E T GIRARDI

by SANDEFUR

This is a weird story that continues the plotline from BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL.

E. T. GIRARDI

by

SANDEFUR

5-23-07/Wednesday morning.

Grace Girardi places dishes in the dishwasher one handed while balancing her eight month old daughter on her hip. Annie watches everything her Mama does with complete fascination while occasionally adding an observation in baby talk. Her attention is diverted by the sight of her Aunt Joan returning to the house in sweaty jogging clothes. Annie begins to squirm as she squeals with delight.

Grace turns and sighs with relief. "Joan, I'm glad you're back. Your dad just rushed your mom to the hospital!"

Joan takes a quick glance around the kitchen before replying, "Let me guess, Mom's water broke while she was having breakfast?"

"How did you know?"

"The bucket and mop by Mom's usual chair, and you doing the breakfast dishes tell the story. So, the little alien is coming two weeks early…"

Annie begins straining as she tries to reach out to Joan. Frustrated, she begins tugging on Grace's hair. Grace accepts the inevitable and hands over her daughter while asking, "So are you going to the hospital?"

"No Grace, I'm not."

(Grace's face registers shock as Joan begins dancing around with Annie.)

"Hey Squirt, how's my favorite niece? Are you having a good day?"

Annie laughs, enjoying the attention and fun, but not as much as Joan, who utterly adores her niece. Playing with this beautiful, perfect baby is always the highlight of her day. With her little blonde curls, huge blue eyes and constant giggly laughter, Annie captures the hearts of all who meet her. Joan hugs Annie, loving that clean baby smell. Annie responds by playing with Joan's nose.

Joan thinks that if all babies were as wonderful as Annie, she would gladly have a dozen. Well…maybe a half dozen. Annie is happy all the time as for her life is an unending joyous adventure. Oddly, you couldn't amuse her with the usual baby pleasing antics like dangling keys or blowing raspberries on her tummy. Annie would just look at you like she thought you were weird, but then she would want to hug your neck, almost as if to say: 'I don't care how weird you are Aunt Joan, I still love you'.

And Annie is smart. She invented her own game which Joan calls 'The Pointing Game'. Annie will look about, laugh and begin excitedly pointing at some ordinary object across the room—a lamp, a book, a chair, etc. She will bounce and squirm and endlessly point at the object while occasionally looking back to you. This goes on until you pick Annie up and take her over to the object that has so fascinated her. Then she will politely examine the object before giving you a look of curiosity—almost as if she were asking you: 'Why are you showing me this'? Annie then laughs and laughs at what she considers to be a wonderful joke. She then looks about, finds another object on the other side of the room and begins pointing at that. The game repeats, and Annie never seems to tire of playing her favorite game…

"Joan, are you listening to me? You can't not go to be with your mother—not now!"

Joan sighs. "Grace, Mom is going to be in labor for hours. The little alien probably won't be born until tonight, if then. Meanwhile, I'm in the last week of my freshman year. This morning I have a two hour review in Criminology, followed by two finals this afternoon."

"Okay, I get that, but you sound like you don't want to be there."

"I don't."

(Once again Annie begins to squirm, this time reaching out for Grace. Annie believes in spreading the love around, but eventually she always wants to return to Mama. A tug on her hair signals Joan it is time to make the hand off. Annie sighs as she rests her head on Grace's engorged breast.)

"Joan…how can you say that? I know you've been freaking out about Mama Girardi's pregnancy…"

"That's putting it mildly. They're too old to be having another kid! Do you realize Dad will be 68 when the little alien graduates high school?"

"Why do you keep calling her that? Your new sister is being named after your late grandmother and your aunt."

"Yeah, E.T. for Eleanor Theresa. A great name for this...mistake!"

"Do you realize how much it would hurt your mom if she heard you say that?" asks Grace with an edge to her voice. (Since becoming a Girardi, Grace has grown very fond of Helen.)

"Hey, if you're so into watching a woman spend hours and hours in labor, why didn't you go with Mom to the hospital?"

"Because the one thing they don't allow at the birthing center is babies! (Stupid rules...) And, I can't get a babysitter."

