Author Archives: Susan

LATE NIGHT WHISTLE

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.

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 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 in 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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Fate Steps in One More Time

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You aren’t supposed to have conversations through the walls that separate the toilets in a lady’s room—especially the upscale ones or the down and out ones on a turnpike rest stop. And here I am on my way to visit my great Aunt Betty, who is possibly on her death bed. And suddenly I have the urge to go to the toilet five miles from my exit.

I know I can’t wait until I arrive at Aunt Betty’s house. I have to go now, right now. I realize that I shouldn’t have stopped on the way to get a breakfast burrito. That was my first mistake. And then, my second mistake was when I said, “Yes.” When the waitress asks,” would you like to add the Carolina Reaper on your burrito?” The Carolina Reaper has the reputation of being the hottest pepper available.

About two miles from my Aunt Betty’s exit, my stomach starts churning, and I begin to feel kind of queasy. And then stomach cramps start. Not to mention that both my tongue and my lips are still burning from that Reaper. I breakout out into a cold sweat. “Oh, dear god,” I say to myself.

The cramps are so bad that I’m having difficulty concentrating on the road. I see an exit sign for the last rest stop. I’m trying to decide if I should stop or not when my stomach cramps into a knot. I feel like I might puke at any moment, so I turn onto the ramp and towards the rest stop.

So here I sit, I believe it is a distinct possibility that I might die just from the pain. At some point, I start praying for death. “Just let me die.” And then I just sit there and moan. I reach over to get another wad of toilet paper, and I realize with horror that there is not a single square left on the toilet paper roll. I’m in tears by now. I’m moaning and groaning, tears are running down my face.

And then I see a hand from the next stall handing me a roll of toilet paper at the bottom of the wall that separates the stalls. I grab it hastily and moan, “Thanks, so much.” And then I hear the door of the stall open and slam shut and then the door to the ladies’ room closes. I sit for a few more minutes until I feel my stomach muscles relax, and the pain subsides. I make a promise to myself and to the powers to be that I will never, ever eat a Carolina Reaper again.

I exit the stall and step up to the sink and wash my hands and face. My face looks drawn, and there are bright red blotches on my cheeks. I splash some cold water on my face and then pat it dry with a paper towel so rough it feels like sandpaper. “Holy crap,” I say to no one in particular.

I open the bathroom door and walk towards the exit. I see a petit but heavy-set woman standing at the door, and she is staring in my direction. I notice she has a strange look on her face and then a smile. I look around. She is looking straight at me. There is a certain familiarity about her, but I just can’t put my finger on it. Do I know her, or does she just look like someone I used to know?

As I get closer to her, I see a smile of recognition on her face. “Is that you, Dolores?”

I stare at her more intently. “Julie?” What in the world are you doing here? I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen you in years, over a decade.”

I have to step aside because there is a steady flow of people coming through the rest stop door. I didn’t know it was you. I was in the other bathroom stall, and I handed you the toilet paper at the bottom. I was just waiting for you to come out to see if you were alright. Of course, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I just had a bout of intestinal cramps because I made the mistake of getting a breakfast burrito and get this, I had them put a Carolina Reaper pepper in the burrito. I love hot food, but hot food does not agree with my intestines or anything else for that matter.”

“Yes, I remember that from when we were children. You always had a stomach ache and spent half your time in the bathroom.”

“Yes, I guess it must have seemed that way, but it was only half the time.”

We both laughed, and then I started thinking about the last time I saw her. We had been best friends all of our lives. We grew up down the street from each other, and we were inseparable. However, I was about a year a half older than her and two years ahead of her in school. When I was about twenty-two, I moved out of state to live with my boyfriend, and I didn’t move back for seven years. By then, I had married my boyfriend and ultimately had two children.

“Well, I would recognize you anywhere. You look the same, but much older, of course.”

I laugh at her because that sentence, in a nutshell, described Julie. Open mouth, stick your foot down as far as you can get it. She was often blunt and said hurtful things unintentionally. Not realizing how often she hurt my feelings. “Yeah, thanks, Julie, everyone likes to hear how old they look.”

“Oh, you know I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just my way.”

“Yes, your way is perhaps not always the right way. I believe that is the reason why we stopped talking to one another in over a decade. I thought you would have realized that by now?”

