Monthly Archives: August 2020

THE GIFT OF TIME

It’s an unbearably hot and humid day. One of those days when you feel sweat beading on your forehead and dripping down your armpits.  I roll down the front and back windows of my 1970 Volkswagen Beetle. Well, it’s new to me, but it’s four years old. I‘m heading to the Greyhound Bus Terminal in Mt. Laurel, NJ. This is my first trip out of state by myself.

Trip to NYC

Trip to NYC

At first, I considered driving alone to New York City, but I chickened out. At the last moment, I decide to take the Greyhound bus and leave my car at their parking lot. It will take about six and a half hours by bus because of all the stops along the route to pick up passengers.

But I don’t mind. I’m bringing a book with me to occupy my time during the long ride. It’s called Carrie by Stephen King. Right now, he’s one of my favorite authors. And it is scary as hell. Sometimes, I’m afraid to close my eyes at night because this book gives me nightmares. But I can’t stop reading it. Sometimes I read it long into the night well past when I should go to sleep.

Besides, it’s rumored that the new buses have air conditioning. Can you imagine air conditioning? Believe it or not, I’ve never been in an airconditioned bus or car, for that matter.

I see the Greyhound Bus Depot is just ahead on my right, so I hit my turn signal and make the turn into the parking lot. There are about twenty cars parked in the lot. I find a spot at the end of the lot and park my car. I have to admit I’m a little nervous about leaving my car in the lot overnight. This is my first new car, and I love it like it’s my first-born child.

I would be devastated if anything happened to it. I haven’t let anyone else drive it. Or even sit in the driver’s seat. I turn off the engine and head towards the front of the car to get my suitcase. Did you know the trunk is in the front of a Volkswagen Bug?

I found an old overnight bag in the attic of my parent’s house. It’s blue and is covered in faded stickers all over it from whomever it belonged to fifty years ago. I cleaned it inside and out. Nobody is going to see it anyway since they will stow it in the storage area under the bus or on a rack on the bus.

I wasn’t sure what kind of clothes to bring with me. I finally decided to wear a summer top and shorts and bring one sleeveless dress because, as I said, it is hot as hell in New Jersey. And I don’t expect it to be any better in New York State.

I get out of my car and pop the hood and grab my suitcase. And give my car one last look. I consider kissing it goodbye but stop myself at the last minute. Instead, I lean over and whisper I love you; I’ll be back before you know it. I stash my keys in my purse. I open the door to the bus depot and turn and look back at my car one last time. I almost start crying but manage to contain myself. I walk over to the counter and get in line to buy a ticket.

“Can I help you miss?”

“Yes, thanks I would like to buy a two-way ticket to the main Greyhound Bus Depot in New York City, New York, please.”

He hands me the ticket, and I give him the cash. “Go through those double doors when you hear your bus called. The number is on your ticket. You can sit over there in the waiting area.”

“Thank you.”

I head on over to the waiting area. There are about twenty people waiting. Mostly middle age people and a few twenty-somethings, and a mother with two young children. I sit down and wait, shoving my suitcase under my fold-up chair. I look around; it’s not a glamorous place. It’s kind of dirty. It smells like gas fumes. I see a sign for a bathroom and decide to go since I don’t know when the first rest stop will be. I leave my suitcase under my seat. As I’m walking away, an older woman calls out to me.” Miss, miss, you forgot your bag.”

I turn around, and I realize she’s talking to me. I walk back to my seat. She’s sitting behind my chair. “Sorry, I didn’t want someone to steal your bag, dear. You should take it with you.” She looks familiar, somehow. I wonder if she is one of my grandmother’s friends or something.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be alright. I’m just going to go to the bathroom for a couple of minutes. I’ll be right back.”

“Dear, it doesn’t take that long for someone to come along and pick up your bag, and then where will you be?”

I stare at her for a moment and think about what she said. “Oh, your right, of course, I didn’t even think about that. I better take it with me, thanks.” I notice that a man across from me is staring at me. I head over to the ladies’ room.

When I returned to my seat, the woman that talked to me about my bag wasn’t there anymore. I look all around, and I don’t see her. “That’s weird; I wonder where she went?” I say to no one in particular.

I sit down on the metal chair, and it feels kind of sticky. I stand up quickly and move to another seat. I look to my right and left; no one is sitting next to me or behind me. Now, I’m feeling paranoid. I put my bag between my knees. I listen intently to the loudspeaker. I don’t want to miss my bus. Then I realize I don’t know my bus number and look in my purse. I look at my ticket.  I’m supposed to take Bus number 431. It doesn’t leave for another thirty minutes. But I guess they let you start boarding before the departure time.

As I sit there, I listen to the music that’s playing over the loudspeaker. It’s Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon and Garfunkel. I start humming it quietly. I would love to sing it out loud, but experience has taught me not to. Every time I sing out loud, someone always says, “do you mind I’m trying to listen.” So, now the only time I sing is when I’m driving in my car alone. I open up the windows, and I sing as loud as I can. It’s the only time I feel free to be myself. Maybe I’m becoming paranoid.