"Of course you can. Your mother would love to babysit Annie. Heck, if you want, I'll babysit after classes, but that's not going to happen, is it Grace?"

"What does that mean?"

"Just that you won't let anyone take care of Annie but you. You won't let her out of your sight for more than five minutes. You wouldn't even let Luke take care of his own daughter by himself when he was home on spring break!"

"Luke doesn't have the experience yet to handle Annie on his own. Besides, I have to be there to breast feed!"

"You have a breast pump that you never use, and isn't it time to let Annie start having solid foods?"

"NO! She's...not ready."

"You mean you're not ready. Grace, you have to let Annie grow up, and maybe then we can go back to having restraunt night."

"What...?"

"Didn't you notice that the family stopped going out to eat when you began hauling out a boob at every meal? Poor Dad has spent every family meal staring at the ceiling..."

"A woman has the right..."

"Yeah, yeah--I've heard all of the stupid La Leche lectures."

"Stupid!? Are you saying..."

While this conversation is going on, Annie is busy looking back and forth from her mother to her aunt, concern on her small face. This is new--the loud, angry voices between her big people. Annie's tiny lower lip quivers, and her body trembles with emotion. "WAH!" Annie cries with a couple of tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. For a calm, happy baby like her, this is the equivalent of a major hissy fit. It is almost as if Annie were proclaiming: 'I DO NOT LIKE THIS!' Instantly, mother and aunt stop their bickering and begin speaking in soothing tones...

Grace says, "Hey now, it's okay sweetie. Nothing is wrong."

Joan adds, "Yeah Annie, it's cool. Your mom and I are still best friends. Okay?"

Annie gives them a dubious look, but she like the quieter voices. She decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and begins to calm down. Joan and Grace give each other sheepish looks while blushing...

"Grace...I'm so sorry. I was way over the line. How you raise Annie is totally your business."

"And how you deal with the stress of your folks having a late-in-life baby is up to you. Sorry."

Joan and Grace share a brief hug while Annie coos contentedly.

X X X X X

An hour later at Arcadia College, Joan mounts the stairs leading to Dinkley Hall while quietly muttering under her breath. What is wrong with her? Why is she so freaked out about this baby? Joan wishes she could say she has a divine revealation about E.T., but all she has is a gut instinct that has persisted ever since Mom announced the pregnancy news last Halloween (talk about an omen). Of course there were always greater risks for both mother and child in a late in life pregnancy, but Mom's doctor assured Helen they were both fine, much to everyone's relief.

Of course Dad has been strutting around like a peacock, but that is a guy thing--proving he can still 'hit the target' at his age. Kevin and Luke are both enthusiastic about having a new, and hopefully sane, sister. And Grace is especially happy about the new baby. After the birth of Annie, Grace needed a lot of help being a new mother, and Helen was there every step of the way. This led to a bonding between Helen and Annie that was even stronger than normal. Grace worried that when she and Annie joined Luke at M.I.T. for the next school year, it would be devastating for her cherished mother-in-law. But then came the 'happy' news about the baby. That left only Joan who is yet to be on board with this baby fiasco. All because of her nagging hunch...

"OW! Son of a... Who threw that?"

Joan rubs the back of her head as she spins around, searching the crowd of fellow students for signs of guilt. Joan retrieves a golf ball from the ground as a familiar blonde rushes up...

"Joan, are you okay?" Dillon Samuels asks as she joins Joan at the building's entrance.

"Hey Dillon, did you see...?"

"Sort of. I saw the golf ball bounce off your head, and I looked around for who threw it. I saw a girl run around the side of the building, but I only saw her from the back. She was thin and had medium length brown hair."

"Thanks. That's more info than I've had in months."

"This has happened before?"

"The golf ball is new, but during the winter someone kept hitting me with snowballs. It was always when I was distracted, so I never saw who did it. It stopped in mid-March when all of the snow melted."

Dillon does a quick exam of the back of Joan's head. "I'm only a first year nursing student, but it looks like you'll only have a small bump. Who would do this, Joan?"

Joan shrugs. "I've made a few enemies over the years, so who knows? But hey, tell me how things are going between you and Friedman?"