“Well, Dolores, you were always so overly sensitive to everything.”

Yes, I’m a sensitive person. You knew that better than anyone. You could have thought about how words can hurt people and consider other people’s feelings.”

“Well, an old dog can’t learn new tricks can it?”

“Yes, actually, it can.”

“I can’t remember what I said to you to set you off, do you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I can after I was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. You told me that I should just stop taking all my medication and cross over the great divide. In other words, just die and get it over with already.”

“Oh, I couldn’t have said that to you, Dolores. You know you were my best friend all my life.

“Yes, I remember that quite clearly, and when I ask you how you could say such a heartless thing to me? And you said it was just an old family saying, and your mother said it all the time. Although she didn’t take her own advice since she had congestive heart failure and had stints and a deliberator in twice after the first one malfunctioned.”

“Oh, you always took everything so seriously. “

“And then you never called me back again and didn’t answer my calls. I never heard from you again.”

“I did invite you to my oldest son’s wedding, and you didn’t come. My husband came, and I sent a present. I just could not imagine talking to you after so many years, and you never even apologized. “

“I didn’t think I had done anything wrong.”

“You did, you know how much I needed a friend that first year I was really sick. And you just seemed mad at me for being sick. I often thought it had something to do with your friend Dottie dying of cancer. You were so caring and loving about her during her illness. You spent so much time with her up until the end. I thought you just didn’t have anything left for me.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t, Dolores, maybe I just couldn’t watch my best friend in the world die, after I just lost Dottie. I just couldn’t do it again.”

As I looked at Julie, I saw a tear run down her face, soon followed by another and another. Soon tears were running down my face as well. I reached over and hugged Julie as tightly as I could. “Oh, Julie, I missed you so much. I wish you had just called me and explained how you were feeling. Just once called me.”

“Dolores, I picked up the phone so many times to do just that. But somehow, I just could not imagine watching another friend die and having to go to their funeral.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m alive and standing right in front of you.”

“And Dolores, you look healthy enough, although, as I said, older.”
“Well, Julie, a new heart medication came out about five years ago, and I was one of the first heart patients to take it. And really it was like a miracle. I feel fine. I still have to take care not to overexert and watch my diet and exercise every day. But, overall, I feel fine.”

And that’s when we hugged each other again and promised not to lose touch ever again and exchanged cell phone numbers. “Julie, I have to get going, I promised to arrive at my aunt’s house this afternoon, I promised, and she’s waiting for me. I don’t know how much longer she has to live.”

“Dolores, you have always been the kindest person I ever knew. I’m so glad we met up with each other again, I’m never going to let you go again. I promise. Pinky swear.”

“I promise to Julie, I’ll call you as soon as I return home from my aunts. It might be a couple of weeks.”

We hug each other again and walk out the door together. I watch her as she gets into her car. It’s dirty and streaked with mud. She always thought washing her car was a waste of time. I can’t believe I had run into my oldest, best friend. I smile and wave at her. I believe it’s kismet that we ran into each other after all these years. I wave again and walk over to my car and unlock it. I take a deep breath and head back to the turnpike towards my aunt’s house. I can’t wait to tell her that because of her, I saw my long, lost friend. She’ll be happy for me. I know she will.

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THE HOWLING

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I wake up to howling; it sounds like Kodiak. Ordinarily, he’s a quiet dog, only howls, or barks if he senses danger. Danger is an everyday occurrence in Luckyshot, Alaska. I wearily rise out of my bed, reluctant to put my feet down on the icy cold wood floor. By now, the fire will have burned itself out. I lean over and search for my slippers blindly. I find one, but not the other, I look all over, but can’t find it, maybe Kodiak used it for a chew toy again. I drag myself over to my dresser and yank open the drawer that seems as reluctant as I am to face another freezing cold day. I grab a pair of heavy socks, hop on one foot, and pull the gray sock onto my now frozen toes.

Photo by David Mark-Pixabay

As I walk down the hallway towards the sound, I think about my mother. The reason I’m feeling so exhausted this morning, she developed a deep cough about three weeks ago that got steadily worse. But as stubborn as she is, she refuses to drive the fifty miles to the closest doctor. Well, she isn’t a doctor, but a county nurse practitioner who delivers the rare babies and set broken legs and arms. And she offers people in the nearby area what little comfort that she can muster up after living out here in God’s country. God’s country that’s a good one. If there’s a god, he’s forgotten about Lucky Shot a long, long time ago.

