Molly, Get Your Wings!

“Robinson, Friedman and Sacks, how may I direct your call?” Molly hangs up as soon as those words pierce her eardrums. A law firm? She doesn’t understand what’s happening and is too afraid to find out. She’s so traumatized from creditors and debt collectors pounding her voicemail, that calling a law firm of all places is triggering. What a difference a year makes.

Only last June Molly celebrated her 30th birthday. And, of course, her beloved soul sister Marissa was there. Molly and Marissa, or M&M as they were fondly branded by their circle of friends, met shortly after Molly’s 18th birthday. At first, Marissa became fast friends with Molly’s mother, Sofia, piano teacher extraordinaire. Marissa’s daughter wanted piano lessons, and the rest was history. Marissa, who was ten years Sofia’s junior and 20 years Molly’s senior, had the heavenly ability to flawlessly relate to both generations of women. She had an air of perpetual exuberance and loving awe about her. No one was as supportive and attentive as she was. A multiple award nominated actor, she never acted or put on airs in real life. She was as genuine and humble as they come.

The one Hollywood diva quality Marissa did possess, which drove Molly up the wall, was that she was always “fashionably” late to everything. When Molly moved to Los Angeles as a teenager, everyone’s perpetual tardiness and flakiness was the hardest reality for her to acclimate to. She became known as clockwork Molly. Always the reliable one. Always on time (or god forbid early!!!). Always there for you in good times and bad. So, when she’d drive up to Marissa’s fort knocks Hollywood condo high-rise to pick up Marissa for their weekly outing to the Grove or the beach or to take her to a doctor’s appointment (Marissa, like Molly’s mom, didn’t drive), she dreaded the agonizing wait and the fight with the doorman over her unsightly by Hollywood standards pickup truck blocking the front entrance. Ten minutes would turn into 20, then 30, at which point her Highness would emerge through the glass doors to climb into Molly’s Tacoma and be greeted by Molly’s panoply of expletives, which simply rolled off her back. “I’m so sorry my dear genius,” she’d exclaim with a huge smile. “I’ll do better next time.” Of course, she never did. And Molly always forgave her.

My dear genius was Marissa’s heartfelt term of endearment for Molly. It always made Molly uncomfortable, even though she would never admit it to Marissa. Molly’s self esteem was lacking since childhood. And although she started drawing at the age of two and at the age of 11 was accepted into a prestigious art school for gifted youths, followed by an art magnet High School and a fine art degree from one of the top universities in the country, she always felt like a fraud. She was her own harshest critic. Nothing she did was ever good enough, and when others complemented her on her work she’d always fire back with a self-deprecating remark, comparing herself to someone who was infinitely better. The word genius, in Molly’s view, was reserved for those whose inventions, works or actions changed the world for the better. She would never even remotely include herself in that category. And there was Marissa, starting every in-person, phone, text, email and greeting card message with my/our dear genius. And Molly let her. Maybe it was because Marissa was like a sister to her, and Molly didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Molly was an only child, and as a result she treated her closest friends as if they were her beloved siblings. Or maybe she knew that that’s how Marissa genuinely perceived her and loved and believed in her so much that Molly had no choice but to accept that she was Marissa’s dear genius. Marissa attended all of Molly’s exhibitions, no matter how big or small, group or solo. She was always there with a huge bouquet of flowers and a beautiful note, congratulating her dear genius on her success. And Molly cherished and was deeply loyal to her friend - the one person who never judged her and always offered an optimistic view on every situation - her soul sister. If only Molly knew that her 30th birthday would be the last she would celebrate with her beloved soul sister.