I start thinking about what it will be like in New York City. Can you believe there are nearly 8,000,000 people living there? The only other big city I’ve ever been to is Philadelphia. I take the public bus there. Some people don’t like cities. But I do, I love the hustle and the bustle, all the different kinds of people who seem to have such important things to do and places to go. There’s a feeling of excitement in the air; it feels almost like electricity. I love the sense of purpose; everyone seems to have.

Philadelphia has live theater and the Art Museum, the Ben Franklin Institute, and the Central Library with its thousands of books. I could spend all day in that library.

Oh, and all the different kinds of restaurants. And, of course, Chinatown it’s the best. I feel like I have been transported to another place, another time. I have walked around there all day. It’s exciting and exotic.

Suddenly I notice the loudspeaker is calling out my bus. “Last call for passengers for bus 431.” I jump up and grab my bag and purse. I practically run through the depot. I scan the room, and I see my bus is two buses down. I run over there as if my life depends upon it. When I get there, I’m out of breath. I run up the steps and trip. I barely catch myself before I land flat on my face. I grab the bar next to the steps.

“Are you alright, dear?”

I look up, and it’s the older woman who told me not to leave my bag. “Yes, thanks. I was daydreaming and almost missed the call for my bus. Thanks.”

I hand my ticket to the bus driver and look around the bus. The only seat left is next to the older woman. “Do you mind if I sit next to you? It doesn’t look like there are any other seats left.”

“Of course not, dear. Sit down. You can stow your bag on the rack or if it’s small enough, under the seat.”

I look at the space under the seat, and it looks like it will fit under there. So, I shove it under and plop down. “Oh, wow, that was close. I will have to pay better attention.”

“You’re doing fine. Is this your first trip on a Greyhound?”

“Yes, it’s my first trip. But I take the PTC bus from my hometown, Maple Shade in New Jersey to Philadelphia all the time. And I take the trolley too, or if it’s nice, I walk all over. I love visiting all the museums.” Oh, do you live near Philadelphia? I hope you don’t think I’m too nosy. It’s just that I have taken this bus many times. And it’s such a long ride. It helps if you pass the time talking to people.”

“No, it’s alright, I don’t mind. I live on the Jersey side of the Delaware River.   I take the bus on my corner. The bus has to go over the Ben Franklin Bridge. I have a fear of bridges. Well, I guess it’s a fear of heights. Anyway, I always close my eyes when the bus gets to the bridge. And then I open my eyes as soon as we get to the other side. The first thing you see as you get off the bridge is the Key and the Kite and the Bolt of electricity Sculpture by Isamu Noguchi. It’s amazing. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to talk your ears off.”

“Oh, you didn’t talk my ears off at all. That’s such an odd expression, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I guess it is. My mother always says that to me.”

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you going to New York City today?”

“Oh, mainly because I always wanted to go there. I’m going there to see the Metropolitan and MOMA. That’s a nickname for the Modern Art Museum. I don’t know if I’ll have time to see both, though. And I want to eat at a little sidewalk café. And walk down Broadway to see all the marquees in front of the Broadway theaters. I’m going to stay overnight and have dinner at Dorrian’s Red Hand. It’s on 2nd and 84th Street. A friend of mine told me about it. It’s been around for almost fifteen years. And it’s affordable. It serves American food.”

“Oh, you do have a heavy schedule. I don’t know if you’ll have time to do all of that. But it will certainly be an exciting adventure for you.”

“Yes, I’ve been planning this trip for a long time. My parents didn’t want me to go alone. But, I’m over eighteen, and they can’t stop me. My mother looked like she would start crying when I left this morning. I said, “I’ll be fine mom I’ll call you when I get there and when I get to my hotel room. I’ll be home late tomorrow afternoon.?

She was wiping away a tear when I went out the front door. But I didn’t let that stop me. I got in my car and drove to the bus depot. And here I am.

“It’s hard for parents to let go of their children. By the way, my name is Elizabeth. What’s yours?”

“Elizabeth? “That’s my name too. Wow, that’s weird. But all my friends call me Beth.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Beth. That’s what my friends called me when I was young too. But when I graduated from high school, I decided that Elizabeth sounded more worldly and sophisticated than Beth. I had to get up early this morning Beth. I hope you don’t mind it or think it’s rude, but I will take a nap. Could you please wake me up at the first rest stop? I know I’ll have to use the lady’s room by then, and I won’t be able to hold out for two more hours.”

“A nap, oh yeah, sure, I guess when you get old, you need more sleep. Yeah, sure, I’ll wake you up. No problem. I guess I’ll read the book that I brought with me. I’m reading Stephen King’s Carrie. Did you ever read it? It’s so scary I’m afraid to fall asleep at night.” Beth looks over at Elizabeth and realizes that she is already fast asleep. Her mouth is hanging open slightly, and she is snoring quietly.

Beth opens her book to the page where she puts her bookmark. Carrie is getting ready to go to the high school dance. Then she goes down to the living room, and her mother gives her hell for dressing like a whore.

