Triptych Interviews
Amanda
Sunday, January 1 (After Chapter 33 of Odalisque)
[knocking]
aroslav: Hello?
AMANDA: Who is it?
aroslav: aroslav. Is it too early?
AMANDA: What time is it?
aroslav: 12:30.
AMANDA: In the morning?
aroslav: No. Sunday afternoon. Happy New Year.
AMANDA: Oh shit. Just a minute.
[Pause. Door opens.]
AMANDA: Sorry, Uncle Ari. I forgot.
[hug]
aroslav: How’s my Mandy? Did you overdo it last night?
AMANDA: No. We were late is all. It was so much fun.
aroslav: Well, shall we go have lunch? Or breakfast?
AMANDA: Do I have to get dressed up?
aroslav: If you’re comfortable, I’m fine. I’ve always liked girls in sweats.
AMANDA: You’re a dirty old man, Uncle. I love you.
aroslav: Love you, too, Mandy. Let’s go.
[seated at Denny’s]
AMANDA: Thank you for including me. It’s really been fun.
aroslav: You wanted to be in the story.
AMANDA: I thought you were going to make me a bitch. I like the way I’m turning out.
aroslav: It’s hard to get it right when I’m dealing with someone so smart. Sometimes it comes off bitchy.
AMANDA: Well, keep going. I want to really break loose.
aroslav: Well, I have to record all the details in order to make that work. Who is Amanda Fortier?
AMANDA: You mean like whole name and stuff? Okay. Hi. I’m Amanda G. Fortier, age twenty, born on July 28. I’m a junior at Seattle Cascades University in the Pre-Med Program. I hope to finish here next year and go to Johns Hopkins Med School.
aroslav: What’s the G stand for?
AMANDA: Grrrr.
aroslav: Really?
AMANDA: No. It stands for Graco.
aroslav: Um . . . sounds like a story.
AMANDA: My stupid older brother. As the story goes, his toddler car seat sat next to my infant car seat on the way home from the hospital. He’d just begun sounding out words. The buckle on my car seat said “Graco.” That’s what he started calling me. My parents actually registered it as my middle name as some kind of bribe so that he wouldn’t kill me. The bastard still calls me Graco.
aroslav: You were named after a car seat. Should I bring that up in the story?
AMANDA: Don’t you dare.
aroslav: Okay, so tell me a little more about yourself.
AMANDA: Well, I’m five-five and weigh one-forty. I’d like to lose ten pounds, but I haven’t been exercising enough to make it happen. I’m 34C, 28, 36. I’m afraid if I lose weight I’ll be 32B, 28, 36. I don’t fucking care. Just let me get on with my life.
aroslav: Whoa! Okay. And if it helps or not, I’d never have guessed you’d need lose ten pounds. You’ve always been my favorite niece and I think you’re beautiful.
AMANDA: And you’re my favorite uncle. Oh. I guess you’re my only uncle, aren’t you. Still . . .
aroslav: Let’s just move on.
AMANDA: Okay. I’ve got medium light brown hair down to my shoulders that I usually keep tied up on top of my head. My eyes are blue.
aroslav: Bright aquamarine blue.
AMANDA: That sounds like something Tony would say.
aroslav: Which brings us to a subject we should talk about.
AMANDA: I admit. He’s cute.
aroslav: Really?
AMANDA: Not in a movie star way. He’s just . . . all there. My view of him could be based on more than his looks, though.
aroslav: You’re not falling for him are you, Mandy?
AMANDA: Um . . . no. Of course not. I mean, what would he see in me? He’s surrounded by beautiful women all the time and I mean for-real supermodel women. The tall blonde he plays racquetball with actually used to be a model. And all the rest of them are beautiful. And I’m . . . well, I don’t care.
aroslav: That sounds like a little bit of denial.