It was a perfect day for a back yard picnic party. A cerulean sky cradled Molly’s terraced garden, which looked more like a quilt with colorful picnic blankets and pillows strewn about. Molly cooked up a storm, as she had always done for all her parties, and her boyfriend made an enormous chocolate lava birthday cake for her. Guests arrived in cheery bursts, lavishing Molly with flowers and gifts. Marissa maintained status quo by being fashionably late, but Molly didn’t care so long as she didn’t have to deal with Marissa’s Cerberus of a doorman. In fact, she was so preoccupied with her guests that she didn’t even notice when Marissa arrived with her family in toe. Once again, Molly’s soul sister showed up for her with a big bouquet, a radiant smile, and a special gift. Marissa’s gifts were always thoughtful and meaningful, no matter how small or inexpensive. This time it was a pair of fairy butterfly wings, which Molly put on instantly, a costume jewelry set, a tiny roll of magic wish-making paper which floats up to heaven once you write your wish on it and burn it, and a little black book – a sketchbook. Over the years Marissa had given Molly dozens of these books, always encouraging her to keep working on her craft. In the beginning Molly sketched and wrote in those books religiously. But, over the years, her self-doubt as a painter has grown stronger and her basic need for survival has taken over. She didn’t know who she was anymore. She was a graphic designer, a bookkeeper, an event photographer, a dog walker, a part time college instructor, and even a personal chauffeur. She was so physically and emotionally exhausted all the time that she had no desire to make art anymore. But she didn’t have the heart to admit to Marissa that she hasn’t even opened the last five sketchbooks she had gifted her. They sat on a shelf, collecting dust, patiently awaiting their turn to shine. This one would be the sixth. Molly didn’t even take it out of the gift bag. “Reeeead theeee nooooote,” Marissa sang out with a spark in her eye. Molly reached under the book to find a folded piece of paper with a note that said, “Happy 30th Birthday, our dear genius! Oh, how we love you! This year you get your wings and fly! Love always, Marissa, Bill, Tanya xoxoxo.” Molly was moved beyond words. She didn’t care that Marissa didn’t have time to buy her a card. That folded piece of paper was worth more than any Hallmark greeting.

A couple of weeks went by and Marissa wanted to meet for a coffee. Molly was under the weather and said that she wasn’t well enough to socialize. Marissa wrote, “Next time, dear genius. Take good care of your health.” But the next time never came. A week later Marissa texted, “I think I have the flu. It’s not good. Hard to breathe. Thinking of going to the ER. Afraid it will turn into pneumonia.” Marissa had COPD due to traumatic injury from decades back. She was no stranger to hospitals and ERs all over town. Molly has taken her to multiple doctors’ appointments and has visited her at many a hospital through the years. She didn’t panic this time, since she knew that this was a part of Marissa’s existence. “Let me know if I can be of help, soul sister. Praying you get better soon.” Later that day Marissa’s daughter called the paramedics and she was taken to the nearest hospital, where after an x-ray it was determined that she had pneumonia. Molly came to the hospital as soon as visitors were allowed, chicken soup and flowers in her hands. Marissa could barely talk. “My dear genius,” Marissa whispered, “so glad to see your face.” Her daughter and husband stepped out to get some lunch. “I don’t think I’m going to pull through this time.” Molly was taken aback by her words. “I don’t even know how to respond to this,” she said with scorn in her voice. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. I know how you feel. I love you.” This was M&M’s last conversation. The next day she started suffocating and was put on a ventilator. Molly visited her every day in the ICU. She brought her husband lunch and gift cards to her daughter, who wouldn’t leave her site. Marissa was hooked up to so many machines that towered over her that it was hard to see the life those machines worked so hard to support. By month two in the ICU the chances of her recovery got slimmer by the day. Molly stopped getting work assignments and lost most of her clients because her priority was visiting Marissa and feeding her family. Nothing mattered more than her friend’s life. On day 49 at the ICU, Molly received a call from Tanya, “Dad and I spoke and we agreed that it’s time to let mom go home. It will happen tomorrow at 10:30 am…”

It’s Christmas – Marissa’s favorite holiday. Molly is on the couch in her pajamas and robe, which she hasn’t taken off in over a month. An endless loop of Hallmark holiday movies plays on TV, a happily ever after guaranteed every 80 minutes. A knock on the door. “FedEx!” “Oh great, now I have to get up,” she mutters to herself. She opens the door and finds a package on the porch. When she opens it a waft of Marissa’s perfume caresses her nostrils. She can’t believe her eyes…or her nose. There’s a note attached to a carefully wrapped gift. “Hi honey, I was cleaning under Marissa’s bed recently and found this gift with your name on it. She must have stashed it away before she went to the hospital. Hope you’re well. Merry Christmas! Love, Bill.” Molly holds the wrapped gift close to her heart and cries and cries and cries. Finally, she musters up the will to open it. It’s…a little black notebook. This time she opens it and vows to fill every page in Marissa’s honor. She notices Marissa’s writing on the first page under where it says in print, ‘In case of loss, please return to:’ “My dear genius. When you get back to YOU, you get your wings.” And under that a phone number.

- Robinson, Friedman and Sacks, how may I direct your call?

- Hello, my name is Molly. Sorry, I hung up on you earlier. I found this number in my holiday gift from a dear friend who passed away. Not sure why I’m calling you, to be honest.

-Are you Molly Green?

-Yes.

-We’ve been expecting your call. We’re handling Marissa Fontana’s estate. There’s a check for $20,000 waiting for you. We can mail it to you, or you can come pick it up any time. We’re very sorry for your loss.

Once again, even from the great beyond, Molly’s soul sister showed up for her, in her darkest moment. All she needs to do now is get her wings back.