The Greyhound bus air conditioning kicks in, and everyone on the bus sigh of relief because it is getting hot as hell in there. Since the bus was packed to the rafters and there wasn’t a single empty seat. There are a couple of little kids in the middle of the bus who are already bored and getting antsy, and their mother is having trouble getting them to sit still. Beth is deep into her book when she is suddenly startled by the mother of the two little kids yelling out at the top of her lungs,” Hey, you get back in your seat and sit down.”

The bus driver looks in his rearview mirror to see what all the commotion is about, and he sees the two kids running up and down the aisle. He calls out, “Everyone must stay seated at all times. Children must be accompanied by their parents. Have a seat immediately.”

At that moment, the mother grabs her two kids and drags them back to their seats. She gives them both a slight smack on their butts. And this quiets them down for the moment. Everyone on the bus now realizes that it will be a long, long ride to New York City. And they all sigh simultaneously.

Elizabeth wakes up momentarily and looks over at Beth.” What’s happening?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just that the two little kids on our bus started running up the aisle. And their mother gave them a smack on their bums, and now they’re back in their seats.”

“Oh, alright, then.” And before you knew, Elizabeth was fast asleep again. Beth continues reading her book. And it’s getting to an exciting part where Carrie is chosen as the Prom Queen. And she’s standing on the stage waiting for the crown to be placed on her head. When suddenly, she is doused from above by something red and slimy. And everybody starts laughing at her. And the look on Carries’ face is terrifying.

About two hours later, the Greyhound makes its first rest stop. Beth looks over at Elizabeth and wonders if she should wake her up. She looks so peaceful.

Beth leans over closer to Elizabeth and shakes her a little. No reaction. She says, “Elizabeth, Elizabeth; we’re at the rest stop.” Nothing. So, Beth says, “Elizabeth,” really loud next to her ear. And Elizabeth all but jumps out of her seat. “What, what’s the matter? Where am I?’

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but you did insist that I wake you up at the rest stop, and we’re here now. I’m going to go to the ladies’ room, too, just in case.”

“Oh, right, of course. Sorry, sometimes when I wake up suddenly, I get startled. Well, let’s go before the bus driver comes back to the bus.”

“Ok, I hope there’s something to eat in there. I didn’t have any breakfast, and I’m starving,” Beth says.

“You know I’m kind of hungry too, but if we don’t get in there quick, we won’t have enough time to eat.”

The two of them get up from their seats. Elizabeth with a bit more difficulty than Beth. “Do you need some help? Says Beth.

“What? Oh no, I get stiff after I’ve been sitting for a while. Sometimes I have to rock back and forth in my seat to gain enough momentum to get up. You’ll find that out soon enough. Time goes more quickly the older you get. Oh, I don’t know why I’m telling you that. You have your whole life ahead of you. Just keep moving forward. Don’t get stuck, keep moving forward, Beth.”

As they entered the restaurant at their first bus stop, Elizabeth said,” Oh my, this place hasn’t changed a bit in all these years. It almost feels like time hasn’t moved forward at all.”

“What? Have you been here before, Elizabeth?”

For a brief moment, Elizabeth’s face had a look of panic on it. “Been here before? No, no, I just meant these old diners all look alike. You can tell them apart.”

“Oh, I could have sworn that you said you had been here before?”

“Been here, no. Maybe I just got a little confused. All a part of getting old.’
“Beth stares momentarily at Elizabeth and then shrugs her shoulders and walks through the diner door. And a little bell rings out as they walk through the door. As they come in, the bus driver calls out,” Step to it; you only have about ten minutes. You better get take out and use the lady’s room too. There isn’t another rest stop for three hours.”

Both Elizabeth and Beth look at him and then at each other. They walk up to the long counter and pick up a menu. And quickly scan it from front to back. At the same time, they both say, “Cheeseburger and fries and coke to go, please.”

Then they look at each other and laugh. Beth says,” that’s weird. I never figured you for a cheeseburger and fries and coke kind of girl.”

“What? Oh, when I take bus trips, I live on junk food. When I’m home, I only eat low-fat, no sugar, no salt, no dessert. Oh, that reminds me, and she yells out, “Can I get a slice of peach pie with that?”

“Peach pie, that’s my favorite too.”

“OK, people, it’s time to return to the bus. I will give you a one-minute warning when I’m about to leave. You have two minutes.” The bus driver heads outside to start up the bus.

Beth and Elizabeth say simultaneously, “I have to go to the bathroom.” And they rush in there. As Elizabeth is coming out of the ladies’ room, she sees Beth going out the door and walking towards the bus. As she steps outside, she hears Beth saying, “Wait, wait, here comes Elizabeth now.”

“Thanks, Beth. As you get older, things take longer.” Then the two of them go on the bus and take their seats. “You know I think I’m going to take a little nap. Eating lunch always make me sleepy for some reason.”

“OK, I’m going to continue reading my book. I hope I don’t get sick from eating so much and then riding on this bus. It used to make me nauseous when I was a kid when I ate breakfast and then take a bus to school. We lived out in the sticks.”

“Oh no, just don’t think about it, and I’m sure you will be fine, Beth.”