AMANDA: Well, I do care. But even if I lost a little weight, or a lot of weight, I’d never be able to compete with them. I’d still be a nerdy pre-med student who’s been up all night. By the time I’m through my residency, these bags under my eyes will be permanent. Tony’s cute and a nice guy and sometimes, maybe, I can trick him into a kiss or something, but that is all.
aroslav: Like your night in his chair at Tent City?
AMANDA: Oh. Uh . . . we didn’t really do anything.
aroslav: Mandy?
AMANDA: I just kind of warmed his hand in my armpit. He didn’t touch me anyplace inappropriate . . . with his hands.
aroslav: Okay. I’ll let that slide for now. But why Tony?
AMANDA: You remember my last boyfriend?
aroslav: Not that slimy redneck who thought he owned you.
AMANDA: You make it sound like I have no taste at all.
aroslav: Well?
AMANDA: All right. He was slimy. I didn’t think so at first. I thought he was rebellious and outside the box. And the more Mom said he was bad for me, the more I thought he was my bad boy.
aroslav: And?
AMANDA: Yeah. Well, he’s in jail and I’m in college. I haven’t had a boyfriend since.
aroslav: Mandy, you were fifteen then.
AMANDA: Kinda ruined it for me, you know? I mean, it’s not like I never go out. I do, sometimes. But I don’t develop a relationship. I’ve got too much going on to bother with the work. Boys are just dildos with emotions. No offense, Ari. But Tony is pre-tested. He’s even got Bree under control and God knows that had to have been a task. And he’s safe. He’s got more relationship than he can handle. He doesn’t need one with me, so if I can just borrow him once or twice or three times . . . a month . . . that would be fine.
aroslav: I’ll keep that in mind. That exhausts the topic of Tony. Why don’t you tell me about school? What made you choose to become a doctor? I really thought you were going to be a musician.
AMANDA: Yeah. Some days I regret it. But not usually. I still play my flute and violin. I don’t have a piano. I’ve started playing guitar a little, but I don’t really have the time to practice. This course is pretty demanding. I can do it, though.
aroslav: Why?
AMANDA: Do you remember Doctor Lila Faulkner?
aroslav: Your pediatrician? I only met her that one time when I had to take you in.
AMANDA: Yeah. I told you I was in pain and you took me to my doctor.
aroslav: Something tells me there’s more to that story that I didn’t know.
AMANDA: I got her to prescribe birth control for me. Mom always came into the examining room with me. You, we could send away.
aroslav: You were fifteen!
AMANDA: And had just started going out with Pal. I knew for sure we’d be fucking in a month. I needed protection. I left Doctor Faulkner’s office with a prescription and a pocketful of condoms. I really loved her. I could talk to her about anything. She explained what was happening when my body started to change. She helped me understand hormones and mood swings. When I was little, she even explained the difference between a virus and bacteria. I had a bad case of hero-worship.
aroslav: So you decided to become a pediatrician?
AMANDA: No. I was a junior in high school when I went in for my annual physical and Lila told me that she had breast cancer. She was already in treatment and thin as a rail. When she died six months later, I swore I’d find a cure. I’ve walked the three-day every year since.
aroslav: That’s moving and noble, but do you think it’s the best use of your talents?
AMANDA: I’m a good musician and I love music, but I’m not a great musician. I’m not a genius, like Tony is when he paints. Did you see the painting he did of the guy they autopsied? Oh my God! That’s artistic genius. I am going to be that kind of genius in cancer research. I can do that. I know it.
aroslav: Tell me what else you like, Amanda. How about your family?
AMANDA: I love my family, but some of them are hard to get along with. I wish I’d been able to give my brother his middle name. It would be Shit! Not that we don’t get along, now that we’re both adults and live a thousand miles apart. But if he ever came to me for surgery, I’d be tempted to see how he liked being a girl.
aroslav: His name?
AMANDA: Andrew. The family has a thing for names that start with A, right? So mom . . .
aroslav: April.
