Author Archives: Susan

LATE NIGHT WHISTLE

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I often lie in bed late at night, listening for the train whistle and the rumbling of the train as it goes by. I rent a run-down row house just on the other side of the train tracks. Some people think the sound of a train whistle is lonely. But I don’t. I love that sound. It captured my imagination years ago. Reminding me of all the places that I would love to see, in all those mysterious and exotic countries I’ve read about throughout my life.

Photo by Larisa Koshkima

Train tracks by Larisa Koshima

As I wait for sleep to take me, my last thought is that nothing is keeping me here in this dead-end town. I could be a waitress anywhere. I’m a damn good waitress.

I wake up at 6:45 am one minute before the alarm goes off, as always. I serve the early risers during the week. I know them all by their first names. It feels as if I’ve been waiting on them all my life.

But it’s only been five years. Five years. Five years of pouring cup after cup of coffee. Listening to the same conversations. Smelling the same smells as burnt toast and greasy fried eggs. Filling the salt and pepper shakers and sugar bowls.  And wiping down the same tables.

I smile and say,” have a great day.” as they go out the door. Knowing I’ll be saying the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.

I slowly rise out of my bed and slide my legs over the side of the bed. I sigh and take a deep breath. I take a quick shower and pull on my uniform. I grab my purse and a light jacket and head out my door. And walk down Main Street towards The Painted Grill, the restaurant where I wait tables. I walk right past the restaurant. I see Charlie heating the grill. I stare with longing at the train station. I keep walking down the street, not sure at first where I’m going. I find myself standing at the counter at the train station.

“How far will two hundred dollars take me?” I ask the station master.

“Well, you can take this train into Raleigh and then switch onto the express there and take the express train all the way to New York. From there, you can go to any port of call.

“I’ll take one ticket.”

“Go over to track D, and the train should be pulling up in the next couple of minutes. Here’s your ticket.”

After a few minutes of standing in the steaming hot morning air, I spy the train in the distance. My heart starts beating faster. I hear the whistle. And the train pulls up with a screech, and the doors hiss as they open up. I step up and walk to the back seat and sit down. I hear the air rush out of the seat. I take deep breaths and watch as people come in and sit down.

The train whistles and starts up again. I look out the window, and I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. I feel an unfamiliar feeling, and then I realize that I’m smiling. I know that this is the first day of the rest of my life. I keep smiling.

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SHE WAS LAID TO REST

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I received the call very late at night, long after I went to bed. Long after, I finally fell asleep. I heard the phone ringing. But my mind refused to acknowledge it. We all know that good news never arrives after midnight. And this call was no exception to that maxim.

In the morning, after my first cup of coffee, I notice the message light on my phone is blinking. I look at the caller ID. It’s my Great Aunt Maeve’s number. I can’t remember the last time I heard from her. The fact is, I thought she died decades ago. I haven’t kept in touch with that side of the family. Too Catholic, you know. Too old school. Too judgmental.

My life choices would not bear scrutiny. Not that I’m a serial killer or anything that drastic. Just that, well, let’s say I believe the ten commandments have some flexibility in them, some leeway, if you know what I mean. For instance, it’s not that bad to lie as long as you aren’t hurting anyone with that lie. It’s not that bad if you steal, as long as it isn’t hurting anyone personally. And if the money isn’t missed by anyone, then what’s the harm?

Besides, the church doesn’t believe in drinking or playing the horses or gambling at all, for that matter, unless it’s Bingo. But really, how is that any of their business anyway? What’s the problem with the occasional pint, or ten pints for that matter? Isn’t hurting anyone else, is it? No, of course, it isn’t. Get over yourself. Mind your own business. That’s what I say. Mind your own damn business.

I push the message button.  It isn’t my Great Aunt Maeve. It’s her granddaughter Katie. I always had kind of a crush on her. She was a real Irish beauty back in the day. Hair down to her waist, as dark as coal and so thick your fingers would get lost in it. Her eyes, well, they were that shade of blue that looks like blue ice. Light blue, deep as the ocean. You could drown in those eyes. Her body was a young man’s dream. Sometimes I couldn’t get to sleep at all at night just from thinking about her.

“What’s that, you say? Isn’t she’s your cousin?” Yeah, sure, she’s my cousin. But not my first cousin. What’s the harm, I say? We were young, and it was all very innocent — just a kiss or two, nothing more. Oh, get over yourself.

Anyway, Katie is letting me know that Aunt Maeve has passed over to the great beyond. She tells me the funeral is in three days. And, of course, after the funeral will be the traditional Irish Wake. Well, ordinarily, I avoid funerals like the plague. But an Irish Wake well that I wouldn’t miss even if it were going to be my own goddamn wake. Especially then, I guess. She tells me that the funeral is at 10:30 on Friday morning at Holy Mackerel Church. OK, so that’s not the real name.

It’s really called St. Patrick’s. It’s in Gloucester City, NJ. Don’t let anyone ever tell you the Irish have any creativity. Every other church and child’s name is Patrick. Even after the church admitted, there never was a real St. Patrick. They just continued naming every child and church after him. The Irish lot is about as stubborn as they get; don’t let anyone tell you any differently.

Well, no doubt about it, I was going to have to fortify myself in the next couple of days with some good booze and beer. If I am going to survive a week with my family. I’ll have to be good and drunk and stay that way if my psyche will survive the inquisition that every cousin, aunt, or uncle is going to put me through. But, not to worry, I’ve had years of practice — years of training. I’m up to the challenge. Ready or not, here I come.

So here I’m on my way to the funeral. I have Radar Love cracked up as high as possible. I get off the freeway to buy a six-pack of Old Milwaukee. Yeah, I know not a beer of choice unless you like the taste of armpit, but it brings you right down to earth. And that’s what you need when you are going to spend more than a week with the dearly departed and your loved ones.

As I pull off Route 130 onto Market Street in Gloucester, NJ, I have an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It could be nausea, could be I drank too much. But I doubt that since I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol in any form. As I see the house at the end of the street, I realize I feel like that kid I was long ago that left home at twenty. Angry, resentful, lonely.