"Great. I'm really looking forward to his return from Yale next week. We weren't sure we could maintain a long distance relationship, but so far, it's working out. You and Adam...?"

"Not as good. We communicate mostly by e-mail since we usually end up arguing over the phone. Adam isn't coming home this summer. It seems his artwork has really caught on in the Bay area, and he claims it makes more economic sense for him to stay in Berekley."

"You sound doubtful."

"I imagine part of the reason for him staying is that he is too busy with all of his girlfriends to bother coming home to me."

"Joan, Adam loves you. He wouldn't cheat on you."

Joan laughs bitterly. "Sure he would. I even gave him permission. Like an idiot, I told him we should date other people while we were apart. I love Adam, but I've known for a long time he isn't the kind of guy who will patiently wait in drydock. He's not getting it from me, so he must be getting it from...others."

"You don't sound all that upset."

Joan shrugs. "I've had time to come to grips with the situation. Like I said, I still love Adam, but I'm wondering if there's more nostalgia than romance in our relationship. Maybe we're both just too sentimental to put it to a formal end."

"Joan, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Well, thanks for your help Dillon, but I've got to get to class."

"So do I. See ya, Joan."

X X X X X

Minutes later, Joan is in her usual place in the crowded lecture hall, laptop ready, as she waits on the appearance of her criminology professor. Joan yawns, utterly exhausted from having stayed up most of the night studying for the two finals she faces later that afternoon. Of course her tutor-angel couldn't care less about human frailties. The tap-tap-tap on her bedroom window came just before dawn like clockwork. As usual, he ignored her protests of exhaustion, and kept pestering her until she gave in and let him run her through her regular workout while lecturing her on today's demonology topic. (Really, in this day and age, when would she encounter a child-sacrifice demon?) Joan yawns again and closes her eyes for just a moment...

A stir amongst the students alerts Joan to the arrival of Professor Wilberding...dressed like Sherlock Holmes. Joan has heard of other professors who use whacky stunts to amuse and inform their students, but she never would have guessed that a stuffy man like Walter Wilberding is that sort of educator. 'Sherlock' places several objects on his desk, takes a few quick puffs from his pipe and addresses the class...

"Deduction. How far can you stretch a logical deduction before it devolves into wild guessing? Here we have two vial of water--one fresh and the other salt. From a single drop of fresh water we might deduce the existence of a lake or a river. From the saltwater an ocean or a sea. From this large lavender feather we might deduce a bird, but being unfamiliar with the type of feather, we don't know what type of bird. But we would be wrong, for this is an artifical feather created by the costume department of the drama class. Here we have two Red Delicious apples, nearly identical. We might even think they are from the same tree, but we know such a deduction would be no more than a guess. In fact these apples come from two very different trees. One of them is a tall, fully mature tree as nature intended, but the other one is from a dwarf tree, which is created by interfering with the natural development of apple trees through an outside influence. If we take a seed from each apple, place them in the best soil, and give them the best care, each can only sprout a tree true to its' nature--for that is the way of seeds. Don't you agree, Joan?"

Oh crap, this is a dream...

"MISS GIRARDI!"

Joan awakens with a start. "I didn't do it..."

The class laughs and Joan experiences a little deja vu. Professor Wilberding stands over her looking amused, and he is definitely not dressed as Sherlock Holmes.

"Miss Girardi, if you must sleep in my class, could you--as a courtesy to the others--try not to snore like a buzzsaw?"

"Sorry Professor, I was up late studying for finals."

"As were most of the students here, but they manage to stay awake--except for Miss Hayman and Mr. Gentry in the back. At least they manage to snooze quietly."

"Sorry sir, I'll do better."

"How delightful. Now class, as I was saying..."

X X X X X

Over an hour later Joan is in a comfy chair in a quiet corner of the student lounge trying to get some rest before her first final of the afternoon. Joan sets the alarm on her cell phone, and since it is out, she decides to send a text message to her Dad: 'Stuck in school. How R U & Mom?' A few minutes later Joan receives this reply: 'Doctor says labor is proceeding normally. I am starting to miss the days when fathers just sat in the waiting room and watched TV. Do well. Love you'.

