How Bad Could It Be?	 Me again. This time I'm concentrating on Frannie
-- I knew there had to be more to her than what we've been told. No one is
that annoying without a good reason. -- kb HOW BAD COULD IT BE?by Katrina
Bowen It never ends. It just absolutely never ends. I've told Ma, just buy
the stuff in the jars. I mean, how bad could it be? But geez, I get off
work, and what's the first thing she says when I walk in the door? Not
"Why, hello, Frannie. Sit down. Here, have a brownie." Nope. Because
Maria's kids trampled the herb garden, I've got to go to the store and get
basil and parsley. Let's say she used the dried stuff once. What's the
worst thing that could happen? What, would we all collectively die of
inauthentic Italian cooking? At least we'd make the papers, right? "Family
dies tragic, though tasty, death." Or why not call Ray and have him stop
at the store after he gets off duty? At least he'd be able to tell the
good parsley from the bad parsley. Last time I went, Ma gave me the old
"Francesca, please remember to buy the parsley with the flat leaves" talk.
What possible difference could it make? Ray cooks. Let him buy the damn
parsley. The curly stuff is prettier, anyway. Ah, but if I'm nice to Ray,
maybe he'll bring Benton home again soon. Yeah, Ray owes me a favor. He
forgot my birthday, didn't he? Okay, so he was busy trying to catch a
crazed killer. Is that my fault? Molly was asking me today why I'm so hung
up on Ben. She's never met him. How can I not be hung up? He's gorgeous,
he's sweet, he's honest, he's dependable, he's gorgeous, oh God, is he
gorgeous. I never thought nice could be so incredibly sexy, but then I met
Ben. If he'd come to Chicago two years earlier than he did... But he
didn't. I'd never met someone like him, and so I fell in love with Jeff
and I married Jeff and I made just about the stupidest mistake of my
entire life. Okay, there was the time when I was seventeen and I dyed my
hair blonde, but those are two completely different things. And why *is*
it that Ray is the only one of us who's any good at cooking? Maria can
manage to put a meal together, like Tony or her kids would notice if it
was edible or not. And me, well, thank God for microwave dinners and
take-out. Paulie ... well, Paulie didn't even like going in the kitchen.
If he hadn't died, he would have eventually starved to death. Oh, geez.
Paulie. Has it really been nine years since he wrapped his car around that
street light? I still think that's what killed Pop. I know the doctor said
it was heart failure, but I really believe he just didn't want to live
after Paulie died. He was mad at Ray for going to the police academy --
well, he was usually mad at Ray for something, anyway. Paulie was his
favorite, I always knew that. It wasn't as if Pop ever tried to pretend
otherwise. But I never understood what he had against Ray. I mean, sure,
Pop hit us. He hit all of us, even Paulie sometimes. But he was always the
hardest on Ray. Ma used to talk to him about it. I remember lying in bed
awake, listening to them yelling back and forth. I used to wish so much
that Ma would just leave him ... sometimes, and I'm so ashamed of this, I
used to wish Pop would just drop dead and leave us in peace. And one day
he did, and now I've got to live with the guilt for wanting it to happen.
I remember the last time Pop ever hit any of us. Ray was the one that
stopped it, even though I don't think he knew that was the way it would
turn out. It was all over that damn tape deck. Paulie told me never to
touch it, but I was nine. What the hell did I know? So, I broke it. Paulie
was so mad when he found out -- he'd never hit me before. He'd shoved me,
he'd tripped me, but he always told Ma, "Aw, I was just clowning around."
But this time he hit me, a real hard slap in the face, so hard he split my
lip open. He was on the football team, so believe me, he knew how to hit.
Ben would never hit a woman. It wouldn't even occur to him. And then Ray
was there, and he just whaled into Paulie. It was stupid, probably the
stupidest thing he could have done. I mean, he was just fourteen, and if
you think he looks skinny now, you should have seen him then. But he did
it. He wouldn't back down. And Paulie kicked his ass. So Pop walks into
Paulie's bedroom. I'm huddled crying in a corner, Ray's leaning against
the wall with two black eyes and a bloody nose, and Paulie's standing in
the middle of the room with both Ray's and my blood on his hands. And what
does Pop do? He asks Ray, "You dummy, what do you think you're doing,
taking your brother on?" I'll never forget what Ray said. He's got this
expression, like, "You are a complete idiot, but you're just too dumb to
know it." Well, he had that look. And he looked at Pop, and he said, "I'm
protecting my sister, 'cause she wont ever be able to count on either you
or Paulie doing it." And Pop hit him, a good backhanded slap. Ray was
probably expecting that, but he was just too wobbly to do anything about
it -- he lost his balance and hit his head against Paulie's dresser.
That's when I heard Ma walk in the house. I ran screaming to her, and then
I spent the rest of the day hiding under my bed. I still don't know what
happened when she got to Paulie's room, but neither Pop or Paulie ever hit
anyone after that. No one even mentioned it, the next day or ever. No.