Indeed, I didn’t come back as a war hero or successful businessman.  But hell, I’m a tin knocker. When I work, I make pretty decent money. When I don’t, I live on unemployment until the Union calls me back. That’s life if you work in construction.

I pull my 1971 El Camino next to the curb and stare over at the house. It looks the same. It’s a two-story stucco with faded shutters and a red front door with black hinges. My Uncle Hugh just loved to paint everything black and red. He was quite the character. Heavyset with those light blue eyes. And could be mean as a snake if you got on his wrong side. He was the one that caught Katie and me kissing on the couch in the basement.

The lilac bush was overgrown, and the grass hadn’t been cut in a long time.

But still, it’s the house where I spent most of his youth. My Aunt Maeve took care of me every summer. She fed me Lebanon bologna and cheese. Or sometimes fried bologna sandwiches with chicken noodle soup. Every Sunday, she made a different kind of cake for dessert. My favorite was chocolate cake with vanilla icing sprinkled with shredded coconuts. It was the only day they ate roast beef and noodles. I can almost smell it while I stand here on the porch.

I have my hand poised, ready to knock, but at the last moment, I grasp the doorknob and turn it. The door opens, and I hear a chorus of voices all talking at the same time. Aunt Aileen yells out,” it’s our Danny standing at the door like a stranger. ”Come in, come in and give us a kiss for the love of god. Has the cat got your tongue?”

“Hello, Aunt Aileen. It’s been a long time. You look great.”

“Oh, get on with you. You must have kissed the blarney stone. Say hello to your Uncle Pat.”

“Hello, Uncle Pat.”  He’s sitting on an ancient upholstered rocking chair. There’s duct tape holding it together. He’s even fatter than I remember. He’s wearing a red and white striped shirt with a pocket. In the pocket are his Pall Mall cigarettes. He lost all of his hair, which was thinning even back when I was a kid. I can smell the nicotine on him from two feet away. The lampshade on the coffee table next to him is stained yellow from years of exposure to Uncle Pat’s smoking unfiltered Pall Malls.

“Well, I may have put on a pound or two. You’re a grown man Danny, but I would have recognized you anywhere. So, what have you been up to? What kind of work are you doing these days?”

“I’m a tin knocker, Uncle Pat, just like my dad. I’m sorry I didn’t come back for his funeral. I didn’t hear about it until long after. I was in the middle of moving at the time. And staying with a friend. I should have kept in touch.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Sit down, take a load off.  Your Aunt Aileen will get you something to eat. There’s enough to feed an army, as usual. I hope you brought your appetite with you. You’re a bit on the scrawny side, if you don’t mind me saying. But your Aunt Aileen will fill you out, don’t you worry. She’ll be right back with a plate.”

Danny plops down on the couch. He could swear it was the same couch he remembered from his childhood. They must have finally taken the plastic cover off.  He looks around the room, and there’re some familiar faces. Older than he remembered, but still, he would know them anywhere. Danny doesn’t see Katie anywhere. Maybe she’s in the kitchen. It’s loud in here.  Irish music is playing in the background. He thinks it’s the Clancy Brothers. When he was a teenager, he couldn’t stand hearing all the Irish tunes.

At that moment, he hears his Aunt Liz calling out, “Danny, Danny, my boy, where is he? Oh, there you are. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come here, give us a hug.”

Danny stands up and walks over to her and is crushed in her bosomy embrace. When he catches his breath, he looks up at her. Her face bears the weight of the years and all the pain she has to carry.” “Hello, Aunt Liz, it’s good to see you. It’s been a long time. You look good. Is Katie here? I haven’t seen her?”

“Oh, sure, she’ll be here in a  shake of a lamb’s tail.  Oh, I’ve forgotten how you two used to be as thick as thieves when you were kids. I’m so happy you came. I wish you had come back before Maeve left us. She talked about you all the time, and you were the light of her life. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and you can fix a plate? You look half-starved, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Danny follows his Aunt Liz into the kitchen. It looks as if time has stood still in this kitchen. It’s still painted a cream-colored stained with years of nicotine. The linoleum floor remained in the orange and brown checkered board pattern. Tracks are worn into the tile surface from forty years of foot traffic.

Danny walks over to the narrow cabinet next to the refrigerator and opens it. The ironing board is still neatly hidden within its depths. The General Electric refrigerator had been replaced by a more recent and larger one. And the chandelier which once graced the ceiling is now a fluorescent light fixture. Danny’s Uncle Hugh had an artistic streak and often replaced everyday household items with his creations.

Take a load off Danny. Danny pulls out the chair and sits down. His Aunt puts a plate down in front of him. Danny looks down, and his plate is so full there isn’t an inch of space that isn’t covered with food. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling it in. He hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. Mostly his diet consisted of fast food and bologna and cheese sandwiches, followed by a six-pack of Michelob.

When he looks up again, everyone is staring at him because his plate is entirely empty. And they all start laughing. Danny is embarrassed at first, but then he too joins in the laughter. He didn’t realize how hungry he had been.

“Well, you poor thing, are you still hungry? Do you want some dessert? We have some homemade chocolate cake with vanilla icing with coconut on top. What do you say?”

“I’m pretty full, but yeah, I would love a piece of homemade cake.”

His Aunt Liz hands him a huge piece of cake, and a cup of coffee, so strong Danny tastes the caffeine before he swallows any. After he finishes, he rubs his stomach and exhales. “ God, that was the best meal I’ve had in years. Probably since the last time I ate since the last time I was here. Thanks so much.”

As Danny looked around at all the faces at the table, he noticed there were tears on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s cheeks. At the same time, he realizes there are tears running down his own cheeks.

His Aunt Liz comes over and hugs him. “Oh, Danny, we have all missed you so much. It’s sad that losing Maeve’s passing is what it took for us to get you back. But I know that she would be thrilled to see you sitting back at her table.”

