Chasing Utopia Read Online Free Page B

early spring, since I had a remembrance of a heavy jacket. I hadn’t had a coat since college but I remember it was important to stay warm.
    I arrived at the University, greeted folk, laughed, talked, signed books, those sorts of things when someone came to me with “An Urgent Message: Call your office.” I didn’t know what the “urgent message” could be: Thomas, my son, hurt himself; Debbie who was babysitting him hurt herself; Wendy, the dog, ran away or something might have been wrong with one of my parents. I really couldn’t see anything else. But I knew for certain if I called and found out, I wouldn’t be able to go onstage that evening. So I tucked the note in my pocket and did what I had been invited to do. When I got to the hotel I called. My father had had a stroke and was in the hospital. I called Mommy to tell her I was in Buffalo and I’d be home as soon as I could. Being a great believer in peppermint and coffee I checked out of the hotel, got in the car, bought a cup of joe, and hit the road. I made it to Painesville, Ohio, where I pulled over for a couple of hours, then repeated step one and went on to Cincinnati.
    It’s funny how you can live in a house and never notice things falling apart. Walking through the back door which is always how we entered the house I noticed the floor was not right; the upstairs bathroom had a damp floor; the walls were not dirty, Mommy was a great housekeeper, but needing attention. There was no question of what needed to happen. They needed help. I don’t know. It’s funny, though not humorous, to see that your parents have grown old. I called Debbie to ask if she would bring Thomas down.
    My thought was a couple of months and all would be set right. But it wasn’t just the stroke, there was an intestinal cancer. And there was no health insurance. Next step: sell the apartment in New York. I know people think cancer doesn’t hurt and people think your insurance co-pay is reasonable but neither is true. 20 percent of cancer will put you into bankruptcy. My first thought was Mommy should divorce him, then he would be eligible for one of the programs. This is over thirty years ago but Mommy would have none of it so we needed a lawyer to get things straightened out. We had known Gloria Haffer for a very long time. She and Mommy were friends. And her dad, Ben, had hired me when I was in high school to work the cash register at his store. Now Gloria was a lawyer considering starting her own firm. We caught the gold ring.
    Nothing makes me as nervous as filling out forms and things. All I had to do now, which is a strength of mine, was get the physicalities right. Mommy had taught third grade before she went into Social Work. One of her students, Bobby Hunter, now did construction. When he heard what was happening he came and retiled the bathroom. Rather than paint the walls I convinced Mommy to put wallpaper on them. We both hated the kitchen floor so we put a wood floor in. Things were shaping up. 1168 Congress was a three-bedroom house. Mommy had her room: Gus, my father, would have his when he came home from the hospital; and Thomas had the third. That left the entire basement to me. It was good space. Friends and I built cabinets, bookshelves, and stuff for a den. The bathroom was papered and made special with photos. The other big room was where I showered and dressed. I should explain. The bathroom was really une toilette and a basin. I found, as I am a lover of antiques, an old claw-footed tub for $25 in Newport, Kentucky. It cost about the same to have it delivered to the basement, a plumber hooked it up, and I had a Mogambo -type shower. The washing machine emptied into it. I put a refrigerator down there and I was set. Essence magazine came down to do an article on me and photographed the whole house. We looked good. The bedroom was small with no clock and no phone. There was only one rule: If I am asleep . . . Do