About two hours later, Elizabeth wakes up to find Beth sitting next to her with all the money from her wallet spread out over her lap. She leaned over to Beth’s ear and said, “Beth, it’s not a good idea to let anyone see your money. You’re just asking for trouble.”

“What, what are you talking about no one here is going to steal my money. Why would they?”

Elizabeth looked long and hard at Elizabeth and said, “Beth, I understand that you are young. But you’re not so young that you think everyone is the same as you or has money and wouldn’t steal, are you? Surely, you are aware of that? Do you know any of the other people on the bus?

“No, I don’t know anyone except you, and I only met you today. And your nice and your kind.”

“But you don’t know anyone else here, do you?”

“No.”

“Sometimes, desperate people do desperate things, like stealing. Some people are not kind. Some people are thieves. If they see a vulnerable person, they will try to take advantage of them. And that includes stealing money if they have an opportunity to do so. I’m sorry to have to tell you this. But unfortunately, not all people are worthy of your trust. You have to be aware of the people around you and keep your eyes open at all times.”

Beth looks at Elizabeth, and her lip begins to tremble, and a tear springs from her eye and runs down her cheek. She wipes it away. “I guess your right. My mother said she didn’t think I was mature enough to take a trip to New York City by myself. She thinks I’m naïve and too trusting. I guess she’s right. Thanks for telling me that. I don’t know what I would have done if someone had stolen all my money. I’m so lucky to have met you today.”

“Well, I believe that sometimes we come into each other’s people’s lives at the right time and place for a reason. I have a feeling that I was meant to meet you today. Maybe sometime later in your life, we will meet again.  I believe there is such a thing as kismet.”

As the bus pulls into Greyhound Bus, Depot, Beth looks up from her book, and Elizabeth isn’t there. She looks all around the bus, and people are beginning to gather up their belongings. The bus pulls into the depot and parks, and the bus driver says,” It’s time to debark the bus, everyone. Can the people in the front aisles stand up to ensure you do not leave any of your belongings behind?”

Beth looks across the aisle at a middle-aged woman and asks, “Excuse me, did you notice the older woman that was sitting next to me? Did you see when she got off?”

“Older woman? I’m sorry, I don’t remember any older-looking woman sitting next to you. You were sitting there alone the whole time, as far as I know. Sorry, I can’t help you.”

Everyone began standing and filing out of the bus one at a time. Beth keeps looking around, and Elizabeth isn’t in sight. She asks the bus driver, “Did the older woman that was sitting next to me get off the bus already? Or did you let her off the bus before now?”

“I don’t recall an older woman sitting beside you, miss. Please watch your step getting off the bus.  Beth is flabbergasted.        I have no clue what’s going on. Where is Elizabeth? She couldn’t have just disappeared in the blink of an eye, could she?

As Beth exits the bus, she scans the bus depot. Then decides to check out the lady’s room. She walks across the depot towards the bathroom. As she pushes the door open, she sees the only people in there is the mother and the two kids from the bus. She says, “Excuse me, I was on the bus with you. Did you notice the older woman that was sitting next to me the whole time? I can’t seem to find her.”

“Older woman, no, I don’t remember anyone sitting beside you on the bus, sorry. I have to go. Someone is picking me up outside the depot, and I don’t want to miss them. Have a great day. Bye.”

Beth can not comprehend what’s happening. Could she have imagined the whole thing? No, Elizabeth was as real as anyone on the bus, but where did she go? What happened to her? Then she remembers that Elizabeth said that they would meet again someday. Beth knows that she will see Elizabeth again. She will never forget her kind face and caring heart. Beth walks over to the sink and looks in the mirror, and washes her face and hands. And when she looks up for a moment, she sees Elizabeth’s reflection. But when she turned around, no one was there.

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STARRY, STARRY NIGHT- A MEMOIR BY SUSAN A. CULVER

I hear my mother’s voice calling me, “Susan, Susan, it’s time to come in now.” I don’t want to go home yet. I gaze up at the inky blue star-lit sky. I imagine that I’m living on one of those far away stars looking down at my younger self. I see myself standing there in the moonlight with a thousand stars above me. My whole life is ahead of me. The lightning bugs are twinkling all around me. I hear the voices of my neighborhood friends laughing at a distance.  I hear my best friend calling out my name. “Susie, Susie, your mom is calling you. You better go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Photo by Robert Culver

I close my eyes and imagine myself on that faraway star lightyears away. And when I wake up in the morning, I don’t recognize the room I’m in. It smells differently. The room is painted in a weird color that I don’t recognize. My sister’s bed isn’t on the other side of the room.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up and walk over to the window. I look outside. And where there should be the Lombardi’s house there’s nothing but a barren field. I shove the window open and, in the distance, I hear the sound of bells ringing. I say out loud, “that must be the church bells ringing. But where did the Lombardi’s house go? Where is Mr. Lombardi’s police car? Wait, where is the church? I rub my eyes over and over. I convince myself I must be dreaming. This can’t be real. I creep down the steps as quietly as I can. I’m terrified of what I might find. What if my mother and my father, aren’t there? What then? Will I be alone in this strange world?