Danny looked up at her. ”Aunt Liz, I didn’t realize how much I missed all of you. Aunt Maeve was the closest thing I had to a mother. I guess I couldn’t get over all the anger I had when I left. I just wanted to block out all the angry words between my dad and me. And then he died, and I felt so guilty. That I hadn’t come back and made it right, I couldn’t face the funeral. I’m glad I come back now. It’s hard to be in the world without anyone caring what happens to you.”

“Oh, Danny, we did care. We all love you. We never stopped. OK, no more tears today. Let’s try to remember the good times we all had with Maeve.”

The next morning Danny comes downstairs from his old bedroom dressed for the funeral and feels a sudden emptiness.  On some level, he was expecting his Aunt Maeve to be sitting at the table drinking her tea and reading the paper. He did hear his Uncles and Aunts talking quietly together. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

“Good morning Danny, how did you sleep? I guess your childhood bed was a bit uncomfortable for you.”

“I slept fine. I fell right to sleep and slept through the night. What time will we be leaving for the funeral?”

“In an hour. Danny, we would like it if you were one of the pallbearers, and I would like you to get up and say a few words about Maeve. You were such a big part of her life. She would have liked that. What do you have to say?”

“Well, I’m not much on public speaking, but yeah, I’d like to say a few words. After we eat, I’ll go upstairs and write down some of my memories of Aunt Maeve. I hope I don’t mess it up.”

“Danny, just speak from your heart. You never had any faith in yourself. But we do. We always did.”

“OK, I will do my best, Uncle Hugh.”

After breakfast, Danny went upstairs and started thinking about his Aunt Maeve and how much she meant to him. And how much she had loved him and accepted him just the way he was. If it hadn’t been for her, Danny would have left long before he got out of high school. His father was a falling-down drunk and used him as a punching bag. His mother had left when he was about three or four. He had very few memories of her at all.

Without his Aunt Maeve, he wouldn’t have survived his childhood. As he thought about that, he realized how much he missed by not keeping in touch with her for the past ten years. He can’t do anything about the past. But he can do something about the here and now. He starts writing.

It’s time for Danny to step up to the pulpit. He clears his throat and looks up and out at all the people who came to acknowledge his Aunt Maeve’s passing but also celebrate her life. He sees his cousin Katie in the first row. She nods at him and lifts her chin up. It’s a signal they used to use to give each other support. When they were young and, things got tough. He lifted his chin to her.

“Good morning, everyone. We are all gathered here to mourn the loss of someone dear to us, someone we will all miss. She will leave an empty space in our lives that she used to fill. But I hope we can fill that space with all the loving memories we have of Aunt Maeve.

For me, she was that safe place I could go when I felt all alone and unloved. She would cook a hot meal. She always gave me a warm and loving hug and a kiss on my cheek. She assured me that I was a person of value. And that I was someone that she loved and would always love, no matter what. She accepted me for who I was and never told me I wasn’t good enough, not smart enough, or not good-looking enough. She held my hand and warmed my heart.

My life was richer for having known her. When I talked to her, she listened. She heard and cared. She was never too busy. She was always there for me. I can see by the way you are nodding your heads that she did the same thing for each of you. We were blessed by having to know her. She was both strong and soft at the same time. I can only hope that someday I can inspire someone else the way she inspired me always to work hard and do my best. So, as we go forward in our lives, let us keep her in our hearts and minds. I know she will be traveling with me throughout my journey through life. I will always feel her by my side, and I will never be alone again.

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THE MASKED BANDIT

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It’s early Spring, and I’ve recently planted all the vegetables that I had started in my greenhouse outside. I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to eating freshly picked vegetables, tomatoes, peppers, and herbs.

Every morning I walk outside filled with anticipation, loving every minute of the hard work, the heat, the rain, the weeding. And watching the bees slowly buzzing over the plants and landing on the flowers that have recently bloomed. I imagine the bees are in some sort of drunken stupor from the overwhelming array of smells as they hover and land so lightly upon the plants that surround them.

I take a deep breath. I feel slightly lightheaded. Even though I have gardened almost the entirety of my adult life, I still feel the same joy I felt the first time I saw a plant growing and peeking out from the earth that was merely a tiny seed ten days before.

The time flew by in what seemed moments, and I saw some of the watermelons growing larger by the day. I could almost taste their sweet nectar upon my lips. Every day that passed drew me closer to that moment when I could enjoy the fruits of my labor. And then the horror began.

One Saturday morning, I stepped outside on my screened-in porch, and I saw what appeared to be one of my watermelons in the middle of the yard. But how could that be? How in the world could that happen? This was the very watermelon that was so close to being ripe. It was huge. How could anything but a human being pick it up and carry it out into the middle of my yard? And then abandon it. What kind of warped individual would commit such a crime against nature, against me? Who, who would do it? I could not imagine.

We live in a small community with only about twenty homes. And my neighbors made a practice of keeping to themselves. They rarely even pass the time of day if they see you outside in your yard. I was lucky if they even waved. After six years, I only knew the names of a few of our neighbors.

I slipped my gardening boots on and ran out into the yard in my pajamas I hadn’t even put on my gardening clothes. I was in such a shocking state of mind I forgot I hadn’t gotten dressed yet. I felt as if I was looking at the remnants of a murder committed in my own backyard.

I ran through the wet grass. It had rained heavily the night before. And looked down at my fallen watermelon. And it had huge bites taken out of it. I could not comprehend why anyone would do such a thing. It was bad enough that he or she would steal from my garden. But, to then take bites out of it and then leave it to rot in the middle of my backyard was impossible to take in. I was baffled.

I felt such anger well up in my heart in mind. I felt my temples throbbing, and my face felt flushed. The only time I felt this angry was when I was in my last year of college, and my teacher told me that my latest story was the work of a person who had no clue how to write or had any creativity. He failed me for the semester, and I had to retake the course. And then one of my classmates told me that self-same teacher just had a story published in a magazine. And it was almost an exact copy of my story word for word.

This is how angry I felt today. Someone had taken one of my creations that I worked and sweated for and destroyed it, desecrated it. I silently promised myself that I would seek revenge on whoever was responsible for this crime against nature.