People came to this place to find good fortune when gold was found in Juneau. People slaved away here for years, but nothing was ever found but heartache and loneliness.

I quietly open the door to my mother’s room. She lies quietly enough in her bed, no longer coughing, which is a relief. Kodiak is no longer howling. He has his head resting on her right hand that is lying by her side. He doesn’t look up at me as I walk slowly over. I know she’s finally been set free, to wonder the universe. I’m happy for her.

I pat Kodiak on his warm soft fur and then hug him around his neck. As I look down at my mother, who no longer resembles the beautiful mother of my childhood. Her hand is cold and doesn’t respond to my touch. Her body is here, but her spirit fled this dreadful place. I pull the old quilt over her now still, and empty body. “Goodbye Mom, I’ll miss you every day of the rest of my life. I love you, please keep an eye out over me and Kodiak. “

I lead him out of the room, and over to the fireplace in the living room, and stoke the fire, throw on a few more logs, and slide down to the floor, with my arm around my only friend. I start to howl, and Kodiak joins in. I don’t know how long we stayed; until I run out of tears, and my throat is raw. I never felt this empty before.

I think about what will I do next, my mother has always led the way, made the decisions for both of us. Who will lead me now? I look around at the room, which now seems so empty and barren without my mother’s energy-burning brightly. Kodiak puts his head on my shoulder.

It’s at this moment I know what I had to do; pack up all my worldly goods, which can fit in my backpack and go into the town. Withdraw whatever monies are in my bank account and find out what can be done about my mother’s remains. Kodiak and I will move as far away as possible from Lucky Shot, Alaska, and population zero.

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The Whistleblower

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My alarm clock is ringing incessantly. I reach over and slam my fist down on it, hard to shut it up. Slowly rising from my bed and stumbling over to my bedroom window. When I pushed back the curtains at that moment, I realized it was a mistake because the light from the sun felt like it was burning through my retina directly into my brain.

I cup my hands around my eyes and look out onto my balcony. I live on the fifteenth floor of my apartment building, and usually, I can see the apartment building across from mine. But today, I only see a blaring, ungodly light. And then I see red dots floating in front of my eyes.

When I first moved to Philadelphia, I would wake up at six o’clock on the dot. I was excited by the prospect of a new day, a new beginning. I don’t feel that way now. I anticipate more of the same. The same being, nothing good happens to me, and I will fall more deeply into debt. As it is, I have been eating Ramen noodle soup for the past three weeks. I will probably start talking in Chinese soon.

Italian Restaurant

If I don’t find a job soon, I’m not going to be able to pay my bills, including my rent. I will be out on the sidewalk along with all my belongings. And then the real nightmare begins I will have to move back in with my parents. Whereupon I will lose my will to live.

Oh, you think I’m exaggerating. Well, believe me, I’m not. My parents have been retired for years and live out in the middle of nowhere. The closest neighbors are an hour away. The town, if you can call it that, is another half hour from there.

They bicker from the first minute they wake up in the morning until lights out at nine PM. It’s not that they hate each other. It’s because they both want to be the boss. When they were working, they both were supervisors at their jobs. My father was the supervisor at a Budd plant in Philadelphia. It was a factory that manufactured metal parts for automobiles, railways, and even the space industry. He retired early in 2006 when his company was sold and integrated with another company. And he was laid off. He never really recovered from that loss. That job was his life.

And then there’s my mother. She was principal of one of the largest high schools in Center City, Philly. As a new teacher, she taught math in middle school and then taught it in high school. Then she earned her master’s degree and her Principal certification. This was after working for over twenty years in the Philadelphia School system. She was forced to retire when they cut the funding of her school. She tried to turn the school around, and no one was interested in upgrading an old high school in what became an area with high crime and poverty.

So, they are living out in the middle of nowhere, trying to manage each other. And there’s no way in hell that I’m going to become their new project. And be supervised into whatever it is they think I should be. I worked too long and too hard to return to the boondocks. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but I don’t want to ever live with them again. Although separately, they are decent but driven people. I can’t live with them. No way, no how, nada.