When I get down to the bottom step, I peep around the wall and look into the kitchen. I don’t see my mother. Where is she? Where’s my mother? Oh, maybe she’s at Mass? Or maybe she’s in her room getting dressed? “Mom, mom, are you down here?” I call out. She doesn’t answer me. No one does. Then I notice that the kitchen doesn’t look the same. The table is smaller and only has four chairs instead of six.

The light over the table looks like an upside-down umbrella instead of the wagon wheel my father recently put up. There is an eerie glow to the room.

The table isn’t set. My mother always sets the table before she goes to church in the morning. The coffee pot isn’t percolating. I can’t remember any day in my whole life when the coffee pot wasn’t on when I got up in the morning. My parents drink coffee all day, every day.

I slowly creep over to the front window in the kitchen. I’m afraid of what I’ll find or what I won’t find. I look across the street. I stare outside onto Fellowship Road that is right in front of our house. There’s a road there but it’s a dirt road. And I don’t see Mrs. McFarland’s house or her garden. In fact, there aren’t any houses. There are instead miles and miles of fields.

I’m beginning to feel panicky. I break out into a sweat. I yell at the top of my voice, “Mom, Dad, where are you?” No answer. In fact, my voice echoes throughout the house. The house feels empty. As if there is no one else anywhere. I frantically run from one room to the next. My mother’s room has a bed and a dresser. None of her personal things are there. Her rosary isn’t draped across her mirror. The rocking chair that she sits in every day to say the rosary isn’t there. The bedspread I crochet for her isn’t lying at the end of her bed. It’s gone.

I run over and look under the bed for it.  The bedspread isn’t there either. I practically rip off my mother’s closet door in my haste to see if my mother’s clothes are in there. Only empty hangers remain.  I look in my father’s small closet. It is empty, as well. Save for his favorite slippers at the back of his closet. I feel a tear run down my cheek soon, followed by countless more. Where are my father and mother, where are they? Has someone stolen my parents? I hear my voice inside my head, screaming,” I want my mother and father, bring them back, bring them back.” I’m crying hard; I can hardly catch my breath.

I finally manage to breath normally and stop crying. I run out of my parent’s bedroom to the bathroom. I can’t open the door immediately it’s stuck. I yank it as hard as I can. It slams into to me, and bangs into my forehead. I feel a knot rising up. No one is in there, and there aren’t any towels hanging on the racks. My mother’s mirror isn’t sitting on top of the toilet tank, where she always puts it. I look at myself in the mirror. I appear the same except for the tear-streaked cheeks and the knot on my forehead. I touch it gingerly. The pain is real enough.

I don’t know what to do or where to go. And then I remember the phone. I can call one of my older sisters. And they will explain it all to me. Maybe my parents are at one of their houses. I run back into the kitchen and dial my sister’s phone number. The phone rings and rings but no one answers. I call my other sister. No answer. I dial 911. No answer. I call my best friend, no answer. I drop the phone and slide down onto the floor and start sobbing in earnest.

Then I decide to go down into the basement maybe they are all hiding down there for some reason and forgot to tell me. Maybe there’s a hurricane coming and all the phone lines came down. That’s happened before. I practically fly down the steps. I yell out, “ Daddy, Mom, where are you? Are you down here?” No one answers me.

I run over to the bilco doors and push as hard as I can. They fly open and slam down on either side. I step outside into what should be my backyard. The yard I have played softball and pitched tents and played hide and seek every summer of my life.

The Willow tree is there and the benches my father built around the massive tree trunk. This is the place where I seek solace and read all the long summer days away. I wrap my arms around its massive base.

I’m so happy to see something that I love so dearly is still here. The tree that offers me a retreat.When I need to be alone and shade from the sultry and humid Summer days. As I sit there, I look around and see nothing else that is familiar. Not the parking lot of the church, no sign of the pump house in the parking lot that I had climbed up so often and then slid down nearly breaking my neck every time.

I don’t see Popular Avenue that should sit right behind the church parking lot. Nothing, just an empty dirt road with no cars, no kids on bikes riding up and down the street, no kids on roller skates. Nothing, no one just me sitting here hugging my tree.

And then I think, where are the birds? Why aren’t the birds flying in the sky and nesting in my tree? How will I go on without all the birds that I love so well? I close my eyes tightly. And wait and wait and wait.

And the next thing I’m aware of is a bright light shining in my eyes. I can see nothing else. Just the unbearably bright light that blocks out everything else. I try to close my eyes but can’t. I try to raise my arms so I can touch my eyelids and see what is holding them open so wide. I can’t. It feels like something is restraining my arms. I begin to feel panicked. I try to yell out, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I’m screaming as loud as I can inside my head. But I hear only silence. I feel a tear make its lonely way down my cheek. What fresh hell is this? Have I been abducted by aliens? Are they going to experiment on me or cut me up in little pieces?

“Doctor, doctor I think she’s waking up. She’s crying. Untie her, take the light out her eyes.”

“Susan, this is Doctor Buckley, can you hear me? Can you see me?