When I returned back to my house, I called up my best friend Beth and told her the whole story. She listened quietly without interrupting. And then she said, “.Elizabeth, try and calm down; you’re going to have a stroke if you don’t calm down. Try to put this in perspective. It was just a watermelon. I’m sure that you planted more than one. I know how much you love gardening and look; the fruits of your hard work are like children to you. But think about it, you were going to eat it. And there will be another melon to take its place.”

“What? Just another watermelon. How can you say that? I planned my garden all winter. I spent hours and days preparing the soil, planting the seeds, watching them, and watering them. “

“You’re right, Elizabeth, but what’s done is done. You just have moved forward. Try not to let this affect you so much. Try to move forward. Maybe you could put some kind of net over the garden to prevent further damage.”

“You’re right, Beth. I will have to find a protocol to prevent this from ever happening. I will set up traps all over my yard if need be.”

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IT’S A NEW DAY, IT’S A NEW DAWN

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As I step out the front door, I put one foot in front of the other. I tell myself just to take one day at a time. I see Roger, my neighbor, in his front yard, picking up his newspaper sans pants again. God, no, not today. Please don’t let him see me, not today.

I rush towards my car, pushing the unlock button. Unlock, unlock, I scream inside my head. He is a nice enough old man but somewhat senile. Sometimes he forgets to put in his teeth, and then there are the days like today when he forgets to put on his pants. Roger goes commando, which is unfortunate for everyone who lives in the immediate neighborhood.

Luckily, he has forgotten to wear his glasses as well, so he doesn’t see me, and I make a clean getaway.  I‘m off to my first day at my new job. Never mind that this is the third first day of a new job that I have had to endure in the past five years. Each job is a step down from the job that preceded it. Not to mention a pay cut. Oh, I meant not to mention it, but I did. Whoops!

I keep reading and hearing on the radio that the economy is turning around, but I don’t see any evidence of that in my life or in the people I know. But there is no point in dwelling on it.

My new job is as a cashier at a car dealership. I have been working in the automobile sales business for thirty years. I started at the bottom as a secretary and worked myself up to vice-president of the new car sales department. I was the only female to reach that position within my company. The auto sales business, especially in a Japanese-owned company, is highly misogynistic. You know, the old boys club, the glass ceiling and all that.

When the economy took its downturn, the auto business went bust. I was the first to be laid off. Actually, I took an early retirement package. I really didn’t have a choice. It was early retirement or fired with no package. This included keeping my pension, one year of health insurance, and one year’s pay.

It took me one year to find another job.  You know something, and there aren’t a lot of vice president jobs for a sixty-something woman. My next job was manager of Internet sales job at one of the dealers I used to audit in my old job. He called me and offered me the position when he heard I had been laid off. I took a $ 60,000-a-year cut in pay, but I didn’t have much choice. No more unemployment left. No other job offers.

After a year there, I was laid off because I kept complaining to the owner that all the car salesmen started drinking after he left for the day. They weren’t the happy drunks you don’t mind being around. They were the other kind, the nasty drunks.

Laid off again and got another Internet manager position, which lasted six months. They decided I wasn’t bringing in enough leads, so they hired an outside company to take over my position.

And that brings you up to speed. I’m driving on the Roosevelt Expressway in the early morning rush hour to my new job as a cashier at another dealership. I hope I will be able to impress them with my years of experience and knowledge of the auto business. Moving quickly up the ladder of success until I once again reach the soaring heights of middle management.

Ah, I see the dealership is coming up on my right and making a sharp right turn. I almost missed the entrance. Unfortunately, someone else is making an equally sharp left turn out of the driveway, and just like that, two cars become one.

My airbag deploys, and I am hit with such force that it knocks the wind out of me. I hope I have not cracked my ribs or some other vital organ. I finally catch my breath, and I see a very furious-looking woman headed my way.

She is wearing a very grim smile on her face. Well, perhaps it’s more a grimace than a smile.

I reach for my cell in case I have to push 911. I look into my glove department for my insurance information. I roll down the window. She immediately starts screaming at me. “It’s your fault. You hit my car. I just bought it last year. Now, what am I going to do? You stupid… ” Well, you fill in the blanks.

I take a deep breath and wait until she runs out of steam and calms down. Finally, she says,” Well, this has turned out to be one of the worse days of my life. First, I get fired with no warning at all, and now you crash into my car and destroy it. No car, no job, what next?”

“I’m really sorry. This is my first day here, and I guess I am a bit nervous and wasn’t watching as carefully as I should have. Let me give you my information.”

“Really, you were starting here today. I didn’t know they were hiring anyone or that there were any openings. What position were you hired for?”

“The cashier position.”

“What the… that’s my job.”

She then lets out a string of expletives that would make a longshoremen blush. I quickly push the button to roll up my window and decide now would be the perfect time to push 911 before any blood is shed. My blood.

The woman is still ranting and raving and having a full-on tantrum when the cop arrives, and he tries to talk her down. She finally stops screaming but is still shooting me evil looks. Well, you know that expression if looks could kill? Well, it’s true if looks could kill, I would be lying here in a puddle of my own blood, riddled with bullet holes.

The cop talks to me and the lunatic, and everybody cools down. We exchange information, and she heads off on her merry way. Well, not merry, but you know what I mean.

I pull into the parking lot and look for employee parking. I see there is one spot left and pull in. As I walk into the dealership, two sales types come racing towards me, mistaking me for a customer. “Sorry, I’m not a customer. I’m the new cashier. Can you point me in the direction of human resources?”

“Yeah, sure, it right over there, but you’re late, and Z doesn’t like that. Z, that’s the owner, has kind of a bad temper, so try to stay on his good side, if you can find it.

So begins my first day at my new job.

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SUNSHINE, HAIRCUTS AND MANICURES

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It was 1974, and I was living in Jupiter, Florida. I didn’t know anyone there other than my husband, Bob, and his family. In the past, I had worked as a dental assistant, and for a high-risk auto insurance company in New Jersey for several years. However, I had difficulty finding a job in Florida because companies had a policy that you had to have been a Florida resident for at least six months before they would hire you. And I had only lived there two months since moving from New Jersey.

