What It Used to Be Like A Portrait of My Marriage to Raymond Carver

Chapter One Spudnuts and Roses As the summer of 1955 began I was almost fifteen. I lived in Union Gapa little town to the south of Yakima, Washingtonand in June I was hired to waitress at a shop that sold spudnuts. It was my first real job. I was so wound up the first morning that I bought a pack of cigarettes on the way in. I hadn't smoked in months, not since March when I left public school to attend a private one. I went into the bathroom of the local Texaco station and made myself sweetly dizzy as I lit and inhaled a Pall Mall fresh out of the new red package. Then I chewed some Juicy Fruit to get rid of the smell on my breath. Then I ditched the gum. At Saint Paul's School for Girls we learned that ladies do not chew gum in public. The staff at the Spudnut Shop was just the owner, Mr. Ness, and Ella, another waitress. In her early forties, she was a tall, still-pretty Southern belle who loved to feed her sweet tooth with glazed spudnuts. (Spudnuts, by the way, are like doughnuts, except made from potato flour and more delicious.) Old Mr. Ness had supposedly bought the business for his son. But he so loved tyrannizing everybodylording it at the sink full of dirty dishes, getting in the way of customers' orders, and supervising our every movethat he hadn't gotten around to turning over the managerial reins. I soon learned that only when he'd left for the day could Ella and I relax. When the coast was clear, straight into the jukebox went some of my hard-earned tips, five plays for a quarter. First I'd get Al Hirt from New Orleans going with his trumpet. Customers would turn their heads and smile. Then I'd play Nat "King" Cole's "A Blossom Fell" or Al Hibbler's beautiful "Unchained Melody." And oh! "Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White" from Latin mambo king Perez "Prez" Prado. One bright, sunny day the bell on the shop door rang out. A tall, dark curly-haired young man walked in. I happily went over to wait on the good-looking guy. Suddenly I had a strange feeling. As he looked at me, I thought with calm, powerful certainty, I am going to marry this boy. He didn't seem aware of anything unusual. We smiled at each other. I found out he liked spudnuts and was addicted to Pepsi Cola. He ordered. I served him his order. We smiled some more. The next day he was back. I had been hoping he would be, sensing as teenage girls can that he might be attracted to me. He came in and sat at a table. Ella saw him and looked as if she was going over to wait on him. So I hurried to get his order and practically bowled her aside in my haste. "Hold it!" Ella said sharply in her Southern drawl. I stopped short, surprisedshe'd always spoken charmingly to me. "I'll wait on him, Maryann." She explained: "That's my son, Raymond. I need to talk to him." Oh. What a difference a day makes. Yesterday the boy was a handsome stranger from out of nowhere, like a knight-errant. Because, you see, he was destined to be my champion and marry me. Today, as any idiot could tell, he was simply stopping by to see his mother. Cancel the wedding plans. Hold the honeymoon. My other immediate thoughtWhat was wrong with me? I stood still a long minute. But I trusted my intuition and chose not to let my total embarrassment paralyze me. I just knew fate was at work here. Then it struck medamn, I've already met my future mother-in-law. I looked over at Ella, who was chatting with her son and (littCarver, Maryann Burk is the author of 'What It Used to Be Like A Portrait of My Marriage to Raymond Carver' with ISBN 9780312332587 and ISBN 0312332580.