That's not really true. That night, way after midnight, I snuck into Ray's
room. He was kind of half-leaning against his headboard, ice packs all
over his face. I thought he'd probably be asleep -- I'm still not sure
just why I went in there. But he was awake, and he kind of waved me over.
Then he asked me how I was feeling, and he told me I oughta be asleep. I
sat on the edge of his bed, and I stared at him, thinking, "He's got a
face like raw hamburger and he's worried about *me*?" Next thing I knew, I
was crying and hugging him, and he's rubbing my back and handing me
tissues. Then he walked me back to my room -- Maria never woke up, she
could sleep through a tornado -- and he tucked me in, and he told me that
everything was going to be okay. It wasn't, though. I mean, Pop stopped
hitting us, but he never really treated any of us any better. All the
same, I knew that if things ever got really bad, Ray would be there for
me, and I'd be there for him. Not that either of us would ever actually
admit it to the other. I know now that I should have listened to him about
Jeff. He tried to tell me that Jeff was just like Pop, that I deserved
better than him. But I was so thrilled that someone as good-looking and as
smooth as Jeff Spinelli wanted me enough to marry me ... so I told Ray
that he was just jealous that I'd found someone, and he and Angie had
split up. I hurt him. I knew it as soon as I said it, but you know how it
is when your pride and your anger and your desire to be loved get all
tangled up together. Well, things were great for about four, five months,
until November. Then Jeff started staying out late, and then he started
staying out all night. We argued about everything. Finally, about two
weeks before Christmas, we had a huge fight, and he took a swing at me.
Only his aim was off, and he ended up breaking most of the bones in his
hand when he put his fist through the wall. He's sitting there, screaming
at me to call an ambulance, and I had what I *still* think is my finest
moment. I told him, "If you're man enough to hit your wife, you're man
enough to call your own ambulance." And I grabbed my coat and my purse and
my keys, and I went back to Ma's house. I never told Ma or Ray or Maria
about the fight, just that I was never going back to him. Ma tried to talk
me into counselling, but after a day or two, she figured out what had
happened. Not that she'd ever talk about it. I just sat around the house,
eating fudge and getting a good case of the Christmas blues. And as for
Ray ... I wanted to get my stuff, but I was afraid to go back there in
case Jeff was in the apartment. So after three days, Ray comes home in the
middle of the afternoon, and he tells me, "Come on, Frannie. We're going
to get your things." I tried to talk him out of it, but he just took my
hand and pulled me out to his car. He said he'd checked out the place, and
Jeff wasn't going to be anywhere around. I was terrified, but you know
what Ray did? He spent the whole drive telling me knock-knock jokes.
Stupid, childish knock-knock jokes. It was mainly nerves, but by the time
we got to the apartment, I was laughing my head off. And Jeff wasn't
there, so we just loaded up all my clothes and everything, and we were out
of there in an hour and a half. Aside from the divorce proceedings, I
haven't seen Jeff since. But I ran into my downstairs neighbor, Mrs.
Wasicek, a few months later, and she told me something funny. She said how
odd it was that Jeff would first break his hand in a bar fight -- I guess
that's the story he cooked up, so he could still look macho -- and then,
only a couple days later, he slipped on a sidewalk and broke his jaw. She
didn't sound at all sorry about it either, but then, she never liked him
all that much. And that's why Jeff didn't bother us when I was cleaning
out my things ... he was in the hospital getting his jaw wired shut.
That's something else Ray and I don't discuss. I mean, I don't know for a
fact that he actually had anything to do with it, right? Besides, I gotta
admit, the thought of Jeff having to spend the holidays without being able
to open his big mouth -- that was a real nice gift. So yeah, Ray's a
pretty good guy. Not that I'd ever tell him that, you understand. He'd
only get more arrogant than he is now. Ben, on the other hand -- I've
never known anyone as perfect as he is, but he just doesn't seem to notice
it. Okay, he talks to this dog that he insists is a wolf, which has got to
be some weird Canadian humor thing, but I could live with that. If he
wants to think his dog is a wolf, okay, then his dog is a wolf. I just
wish I could figure out what he thinks about me. Sure, he always treats me
with respect -- that's something you don't get from too many guys in
Chicago. It's real easy to get spoiled by a guy treating you like that.
I've tried everything, and I mean everything, to get him interested in me,
but nothing ever seems to work. Ma told me that I was scaring the poor boy
to death, and I should take it easy on him. But I really think someone
like him might be the best thing that could ever happen to someone like
me. I think we'd be so happy together. I mean, how bad could it be? ("How
bad could it be If you should fall in love with me?" kd lang, "Sexuality")
Katrina Bowen kbowen@willowtree.com "Get a life? I tried that once, but it
cut down on my free time too much."