Fortunately, Bob’s cousin, Margie, had worked at an insurance company B.D.Cole. Margie said I could use her as a reference. So after two interviews, I was hired to work as an assistant for Elaine Ayoub. Who had worked at that office for years and was nearing retirement age. Elaine was having difficulty keeping up with the workload and had made some mistakes. So, they hired me to assist her.

Colonnades Hotel add 1970’s.. I’m under the blanket.

I was told to go through her outgoing work every day and make sure it was in order. It was a challenging job since I wasn’t up to date on all the insurance laws in Florida. And they were different from New Jersey. Elaine didn’t seem aware that I lacked the pertinent information, and she didn’t attempt to teach me what I needed to know. She had a somewhat imposing personality, and I was young and slightly intimidated by her.

After working at B.D. Cole, for about six months, Bob and I got married. We took a three-day honeymoon in Miami. Where it rained, cats and dogs the entire time. The hotel room’s roof leaked, and the water leaked non-stop over our bed for three days. It was a honeymoon that I would never forget, that’s for sure. Bob lost his wallet somehow, and he had no clue where it was. When we returned to our apartment in Lake Park, we found it on the driveway.

We had adopted a puppy we named Ullyses a couple of months before we were married. And we had put him in a kennel for three days while we were on our honeymoon in Miami. When we picked him up from the kennel, we discovered that he was infested with fleas,  as was our apartment. After three days, the fleas were extremely hungry and bit us from top to bottom. It was not a great beginning. We had to use a flea bomb to kill all the fleas and treat Ulysses, our puppy, to kill all fleas on him.

The following day when I went back to work at B. D., Cole, I was called into the main office. I was informed that I was being laid off. The company was downsizing. And so, after three days of marriage, a wet honeymoon, and being attacked by fleas on our return. I was once again without a job.

I spent the next several weeks trying to find another job with no luck. And I decided that I would go to a hairdressing school. I found out there was a school in West Palm Beach. It was called The Florida Beauty Academy. Looking back on this decision, I can not imagine what made me think I would be a great hairdresser. I never had a talent for styling my hair, nor did I have any experience.

 I began my training to become a hairstylist. It was a small school, and there were only about thirty students attending that year. The students were primarily young people. But there were two adult students who I believed were in their mid-fifties.

They stuck together because they were the same age. But, I became friends with one of them. Her name was Maggie Wassenen. I used to visit her in her home and became friends with her entire family. Her husband was a mailman. And he would often talk about the people he met along his route delivering mail. One of the things that I remember the most about her house was that they had a tree in their backyard where they grew both oranges and lemons. I didn’t know about grafting trees back then, and I thought it was some kind of magic.

Unfortunately, halfway through the hairdressing course, Maggie’s friend, the other adult student in the class, committed suicide because her husband left her. And Maggie became depressed for the remainder of our time there. She didn’t talk to me often after that.

As it turned out, I had a natural talent for cutting hair and giving perms. I was able to roll a perm in less than ten minutes. I found I liked coloring hair as well. Most of our customers were older women that lived in the West Palm Beach area. And occasionally, we would cut the hair of homeless people in West Palm Beach. I enjoyed talking to these people since they offered a view of life that I had been unaware of up to this point in my life.

One of my teachers Mr. Diego, taught me how to cut hair. He was such a kind and supportive person. He had moved to Florida from Cuba. He often shared his early experiences with me about what it was like moving from his country of origin to Florida.

The one experience I recalled disliking the most was nearly all the students and the teachers smoked. And they smoked in the student’s break room. And unfortunately, it was the only place where the students could sit down, eat and take a break from standing all day. The smoke was so dense that you could barely see who was in the room.

Occasionally  I took a walk down the street from the school and go to Walgreens to get a soda or some snack or eat breakfast. There wasn’t any smoking allowed so I could breathe some fresh air for a little while. One morning a woman who frequented Walgreens came over and asked me if I was a  nurse since I was wearing a white uniform.

I said, “no, I’m a hairdressing student at the Florida Beauty Academy down the street.” People were friendly back then and thought nothing of starting a conversation with someone they didn’t know. I realized how much I enjoyed meeting and talking to people that I wouldn’t ordinarily speak to in the past. It helped me to become a more outgoing and open-minded person.

Of course, some experiences were not so pleasant. Some people who came in to get their hair done hadn’t washed their hair or taken a bath in a long, long time. I wasn’t gifted with a great sense of smell, and my fellow students knew that. And I would often get more than my share of people with, shall we say, “stronger body odor” than others. Sometimes, these poor people also had lice. And when that happened, the whole place would have to be fumigated. And I don’t even want to describe the condition of their feet when I did pedicures.

The first customer I gave a manicure to had unbelievably long nails that they curled under, and she wanted them to get new polish. I was so astounded by the length of her nails I just stood there and stared at her nails for a couple of minutes. And I said, “Holy Mackerel.” And she just laughed and laughed. I cleaned her nails and painted her nails bright red.

While attending Cosmetology School, I volunteered three afternoons a week with a family in Palm Beach, Florida, whose two children had Cystic Fibrosis, an inherited lung disorder. They were about ten and twelve years old. They lived on Ocean Boulevard in Palm Beach, directly across from the ocean. Their house was immense. They had a chauffeur and a limousine, a cook, and a maid. Their mother taught me how to do clapping therapy on their backs to help them breathe better. Children with this disease did not often live to adulthood since no treatment was available at that time.

When I finished the course, I found out that it was tough to find a job as a hairdresser unless you knew someone that owned a salon. Eventually, after several months of applying to every hair salon in the area, I got a job at the Colonnades Hotel on Singer Island. It was owned by John D. MacArthur, one of the wealthiest men in the United States at that time. He was married to Helen Hayes, a famous actress at one time.