And that brings it all back to me. I have a little problem that I don’t seem able to overcome. I‘m incapable of telling a lie. Not a little lie, not a big lie, not a little white lie. No matter what the circumstances are, I’m simply incapable of telling a lie. That’s why I find myself in the fix I’m in now.

Through a series of incidences not worth repeating, I found out that my boss, let’s call him Little Boss, and his immediate superior, let’s call him Big Boss, were in cahoots and were screwing the company big time out of money. As soon as I became aware, I knew I should keep my mouth shut. But I couldn’t. Every minute of every single day, I had an impulse to spill my guts and tell the president of my company what was going down.

I know that if Little Boss or Big Boss finds out that I’m ratting them out, they will find a way of getting rid of me. And if it were possible, they would get rid of me permanently as in cement boots and dumped in the deep, blue sea. They were working with the mob. I kid you not, the mob out of Atlantic City.

All the same, I couldn’t sit out the whole situation out with my lips zipped. Every day I woke up with a compulsion to squeal, become a whistleblower, tell the god’s honest truth. It’s an affliction I’ve had all my life. I have to tell the truth, and it’s hell, I tell you, hell.

For example, I hit a dry spell for a while and didn’t have a date for almost six months. I was lonely, bored, and frustrated. And here’s why. Every time I meet a woman on a date, as soon as I set eyes on her, I blab out whatever I notice about her, no matter what it is.

My buddy Fred set me up with a young woman that works in his building, He’s a married guy, but the women flock to him like flies on shit. If you don’t mind me using a crude analogy. But he loves his wife and never stops bragging about her, even though she is plain as a mud fence. She’s charming and intelligent and funny as hell but that face. They have been happily married for fifteen years. They have two beautiful kids. Fred is a happy guy.

Anyway, he keeps talking about this gal named Eileen, who is a friend of his wife’s, and how she’s perfect for me, intelligent, has a great sense of humor, fun to be with, upbeat and attractive. I’m somewhat reluctant to go out with someone he thinks is attractive because he says the same thing about his wife, and as I said, she is plain as white bread.

But finally, I agreed to go out with her. My buddy Fred gave me her phone number, and I gave her a call that night. Her name is Eileen, and her picture on Facebook is amazing. She has long blond hair and the face of an angel. She’s tall and slender. She looks like she could be a model. She agrees to go out with me. I clean out my bank account and bring the one credit card I have with some credit left on it. I make a reservation at the nicest restaurant I can afford and have money left for a tip for the waiter. I get my haircut and wear my favorite shirt and khakis. I take a good look in the mirror. And I can honestly say I never looked better.

I’m about five minutes late arriving at the restaurant. As I walk through the red door of Fiorella’s, I see her sitting at the third table on the left, and a waiter is standing next to her, taking her order for a drink. She is amazing. I can’t stop staring at her. I’m transfixed by her perfection, ivory skin, smile, and quiet laughter when the waiter tells her a joke. It’s like a dream come true. Finally, finally, my bad luck streak is over. My luck has changed.

I walk slowly over to the table so I can take her in. I know that this is the woman I was always meant to be with for the rest of my life. Just like that, in a moment, my life is turning around. She’s going to be my good luck charm. As I arrive at the table, she looks at me. And I feel like I’m melting under her candid stare.” Hello, Eileen.” I hope you will accept my apologies for keeping you waiting. I had a hard time finding a parking spot and had to walk several blocks. I should have considered that might happen and left earlier.”

“What? Oh, that’s no problem. Kyle. I just arrived a few minutes ago myself. The traffic in Philadelphia on a Friday night is quite heavy. I’ve been hearing about you from Frederick for a couple of years. And I’m glad I finally have the opportunity to meet you. Frederick is one of my favorite people in the world. Such a decent and kind, hard-working guy. He and his wife seem so happy. I envy them.”

As I sit down, I practically drown in her deep, brown eyes. I tell her a story about how Fred and I met in college. And he was the studious one, and I was drinking a lot of beer and partying until my Junior year when Fred talked to me one on one. He told me I better start getting serious because at the rate I was going, I wasn’t going to get anywhere in life. And for whatever reason, he got through to me. And I started cracking the books.”

“Well, he is one of the nicest people I know. He never has an unkind thing to say about anyone.”

I stared at her for a moment and thought, should I tell her about my little quirk? Although I couldn’t imagine what negative thing I could possibly say about her. She seems perfect to me in every way.

