I locked the door after another successful evening at Hal's Place. Alyssa was wiping down tables and putting chairs on top of tables, I was doing the nightly paperwork, Charlie was drinking a beer and pointing his misery face at us in that way young men have been pointing misery faces at women since time immemorial.
Forty plus years ago, Gloria Gaynor told the men of the world that when you stand there with that sad look upon your face, we should change those stupid locks, we should make you leave your key.
Well, shoot. Now I was thinking of Gloria Gaynor and it was hard not to be cheerful when thinking of Gloria Gaynor! But, this was not a situation that called for cheer. This would be a conversation that called for a gentle, concerned demeanor. I could do that. Plus, I wasn't too annoyed with Charlie's misery face. My husband, Jason, had learned years ago not to point his at me. But when it's some sweet 25 year old kid, I mind a bit less being tacitly asked to step into the role of makeshift mom. What is the wisdom of experience for, after all, if not heartening the dampened spirits of the young?
Alyssa was oblivious, humming Here I Go Again. Her gift for blithe oblivion was one of the reasons she was my favorite niece.
In the manner of bartenders throughout history and around the world, I said, "Why the long face, hon?" And he told me about Elizabeth's pregnancy.
Elizabeth had come by Hal's not too long ago to hear Charlie perform. I was impressed and not a little intimidated by her. Her hair was flawlessly coiffed in that effortless way that I believe comes naturally to some lucky few women. I am not one of those women. I have only managed to look even moderately coiffed shortly after a hair appointment or by accident. I am a woman prone to mess. I have never worn a white blouse that did not end up stained with some condiment drip (this is why I stick to dark colors). But Elizabeth was elegant and graceful and, above all else, competent.
I admire competence.
It was very clear to me that Elizabeth used Charlie for sex (as did he with her - no judgment) and then when she came up pregnant, decided to keep the baby and raise it because she was thirty-eight and she wanted a baby and there was only so much time left to make one. She certainly had ample resources to raise a child on her own.
"I'm not ready to be a father," Charlie whined into his beer.
"Charlie, love," I said. "No one is ever ready to be a parent. But, is Elizabeth actually expecting you to.... actively parent this baby?"
"She said she wasn't expecting anything," he said.
"HOLY SHIT!" exclaimed Alyssa, in typically dulcet tones. "YOU'RE GOING TO BE A DAD?!?!"
I sent Alyssa home. This was a conversation that called for serenity.
"Well," I said to him, as I opened a couple of more beers. "There's nothing for you to do here, but follow Elizabeth's lead. It sounds like she plans to raise this baby on her own and I think you're going to have to let her. If you want my advice, end the romantic relationship, if it's not already, and become her friend."
"Exes can't be friends," he said.
"Oh, Charlie," I said. "You're a smart kid. You know that there wasn't enough 'relationship' between the two of you to generate 'ex' tension." (I was a little pleased with my wordplay there, but Charlie was too distracted to pick up on it)
"Just tell her you'll be there for her," I said. "You'll want a relationship with your child, and you can be whatever kind of father Elizabeth and this baby need you to be. For now, just be her friend."
It's difficult to impart to young people that there's no real control over the future and that things tend to shake out how they're going to shake out. Sure, invest in a retirement plan, insure your worldly goods. Don't smoke, drink in moderation, take care of your body. Make friends, form community. But life is a crapshoot and you have to take it as it comes and only try to control the things that are within your control and that invite your control.
Poor Charlie was watching his future shrink. It's shame he couldn't see it expanding.
He would, if you'll pardon the callback, survive.