I was hired to do facials on wealthy clients who stayed at the Colonnades. I also used a machine that was called Panthermal.  They would lie inside this machine with their head sticking out, and the machine would heat up a liquid, and the steam would flow over them from their toes to their necks. It was supposed to help them lose weight. But I have no idea of how it would work or if it worked. But people paid a lot of money to get the Panthermal Treatment. I was making an astounding $3.00 an hour plus tips, which was almost unheard of at that time.

And one of the most pleasant surprises was when my older friend, Maggie Wassenen, was hired to do massages at the Colonnades Health Center. It was owned by a wealthy couple, the Zimmermans.

I worked at the Colonnades for over a year, and then my husband, Bob, decided he wanted to attend Brooks Institute for Photography in Santa Barbara, California. And we were off on another exciting adventure.

I found a job at St. Vincent’s School in Santa Barbara, working with disabled and mentally disabled children as a houseparent. It was one of the best experiences of my life. And the most satisfying.

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Did you ever get up on the wrong side of the bed? And you were just in a foul mood. Well, that’s how I woke up feeling today, yesterday, and every day for the past six years.

No, I’m not exaggerating. And the reason was I was sick of my current life. I needed a change, a significant change. I have no idea what I want to do or where I want to be. But I know for sure I need to do something different, or I’m going to go out of my freaking mind. https://susanaculver.com/home/

 

Susan A. Culver

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE GREEN EYED MONSTER

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I admit I’m not an example of a perfect human being. I’m not without my flaws. I have a short fuse, and I’m a perfectionist. I never lie, not even to protect someone’s feelings. I can be blunt to the point of being rude at times. I am a busy person; I don’t have time to protect someone’s feelings.

On the other hand, I am also generous to a fault. I am the person who will give you a place to stay if you need one. I’ll give you money if you find yourself in a fix, even if it’s my last dollar. I will stand up for you when you need a friend. But don’t lie to me ever, or you will find my boot on your neck. Figuratively, of course. Don’t cross me. I will seek my revenge. Oh, I almost forgot I am a jealous person.

I was kind of a shy person in high school. I didn’t date. I was always afraid of rejection. I lacked confidence in myself. That is until I was accepted into all of the colleges I applied to in my senior year of high school. I hit the ball out of the park when I took my SAT tests. I got the highest score possible, 1,600. I have to admit even I was shocked. Although, to tell the truth, nobody but nobody prepared themselves more for the SAT test than I did. I studied night and day and didn’t go out on weekends or during the summer. I didn’t date. I didn’t have time for a social life.

And all my hard work was rewarded in Spades when I was accepted at all the colleges I applied to. And they were all top-notched schools. I have to admit I had felt a little bigger, and so did my ego. I knew that when my college career began, I was going to excel there as well. I didn’t have to get a job because I got a full ride for four years of college. And one of the benefits I hoped to enjoy was my pick of the most beautiful undergraduate women I met.

I looked forward to the first day I walked across the campus. And I couldn’t believe how many beautiful co-eds were there. I knew I still had to work and study to continue my success. I knew it wasn’t going to be handed to me. But, I made a promise to myself that I, Joseph P. Harding, would graduate at the top of his senior class walking hand in hand with the most beautiful female in my graduation class.

It wasn’t going to be easy because I knew I would be working and studying almost every minute of the day. When I wasn’t in class. I kept my eyes open at all times, searching for that perfect partner. And then, one day, it happened, I saw her sitting across the room. She had long, red hair and blue eyes the color of a cloudy sky. A killer smile and a laugh that garnered everyone’s attention. It was like music to my ears. I knew, just knew she was the one.

I had to find a way of getting to know her without seeming too obvious. And by the end of the class, a solution was handed to me. When the professor said, you are going to have a project that would have to be completed by mid-term, and we were required to have a pardner. Can the person sitting at the front of each aisle please come up and get these handouts for each person in your aisle? The handout will explain the project and its perimeters.”

And I thought, ah-ha, that’s it. I’ll ask her to be my partner. I would find out if she would be the perfect fit for me. I wanted a woman that was not only beautiful but intelligent, quick, talented, and interesting. And whose focus was on being as successful as I was. And who knew what her goals were, not just immediate goals, but long-term goals.

And then I heard the professor calling out my name and telling me my partner was Helena Cox. And then, she asked us to both stand up and introduce ourselves to our partners and the class. And low and behold, the future love of my life stood up, as did I. Helena stood up and said it in a clear, beautiful voice. “My name is Helena Cox. I’m happy to meet you all.”

And then I stood up and said, “Hello, my name is Joseph P. Harding. And it’s privileged to meet you, Helena. I look forward to working with you and getting to know you.” I heard a few snickers from some of my classmates after my comment. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so transparent. I would have to be less transparent in the future. My face got a little red. But I promised myself I would be more careful in the future. The professor said, “please make plans to meet after class and discuss your topic and divide the workload. I don’t want any one person to be doing all the work. Is that understood?”

And everyone mumbled, “yes, sir.”

The professor said, “what did you say? I can’t hear you.”

And we all yelled out, “yes, sir.”

As I was leaving class that day, I felt someone tug my sleeve, and I turned in that direction, somewhat annoyed. I didn’t want to be late for my next class. I said, “yes, what? I don’t have a lot of time.”

And I turned and saw that beautiful face looking at me with those eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I just can’t stand being late. It starts the class off on the wrong foot, doesn’t it? I’m on my way to Introduction to Freshman Literature. Where are you going?”

“Oh, that’s funny. That’s my next class too. Do you mind if I walk with you?”

“Mind? No, not at all. Sorry for seeming so abrupt. Let’s go. We can discuss any ideas we have for our project.”

“Well, there’s the library on the left. Why don’t we stop in there and read over the handout? We still have about twenty minutes before the next class.”

“OK, but I don’t want to be late. Oh, sorry. I just hate being late.”

“It’s OK, I don’t like to be late, but it should only take a couple of minutes.”

So, we went into the library and took the two closest empty seats. And we scanned the hand-outs. Helena was a faster reader than I, and she said, “oh, I think I have an idea already. How about if we write the report from an observer’s point of view? As if they were there observing it firsthand. What do you think?”