The waiter comes over to our table and hands us the menus. This restaurant is a well-known Italian eatery. And I always get the lasagna or the meatballs and ravioli. “Well, I think I’ll go with the Ravioli and meatballs.”

“And you, mam?”

“I think I’ll have the same. I haven’t had it in a long time.” As the waiter walks away, Eileen says,” god, I hate being called Mam. It makes me feel so old. Madam would be better. For that matter, “Hey, you. Would be better.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone would look at you and think you’re old.”

“Well, thanks, but if the person is a twenty-something, they think everyone is old. What they don’t realize is how time flies by, and before you know it, someone is calling you sir or mam.”

“You know your, right. The other day I was getting gas at one of the gas stations that doesn’t have self-service, and the kid manning the pump said, “can I help you, sir?”

And I look all around to see who he’s talking to. And then I realize he’s talking to me. Not a good moment.”
As they eat their dinner, Kyle keeps staring over at Eileen. He wonders why such a beautiful woman isn’t married or engaged or have every man she meets fall in love with her. So, what kind of work do you do, Eileen?” After the words escape from his mouth, he knows it’s a mistake. Because she will probably ask him the same question, and he will have to tell her the truth. That he’s currently out of work.

“Oh, I’m an elementary school teacher. I have always loved being our kids. I come from a big family with older brothers and sisters; by the time I was ten, I was an aunt. And I love being around them. So, when the time came for me to go to college, I knew I wanted to be a teacher. And I love every moment of it. How about you?”

“Well, actually, right now, I’m out of work. I was fired recently. I worked in the accounting department of a big corporation in downtown Philly. And I became aware of some serious graft taking place in the upper echelon of the corporate offices. And I reported it. I confronted them as well, and they fired me and made sure that every business that might consider hiring me wouldn’t.”

“Oh wow, that’s terrible. It’s so unfair that a man of principle could lose his job and get blackballed from other jobs because he is a man of integrity. Do you have any idea what you can do about it? I know it is against the law for former employers to tell the reason why someone is fired, although they don’t have to give a good reference for employees.”

“That’s true, but since they are connected, they seem to have a great deal of influence in the Philadelphia offices and South Jersey, for that matter.”

“What about looking in Delaware that isn’t that far from the Philly area?”

“That’s true. I hadn’t thought of looking there.”

“As a matter of fact, one of my Uncles owns a fairly large corporation that deals in real estate and mortgages; maybe I could ask him about a possible job opening. I’ll give him a call and tell him about you. Let me write down his contact information and email, and you could send out a query for possible jobs and ask about any current openings.”

“You would do that. That would be amazing. But I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take advantage of you in some way, Eileen.”

“Kyle, it was my idea. You’re not taking advantage of me at all. Put that right out of your mind.”

“Thanks, that would be awesome. Would you like some dessert and a glass of wine before we leave?”

“Yes, that would be perfect, Kyle.”

Kyle motions for the waiter to come over. Can we each have a piece of your wonderful Tiramisu and a glass of Lambrusco?”

“Of course, coming right up, sir.”

After they finish their dessert and sip their wine, Kyle decides to ask Eileen to take a walk around town. “Eileen, I’ve had such a wonderful time. I hate to end it. Would you like to take a walk? It’s beautiful around the city at night.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. I seldom come to Philly at night. I would love that.”

After Kyle pays the tab and leaves a tip, they start to get ready to leave, Kyle stands up and waits for Eileen to get up from her seat, but she seems hesitant to get up. “Is something the matter?”

“Well, yes, I have something to confess to you. I hope you won’t be disappointed?’

“Disappointed. I can’t imagine what you could possibly say or do that would upset me?”

“Well, I don’t know how to explain it, but you’ll see soon enough.”

“What is it? I’m sure Eileen is not as bad as you think it is?”

“OK, here it goes.”

Kyle stares at her; he can’t imagine what she’s so worried about. And then, Eileen stands up and steps out of the booth and into the aisle. He stares at her and sees nothing out of the ordinary. He looks at her from the top of her beautiful blond head and at her gorgeous face. And all the way down to her feet. And then he is dumbfounded.

Eileen looks at his shocked face and then waits for him to say something.”

“My god, you have the biggest feet I’ve ever seen on a woman in my whole life. They’re twice as big as my feet.