My throat feels dry, I try to swallow, but I can’t there’s something lodged in my throat. I try to cough. But I can’t.

“Doctor, she’s trying to cough. Can’t you remove the tubes?”

“Yes, Susan, this is going to hurt a little. Take a deep, deep breath, and I’m going to pull the tubes out of your throat.”

Tubes out of my throat. What’s happening? I take a deep breath and feel a terrible sense that something big is pulled from deep in my throat. I cough and it’s out. I begin to see something besides the blinding light. My mother, my mother’s face, is there in front of me. I feel more tears running down my face. I say in a voice that I hardly recognize, “Mom, Mommy, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you and Daddy. There was no one in the house or outside. I called everyone on the phone, and no one answered. Where were you? Why did you leave me all alone?”

“Susan, we didn’t leave you alone. We have been here all along. Do you remember what happened at all?”

“Yes, I remember I woke up and no one was home. Our house looked all different and so did our neighborhood. I couldn’t find anyone. Not even birds, they had all  disappeared.”

“Susan two days ago when you were out playing hid and seek, I called you to come in and you must have fallen and hit your head. The doctor thinks you might have had a seizure. Remember you had them before when you were in church taking Holy Communion? But don’t worry you are going to be perfectly fine. And Susan, we would never leave you alone. We will always be here for you for however long you need us. Until you are grown up.”

I look at my mother’s sweet face and at my father’s face that for once had a smile on it from ear to ear. And I started crying again, only this time it was from happiness. My father said, “Oh no, here comes the waterworks again.”

My mother said, “Oh Harry don’t be such a grouch.”

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KARMA BITES

I came to Florida on business but decided at the last minute to visit my mother-in-law; she’s living in a full-care nursing home. That really means you are completely out of it, and need someone to feed you, change your diapers, and wash you. It’s the last stop before you move on to whatever comes when you pass from this life.

I haven’t seen her for five years. We sent her to Florida to my brother Chuck when we weren’t longer able to take care of her. The nursing homes are less expensive in Florida. I feel tremendous guilt about sending her there. But it all got to be just too much. So off she went on her permanent vacation to the Sunlit Village Home.

Deserted Island by Hoobychubes-Pixabay

I’m bringing my mother- in- law a small dictionary, and a mask of a greyhound. She used to love crossword puzzles and bet on the greyhounds’ way back when. Needless to say, I realize soon enough she wouldn’t need any of these thoughtful gifts.

I admit I didn’t expect to find her playing Canasta, but I wasn’t prepared to see her tied into a giant high chair, with a bib around her neck either. I try having a conversation with her, but she doesn’t seem aware that I’m here. She talks, or perhaps yells, would be a better description. She screams over and over.” I want chocolate.” After about one hour of this, I pat her on her now white head, and say, “I love you, Mom. I hope you see Peter soon very soon.” Peter is her deceased husband.

That’s when I boogie out the door, never to return again. I decide to do something to lighten my mood. I see a sign that read, rent a boat, twenty dollars for half an hour. I decide to go for it. In hindsight, I should have checked the weather report, but that’s me act now think later.

Off I go rowing in the deep blue sea, I notice after about fifteen minutes, the water starts getting choppy, and the wind picks up. No prob.  I can handle this. It turns out I can’t. The little boat starts a rocking, and I start upchucking my corned beef on rye with extra sauerkraut. Next thing you know, I’m way, way out, can’t see any land. I think I pass out for a while, or maybe my brain decides to take a little vacation of its own.

When I wake up, the boat is banging up against something. It turns out it’s an island. If you can call a clod of dirt, whose only inhabitant is a lone palm tree, an island. I pull the boat and myself onto the shore. And take a little look around. Takes about one minute to realize that I’m royally screwed. I think I guess this is payback for my bad karma with Mother-in-law.

I walk over to the tree, and at the very top, there’s a coconut. Using my amazing athletic ability, about one hour later, I find myself within one foot of said coconut. I start swinging one arm wildly and banging the trunk of the tree, low and behold I knock that sucker down.

That’s when I remember I’m terrified of heights. So, I stayed glued to that tree for another two hours before I gather the courage to climb down. Well, I climb halfway down, and slide the rest of the way, scraping most of the skin off my arms, and bare legs.

Once I arrive on the ground again, I take a look at my burning legs and arms, and start crying quietly, and then in earnest, reaching that level of crying known as the ugly cry. Glad no one is there to witness it, or even worse video it, and post it on YouTube.

I crack open the coconut with a nearby rock, and just like that, I have coconut milk, which I pour over raw, and burning skin. I go over to the mighty yacht and get the dictionary and tear out pages and stick them to my now oozing legs.

Just at this moment, I see a tourist boat floating by my little square foot of paradise. People are waving and taking pictures of me with their freaking cell phones. It’s at this moment that I put on the dog mask because by now, I not only feel like a dog but smell like one too.

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THE PURSE

I pull into the only remaining parking spot at Shop Rite food store in Glassboro. I can’t believe how crowded it is. And then I remember today is the day that the Gloucester County bus transports the senior citizens to the food store. It’s not that I dislike older people, I ‘m no spring chicken myself.