“I think that is a great idea. How about exchanging emails and phone numbers? And then we can think about it overnight and then talk about it when you have a free period this week.”

“That’s a great idea, Helen. I have Wednesday, third period open. How about you?”

“Wow, that is really a coincidence, Joseph. I have that period open as well. It’s almost like fate wanted us to work together.” And I gazed into her eyes.

She looked at me and then looked away. “Well, I don’t know about that. but it does seem like good luck.”

“Everybody calls me Joe.”

“OK, Joe. I’ll see you then.”

The rest of the day, I had difficulty concentrating. My mind kept flashing back to Helen. I knew it wasn‘t a good idea to start focusing my attention on a girl I hardly knew. When I needed to keep my energy on school and moving forward. But there was something about her that drew me to her.

On Wednesday, Joe had trouble concentrating on any of his classes. He kept obsessing about meeting Helen at the library during the third period. The third-period bell finally rang, and Joe all but flew out of his chair and out the door to the library. He made a pit stop at the men’s laboratory to check his hair and use the bathroom.

When he arrived at the library, he peaked in the door to see if Helen had arrived.  He could see her sitting at a table in the back of the room. There were several people sitting there already, but there was still one empty seat. He had hoped that he could get some alone time with her. This was going to make it more difficult for him to ask her out.

Joe walks nonchalantly to the table. Then he notices the guy touch Helen’s arm. This immediately set off alarms in his head that he didn’t know what to do. His first impulse was to knock the guy’s hand off her arm. But he managed to get hold of himself at the last minute. Joe took a deep breath and then walk over to Helen and said, “hello Helen, do you still have time to talk to me about the project we have to work on together?

“Sure, by the way, this is my boyfriend, Charles. He is a year ahead of me. So, he has been showing me the ropes and all the professors. And he knows about all the great places to go in the area. I’m sure he would be willing to share the info with you.”

Joe’s jaw felt like it fell to the floor when she said, “boyfriend.” And he almost shouted, boyfriend, out loud. He was so relieved that he managed to control himself at the last second. What he did say was, “oh, you didn’t mention you had a boyfriend.”

Helen stared at him blankly for a moment and said, “well, there wasn’t any reason to. we are just working on a project together. We don’t even know each other. We just met in class the other day.”

“Oh, sure, of course. Sorry. Do you have time to discuss our project?”

“You know Joe; perhaps it might be better if you and I found other partners. I don’t think this is going to work out. I’m going to talk to the professor about it right now.” Then Helen leaned in and gave her boyfriend a kiss.

Joe’s face turned bright red, and he felt like he was going to explode. He abruptly turned away and walked out of the library. He decided he better go outside and take a walk until he calmed down. This was not the first time something like this had happened to him. He had a tendency to get carried away. And believing that girls liked him just because he liked them. And then he would get very angry when he realized they didn’t. And the one time he did have a “real” girlfriend, he didn’t trust her and would stalk her wherever she went.

Eventually, the parents of the girl made a police complaint about him. And he was forced to take counseling and wasn’t allowed to go near the girl again, or he would be arrested. He had been warned about this behavior, but he didn’t seem to have any control over his feelings. He felt overwhelming jealousy whenever he was attracted to someone and expected those feelings to be reciprocated, but they never were because he became so possessive.

Joe sat down on a bench, trying to calm down. He decided he just needed to give Helen more time, and she would come to care about him the same way he felt about her. He decided he was going to clandestinely follow her and then gradually bump into her once in a while until they became friends. And she would come to realize that she really did love him as much as he loved her. And she would dump her loser boyfriend. And then they would end up together forever. He just knew it.

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THE LETTERS

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I received a call last night. I was informed that my father had passed away. And I had a week to clean out my father’s apartment, or all his worldly belongings would be disposed of in the nearest dumpster. I knew this day was coming, but I kept putting off the unpleasant task of emptying my father’s place of whatever meager things my father had left behind.

My father and I had lost touch long ago. After my mother passed away suddenly fifteen years ago, my father just disappeared after her funeral. I never heard from him again. My parents hadn’t lived together for years. And when they did live together, every day ended with them yelling and screaming at one another. When I was a kid, I thought everyone’s family was like ours. I can’t remember a time when they were happy together. I never brought my friends over to my house. And once I became a teenager, I made it my goal in life to spend as little time at home as possible.

The day I graduated from high school, I got on a bus and never returned to my hometown. I called my mother occasionally and let her know that I was alright. But I didn’t give her my address. Since I didn’t want my father to show up at my door unexpectedly. Looking for a handout, or worse yet, drunk and angry at the world and wanting to take it out on me. Like he did when I was a kid, I was his punching bag. I never wanted to see him again.

I had difficulty locating my father when my mother died of a heart attack when she was fifty-six. Finally, I was able to get in touch with an old friend of his who still occasionally kept in touch with me. My father and I used to go to the track together to bet on the horses. And they played cards for money. My father was a gambler, and his favorite place in the world was the casinos in Atlantic City.

Anyway, the night I called him, I said, “Hello, dad, it’s me.” And he answered,”what do you want?”

“Want, I don’t want anything from you. I doubt you have a pot to piss in any way. I’m calling to let you know that Mom died on Friday; she had a heart attack. I thought you might want to know. Anyway, the funeral is being held at Brown’s Funeral Home since Mom hadn’t been to church in years. It will be at 10:30 in the morning.”

“Well, you didn’t give me much warning, did ya?’ I don’t know if I can come. I’ve got my own life to live, you know. I just can’t drop everything on a dime .”

“Dad, like I said, she died suddenly, and I had trouble finding you. Your friend, Freddy Myers, finally was able to track you down, and he gave me your phone number. It’s up to you whether you want to come or not. It doesn’t make any difference to me one way or another.” And then I slammed the phone down. And hope I will never have to see or hear that old scoundrel again as long as I live.