AMANDA: Yeah. We’re fine. I’m sorry for her living so long without Dad, but I think she might actually have a boyfriend now.
aroslav: Really?
AMANDA: You didn’t know? Geez! Your own sister?
aroslav: We live a few states apart, like you and your brother.
AMANDA: Except that you two never fought quite as much as Andrew and me.
aroslav: You never knew us when we were kids.
AMANDA: You got over it. I suppose Andrew and I will, too, eventually. Anyway, Mom and I are very close, even though I came out here for school. I decided kind of late to go into pre-med, so there weren’t many good programs I could get into. I grabbed the first one I could afford and moved almost three years ago.
aroslav: Do you like it.
AMANDA: Yes. It’s hard. It keeps me challenged all the time, but the thought that I might be able to actually do something that makes a difference is really what drives me. Did you know I got an internship with the Hutch this summer?
aroslav: Hmm?
AMANDA: The Fred Hutchison Cancer Research Center. I am so excited. If they give me good references, I’m sure to get into Johns Hopkins.
aroslav: Congratulations. Back to family. Any others you are close to?
AMANDA: Fishing? I love you, Uncle Ari. You were always kind to me and I really liked the fact that you were out here in Seattle when I moved here. I guess that was part of why I chose SCU, too. It helps to have a favorite relative around, even if we never see each other. Hint, hint. I guess I’m not as close to my aunts, but they’re so much older. And you fixed me up with Tony, sort of . . . in a way. I still don’t understand how this works. Are we real people or made up?
aroslav: Are you feeling like Pinocchio?
AMANDA: Pygmalion.
aroslav: He was the sculptor.
AMANDA: Okay, then his statue. Who was she?
aroslav: Galatea in the myth. Shaw made her Eliza Doolittle after Goethe’s Elissa.
AMANDA: Why don’t I have interesting conversations with anyone else?
aroslav: So tell me something about yourself that no one else knows.
AMANDA: That’s an awful game. Let’s see. Do you remember Dad?
aroslav: Yes. He was one of my best friends. I still miss him.
AMANDA: I was eleven. I still remember coming home from school and Mom meeting the bus and hugging me and crying. I was crying before I even knew what was wrong. It was terrible. But nobody ever blamed you, Uncle Ari. It wasn’t your fault, so quit crying or I’m going to.
aroslav: I was driving.
AMANDA: The lady was drunk. She ran the light. There was nothing you could do.
aroslav: This isn’t something that no one knows.
AMANDA: I still talk to him.
aroslav: Oh.
AMANDA: When I can’t figure out what to do, I ask his advice. When I picked out a school, I asked him where I should go. When I’ve got a broken heart or something really wonderful has just happened, like the internship, I tell him first. I don’t really pray to him, but I like to talk to him. Is that weird?
aroslav: And does he talk to you?
AMANDA: He only ever says one thing. “Love you, Baby Girl.”
aroslav: That’s pretty much all he ever said.
AMANDA: He was the strong, quiet type, wasn’t he? But it’s always comforting to know he’s still there watching out for me.
aroslav: That’s very special to me, Mandy.
AMANDA: There’s one other thing. Sometimes—not like all the time. I’m not totally weird—but sometimes, I imagine that you are him and you’ll help me write my own story.
[Silence. Paying check. Leaving.]
aroslav: Thank you for wanting to be a part of the story, Mandy.
AMANDA: Thank you for making me so free. I hope I get to do something . . . you know . . . sexy.
aroslav: Like posing nude for Tony to paint?
AMANDA: Oh my God! I did promise that, didn’t I. Well, I’ll let him see me naked, but you’ll have to imagine it. [giggles]
aroslav: I love you, Sweetheart. Sometimes, I wish you were my Baby Girl.
AMANDA: Love you, Uncle Ari. You know you could invite me out to dinner sometime. The cafeteria here really sucks.
aroslav: Bye-bye.
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