However, some seniors perceive food shopping as a social event. They gather in groups in the middle of the aisle and gossip about one another. And they have debates about which is better frozen food or canned.

Shopping Cart- Google Image

I, on the other hand, detest food shopping. I want to get in and get out. After thirty years of food shopping, it holds no interest for me. It’s a task I must complete every two weeks. I’m not a foodie never have been.

I open the door of my car and sigh. I’m resign myself to the fact that I’m about to squander another hour of my life doing something I don’t want to do. I lock the door on my seventeen-year-old Mitsubishi Galant and walk over the corral where the shopping carts are stored.

As I get closer to the carts, I notice that there’s something in the first cart where mothers put their little kids. And low and behold, someone has left a large purse.

I look around to see if anyone is getting into their cars who might have left it there. Unfortunately, I don’t see anyone getting in or getting out of their cars. I pick up the purse and contemplate what I should do. Should I take it into the food store and leave it with customer service? Should I leave it in the cart in case the owner returns for it? No, someone will probably grab the purse take the money and credit cards and throw the purse in the trash.

Then I get the brilliant idea of looking into the purse for identification, possibly a phone number or address. I find the driver’s license. The owner of the purse lives in Clayton, a town about fifteen minutes away. There’s no phone number. Common sense tells me to take the purse into the store and give it to Customer Service.

But I don’t listen to common sense. I decide I’ll drive to Clayton and return it to the owner. Who may not realize where they left their purse. I get back in my car and turn on my GPS. I decide to take another quick look into the purse. I open it up, and I find an expensive-looking watch and some unopened letters, a gun, and handcuffs. And then I see drugs. Not the kind of pills I have in my purse, aspirin, and anti-acids. But illegal drugs or what I think are probably illegal drugs.

“Holy Mackerel,” I say out loud. I realize at this point I ‘m in over my head. I decide to take the purse and its creepy contents into the store to customer service and turn it in. I feel a bead of sweat dripping slowly down from my forehead off my chin. And more sweat follows.

Just as I’m getting out of my car to turn the purse over to the customer service, I sense someone is looking at me. I look to the right and the left. And I see a woman about thirty-years-old staring at me. The purse is wide open. This woman does not look happy. In fact, she appears as if she’s going to blow a gasket. Her face is distorted by anger, rage even.

I grin at her and shrug my shoulders.  I  see that doesn’t help. My first reaction is, she’s going to kill me. I try to get back in my car. and lock my door. But it’s too late. She’s grabbing the outside door handle and yanks the door open.

“What the hell are you doing with my purse?” She says.

“Oh look, I’m sorry I found it in one of the carts. I was just about to return it to you. I was looking in the purse for a phone number to call and let you know I found it. That’s all. I didn’t see anything.       Here take it.”

“You didn’t see anything? Come on you’re coming with me.”
“No, here take your purse, I’m not going to tell anyone, anything. I’m not going anywhere with you. I have to go food shopping today. Look, you can check your purse.  You won’t find anything missing. I have to go now.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Get in.”

“What? No, I’m not going anywhere with you. Just take the purse. Take it. I scream, “help” at the top of my lungs. It’s too late. That’s when she yanks me by the hair and pulls me over to the back of her car. Opens the trunk and shoves me in and slams the trunk closed. I bang on the trunk and kick it with my feet. And then I start screaming at the top of my lungs. But by then, she’s driving away. And nobody is going to hear me once we get on Delsea Drive, which is a really busy road all the time. I keep screaming, “help, I’m locked in the trunk.”

I begin feeling panicky. I’m sweating from my head down to the soles of my feet. It’s hot as Hades in here. I feel like I’m suffocating. I try screaming again, but only a squeak comes out of my dry throat. I keep thinking about a self-defense class I took years ago. They said, “whatever you do, don’t let anyone take you to a second location.” Or maybe I heard it, Oprah.

And that is when I start to lose it, hyperventilating, feeling like I was going to throw up. I begin kicking the trunk of the car with all my might, try to open it, hoping that it isn’t locked. No matter how hard I kick, it doesn’t budge.

I attempt to calm down and reason. Unfortunately, I’ve never been good under pressure. I always panic. Sometimes if someone asks me my name, I just stare at them blankly. I can’t remember my name at that moment. God forbid I get pulled over by a cop for speeding on making an illegal turn. My brain stops working altogether. I had test anxiety all through school even college. And now, my life depends on me getting my shit together. For all, I know, this woman is some sort of maniac or cold-blooded murderer. This could be my last day alive. I start praying; I’m not religious. But it might be worth a shot. “Help me, god, help me. I’ll be a better person. I won’t lose my temper so easily. I’ll start recycling. I’ll never tell another lie, ever. I’ll try to be more patient. Anything you want, god, just help me get out of this trunk and away from this murderer.”

I slow down my breathing, taking deep breaths, and slowly exhaling. I calm down a bit, and then the thought crosses my mind that maybe I’ll run out of air in the trunk and suffocate. I start feeling claustrophobic. I start yelling and kicking again, “help, I’m locked in the trunk, help, help, help.”