Anyway, he showed up at the funeral late, but not too late. He looked rough. He had a suit on that looked like he picked it up at the local thrift store. But at least he made some effort. If I had met him on the street, I might not have recognized him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten a decent meal in years and spent his time drinking night and day. It kind of made me feel bad, but he lived the life he wanted, and there was no changing the past. I walked over to him and offered him my hand to shake, and he looked down at it like it was a rattlesnake or something. I said, “Hello, dad, I’m glad you came. Why don’t you go up and say your goodbyes to Mom. You did come all this way. I wouldn’t want it to be for nothing.“

And then he turned and headed towards the casket where my mother laid. My father stood there in silence, and then he reached down and touched her hair and hand. I saw his shoulders rise and fall, and I could hear him sobbing quietly. I felt a tear slowly make its way down my cheek and fall to the ground and then another followed.

My father turned and walked slowly out of the chapel and out the front door. He never turned around and waved goodbye or anything. He just walked out of my life again, probably for the last time. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. A friend of mine came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. He held me for a moment, and then he stepped back. He looked down, and then he said, “it’s hard to lose a parent even if they weren’t the best parent. They were the only ones we ever had. Come on, why don’t you come over and say hello to some old friends from high school. It’s been a long time.”

I never heard another word from my father. I had no idea how he kept body and soul together all those years. I never married for fear that I would just repeat the mistakes my parents made. And god forbid bring children into the world to suffer the same empty, lonely childhood I had.

And the next time I heard anything about him was the night I received a call that my father had passed away, and he had left my name and address, and phone number to contact upon his death. I have no idea how he knew where I lived or how he got my phone number. In a way, I was relieved that I had heard about his passing. It gave me some peace of mind that he wouldn’t show up at my door someday. And also, I could finally put the past behind me. Anyway, I told my father’s landlord that I would be over that next day to clean out the place and take my father’s belongings away. I wasn’t looking forward to it, not at all. I was dreading it. But I knew it would finally close this unhappy chapter of my life, and I could finally move on.

The next morning I woke up at the crack of dawn. I kept obsessing about having to go to my father’s place and how it would bring all the bad memories back to haunt me. It turned out he only lived about an hour and a half away from me. When I arrived at his address, I looked up and down the street, and I thought what a terrible place for someone to live the last years of their life, all alone. There was trash up and down the street on the curb and blowing up and down from one nasty, sad place after another. There was a homeless man asleep or high or dead lying next to the door of my father’s building. I couldn’t help but wonder if my father had ever slept on the curb after he went on a bender.

I stepped around the homeless man and walked up the steps, and rang on the door to be let in. No one answered, so I tried the door, and it turned out it wasn’t locked. So, I just pulled it open and stepped inside. The smell was horrendous. There was trash up the steps, and one step had what looked like blood on it. I took a deep breath and made my way carefully up the steps to the second floor of my father’s place. The door was locked, so I had to go down the steps again and knock at the door that said, Superintendent of the building. I almost laughed aloud, thinking this dump has a superintendent. It didn’t look like anybody had cleaned this place up since the depression. I rang the bell, and a middle-aged, balding fat man answered. He said, “Yeah, what do ya want?” I told him who I was and that I was here to clean out my father’s apartment. You called me yesterday. “Oh, yeah, that’s right; here’s the key. Go ahead and bring the key back when you are done. Your father was in apartment 2 B; he lived here for a long time, never had any trouble with him.” And then he slammed the door in my face.

I made my way to the apartment. I unlocked the apartment and stuck my head into the room. I don’t know what I expected. But I was surprised to see it was clean and neat. There was an older TV, a raggedy but clean couch, and a single bed that was stripped clean of sheets and blankets. I looked into the bathroom. It was also clean and neat. I thought I must have the wrong room. My father had never been clean or neat. He had never picked up his clothes and hung them up. He had just thrown them on the floor and yelled at my mother, get in and clean up this mess. Before I make you sorry.”

I looked in the drawers, and there were some clothes all neatly folded. I looked in the closet, and there was an old suit. I think it was the same one that he wore to my mother’s funeral. There were a couple of pairs of shoes. All that had seen better days. I looked up, and I saw a wooden box. It was the nicest thing in the whole place. I took it down from the shelf and looked inside. There were old letters inside the box. And they were in my mother’s handwriting. And there were several in my father’s handwriting. I was so shocked that I almost dropped the box.

I decided to go sit on the couch and read the letters. They were addressed to my father and the dates indicated that they were written before my parents had gotten married. I was shocked. I knew nothing of my parents’ lives before they got married. I began to read the letter with the oldest postmark. It was a love letter from my mother to my father. In it, she declared how much she missed my father and how much she looked forward to being reunited with him again. And how she knew they were going to have a wonderful life together.

I was absolutely flabbergasted. My mother and father were once deeply in love? I felt tears run down my face. I looked through the letters for the last post-marked letter. It was from my father. He wrote to my mother that he had been injured and would be coming home soon because he wouldn’t be able to continue to fight any longer. Since he had suffered some severe injuries. He told her he was no longer the man he used to be, and maybe she should find someone else.

The next letter was from my mother saying that she loved him dearly and she wanted him to come home to her and she would help him recover. She would wait for him, and she didn’t want anyone else. And she ended the letter with, “I will wait for as long as it takes, and I will love you forever.” And she signed it, “all my love, I will be waiting for you for as long as it takes.”

I could hardly believe my eyes and understand the words I had just read. I know I would spend the rest of my days trying to understand what went wrong between them. And wish that they had experienced a better life together than they had. I can only imagine that my father had suffered both physically and emotionally from whatever he suffered during the war. I felt broken-hearted for the young couple they must have been and the unfortunate life they lived after his return. But in the end, I was happy to find that at one time, they had been in love and hoped to have a happy life together, but I felt sorry that it did not work out the way that it should have. That is what happens in life sometimes. Our plans for a happy and fulfilling life doesn’t always turn out as we hope it will. I held the letters next to my heart for a few minutes. I slipped the love letters back into their box, and I knew that they would forever remind me that life is short and to make the very best of it that we can. And if we find someone to love and who loves us back, we should never let it go.

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