243"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4240"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4240"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4240"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}