"Jeez Dad, learn a few abreviations." Joan mutters as she starts to rest her head on the chair. But, she spots a slender, brown hair girl passing by. Joan removes the golf ball from her bag and considers how easy it would be to... Joan sighs, remembering what Foreign Exchange Student God once told her: "Vengeance is mine saith me."

"Hey, Joy Burke!"

The girl pauses. "Do we know each other?"

"Let's not play that game, Joy. Your mother is Monica Burke, Ryan Hunter's ex-secretary and accomplice. I just wanted to say, the golf ball was over the line."

"You...didn't see me."

"Where there's a golf ball one can deduce a golfer."

"Huh?"

"I checked the sports department's website. I spotted your name on the women's golf team. The lack of snow balls drive you to desperate measures?"

"Okay, I did it, but why shouldn't I? Because of you my Mom is in prison."

"No, your mother is behind bars because she partnered with a lunatic who was responsible for dozens of deaths as well as many other felonies. Monica is only serving five years because she worked out a plea bargain. You should be grateful for that."

"Grateful? You built up your rep and stroked your massive ego at my Mom's expense. Sure Ryan Hunter was a jerk who needed to be brought down, but my Mom was an innocent woman who was duped by an evil man. She only became aware of the truth near the end when it was too late and too dangerous to do anything about it. Mom shouldn't be in jail for that!"

Joan can feel the love and trust Joy has for her mother. To her, Monica Burke is the woman who baked her cookies, tucked her in at night and kissed her boo-boos. To Joan, Monica Burke is the woman who spewed so much anti-religion hate into her daughter, Joy burned down a church at age 12. There is no reconciling these two positions.

"Joy, I'm sorry your life is kinda crappy because of the fallout from my little war with Ryan, but a lot of people were hurt much worse than you. As you said, Ryan had to be brought down, and for that I'm not sorry. Now, I am not going to continue being the 'target' for your vented anger. There's a zero tolerance policy for violence at this school, my Dad is the chief of police and I'm pre-law with a growing tendency to be litigous. Any or all of these are my options if this continues. Got it?"

Joy Burke nods and Joan hands her back the golf ball. Joy begins to walk away, hesitates and looks back with tears in her eyes. "My Mom is a good woman."

Joan gets that. Family is family no matter what. "I wish you a good life, Joy."

X X X X X

Early that evening Joan walks down the corridor leading to the hospital's nursery. She spots her Dad looking at the babies.

"Dad?"

"Hey sweetiepie."

Father and daughter share a brief hug.

"Dad, you look exhausted."

"It's been a long, stressful day. Did you see your mother, Joan?"

"We spoke briefly before she fell asleep. Mom looked...weak"

"Yeah, but she is almost 47. On the other hand, this was Helen's shortest labor, which is apparently not that unusual with a fourth child. How were your finals?"

"I'm sure I passed, but I'll have to wait to see how well I did."

"I'm sure you did fine. Okay, ready to see your new sister?"

"Sure..."

Joan braces herself as she approaches the glass. All day she has been psyching herself up for this moment. Saying over and over that her crazy hunch is just foolishness. This is her sister, and she will love her just like she does Annie. And there she is, in the tiny baby bed with the name, E.T. Girardi.

"Since she was a little premature, they're keeping her under observation as a C.Y.A. precaution, but the doctor says she is doing fine. So what do you think of Eleanor?"

Wow, what an ugly baby. E.T. has her father's nose, but in a much larger proportion. Her ears are nearly in the Dumbo class. Her blotchy face is scrunched in an angry scowl as she shakes her tiny fists and kicks her legs. E.T. looks like she is mad at the world.

"Uh, she's a baby, Dad. It's impossible to tell what sort of tree this seed will grow into."

Will briefly looks at Joan, thinking this is an odd metaphor. Reluctantly he concedes his newest child isn't the prettiest 'seed' he has produced, but no doubt she will grow into her looks... Well, maybe they would have to spring for a nose job when she got to be a teenager.

Joan places her fingertips on the glass saying, "I hope you have a good life, Eleanor Theresa Girardi."

The wish is heartfelt, but Joan can't shake the feeling that for the rest of their lives, this kid is going to be nothing but trouble.

THE END

Please review.