Suddenly, my brain kicks in a last-ditch effort to save my life. I remember that newer vehicles have an emergency release on the inside of the trunk. I’m on my side. I start feeling along the inside of the hood to the middle feeling for the release. It should be a small handle that I have to grab and then pull, and the hood should pop open after about two minutes, which feels like an eternity. I find the cable and follow it to the latch. I decide to wait until the car slows.

I’m sweating like a pig at this point, exhausted from the shock and terror I’m feeling. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so frightened in my life. I decide to start counting backward from a hundred to calm myself down. I’m on thirty-four when I feel the car slow down and comes to a halt. I pray we are at a light and not at this woman’s home. I pop the hood. I hear the engine is still running, I throw my legs over the top of the trunk and then with great effort push my upper body up and out.

I’m standing on the highway. A young woman driving a car directly in front of me is texting someone on her phone and doesn’t even see me. I run over to her car and start pounding on the driver’s side window. She slowly turns her head in my direction. I’m yelling as loud as I can, “help, help, help.”  Which isn’t loud because my throat is sore from yelling at the top of my voice for whatever amount of time I have been locked in the trunk. I have lost all sense of time.

She opens her window half-way down. “Please let me in, the woman in the car behind you kidnapped me. She has a gun, please, I need help, let me in. She glances at the car trunk directly behind her. The kidnapper is now aware that her unwilling passenger has escaped from the trunk. Until she see s her talking to the driver in the car in front of her.

“Please, here comes the kidnapper, please, please let me in.”

“OK, get in. You can use my phone to call the police.”

“Please lock your doors; maybe you should start beeping your car horn to call attention to what’s happening.”

The driver of the car looks in her rearview window and sees an armed woman running towards her car. “Crap, here she comes, she has a gun in her hand. We have to get out of here quickly. The driver starts beeping her car until everyone is looking in their direction.

The other driver’s make room for the woman to pull her car out. She starts weaving in and out of the traffic. And then there is traffic starts moving forward.

The woman driving my getaway car keeps saying out loud,” My God, what have I got myself into?” She says it about five times. I put my hand on her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. She practically jumps through the roof of the car. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you touching me?’

“I’m sorry I was just trying to calm you down. Thank you so much for saving my life; only one in a million people would have done that. I was so lucky you were behind the getaway car.”

“Getaway car, what do you mean, did you rob a bank or something? Are you a bank robber?” Then she starts saying my god, my god, my god, what did I get myself into?”

“What? No, I’m not a bank robber. I was in the Shop Rite parking lot to do my food shopping. And I found a woman’s purse in the baby seat of the shopping cart. I was looking into the purse to find a name and address so I could contact the owner or return it. Then I decided it would be better to turn it into the Customer Service of Shop Rite. And I was just about to do that when the owner showed up.  Unfortunately for me because when I looked in her purse, I found a loaded gun, and drugs and a large sum of money, expensive jewelry, and handcuffs.”

“So anyway, she sees me looking in her purse. She comes barreling over to me, and if looks could kill, I would already be dead. She was in a rage. I tried to explain to her what happened. She wouldn’t listen. She grabbed me and dragged me over to her car and threw me in the trunk. And then she drove away. I know she was going to kill me. Why else would she throw me in the trunk? I remembered that newer cars have a trunk release. And I managed to open the trunk and climb out. And that’s where you came to the rescue. I owe you a debt of gratitude; you absolutely saved my life.”

Just as I finished recounting my experience to my savior, I hear a police siren and turn and look in the back window, and I see two cop cars following us. “Oh, thank god, the police are here? You should pull over.”

“Call the police? No, I didn’t have time to do anything. Someone else must have called the police when they say you get out of the trunk and get into my car.”

“Mam, can I see your driver’s license, please, and insurance card?”

“What, I didn’t do anything I was trying to save this woman’s life. She was locked in the trunk of the car in front of me, and she managed to escape. I was driving her to safety.”

I realize that mam, but I still have to see some identification. You too mam.”

“Me, I don’t even remember what happened to my purse, it might still be in my car at the ShopRite Food store in Glassboro where I was kidnapped. It is a black 2003 Mitsubishi Galant.”

“Alright man, I’ll have that checked out. Are either of you injured?”

“No, thank god. But that maniac threw me in the trunk. She had a gun. She was going to kill me because I found her purse and looked in it. She had a loaded gun, handcuffs and drugs, and a lot of money.”

“Alright, I understand, unfortunately, both of you are going to have to go make a statement at the police headquarters. The two of you can get in my vehicle, and I’ll have my partner drive your car to the station, miss.”

I look at her, and she looks back at me. I say,” I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.” So, I start laughing and crying at the same time. We hug each other.

“Oh, by the way, my name is Sandra. Sandra Gioiella. What’s your name?

“I’m Mary Guilfoyle. It’s been an interesting day. I don’t usually drink, but after this, I would really appreciate a beer, how about you?”

“That’s a date, lunch, too, on me.”

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