“Yes, I know. My feet never stopped growing until I was about twenty; by then, they were really big. There wasn’t anything they could do about it. So yes, I have really big feet. I have to have all my shoes made by hand. But other than that, I’m perfectly normal.”

“You’re right. Your feet are enormous. But you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met inside and out. Shall we go for our walk now?”

“Really, I would love that. Let’s go. You know Fred warned me in advance that you always tell the truth, and sometimes you are blunt about it.”

“Yes, that’s true. I’ve never been able to lie at all. I always tell the truth. So, when I say you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met inside and out. It’s the truth.”

Shall we go?”

Kyle takes her hand to his lips and kisses her gently, “Yes, let’s do that. I think this is going to be the first step together, but there is a happy future to look forward to, don’t you?”

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Sweet Dreams

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Most people are blessed with the ability to lie their heads down on their pillow at night and fall fast asleep. Unfortunately, I can’t count myself as one of those people. As far back as I can remember I have struggled with the inability to fall asleep in a timely manner or stay asleep once I was lucky enough to nod off.

Insomnia photo by Dieter Robbins-Pixabay

I have tried all the home remedies over the years warm milk, counting sheep, taking a hot bath, relaxing my muscles one at a time from my toes to my head. You would think the sheer boredom of doing all of these monotonous things would put me to sleep. But no, I was wide-awake and bored. I went through a period of doing as many physically challenging chores as I could do during the day, hoping that sheer physical exhaustion would do the job, but no, no it didn’t.

But then along came Ambien. I had tried over-the-counter sleeping aids. They had no effect on me whatsoever. Ambien came along at just the right time for me. I had recently started having symptoms of menopause. And by that, I mean hot flashes. I had them during the day too. All I had to do was think about something hot, and voila a hot flash would hit me like someone opening the oven door in my face. I would break out in a sweat from head to toe. Couldn’t eat spicy foods anymore, either.

But the hot flashes at night were the worst. I would finally fall asleep after two or three hours of tossing and turning. And then voila a hot flash would wash over my entire body like a heatwave on a hot and humid day in August. I would suddenly wake up, and throw off the sheet and start fanning myself. As a last resort, I would get up, go to the bathroom and pat myself down with a cold washcloth. Then I would go back to bed on top of the covers and put an electric fan on my side table and point it in my direction. This could be in the dead of winter. So, then I was wide awake and sweaty.

I was finally desperate enough that I made an appointment to go to my general practitioner. I absolutely hate going to doctors. I have to be half-dead before I go there. That’s how desperate I was to get some sleep. On the day of my doctor’s appointment, I hadn’t slept in four days. I was like a zombie. I found myself staring off into space, repeating myself, forgetting what I was doing in the middle of a task. Unable to concentrate on anything I was doing. A couple of times I nodded off momentarily while I was driving. That was scary and that was the reason I finally called Dr. Carlyle’s office and made an appointment. They had a cancellation and ask if I could be there in one hour. And I said, hell, yes.

As I sat in the exam room waiting for my doctor to come in I thought of all the reasons I could give him why he absolutely needed to take sleeping pills. I was at my wit’s end, tired, cranky, losing my mind, really.

Dr. Carlyle walk through the door and said, “hello Alex how are you, my it looks like you haven’t been in to see us for a long time. Let’s see it’s been over three and a half years. That’s not good, you should come in for a regular check-up at least once a year. Are you having any problems you would like to discuss?”

“Well, yes there is one problem I have and I have to admit I getting desperate.”

“Desperate, well I don’t like to hear that. What is the nature of the problem?”

“Dr, Carlyle, I can’t sleep. I have great difficulty falling asleep. Sometimes it takes hours while I lie there obsessing about things that have happened during the day. Or some offhand comment someone made to me that upset me for some reason or another. If I’m lucky I’ll fall asleep for an hour or two and then I wake up and I can’t fall asleep again. Or I go to sleep and wake up three or four times.

“Well, let’s take a look at you. I see your weight is alright, your blood pressure is a little low, no temperature. How is your appetite? Do you eat healthy foods? Any family problems or financial issues that might be keeping you awake?”

“No, not really, nothing new anyways. I’m a vegetarian, so I eat a healthy diet. I don’t drink anything with caffeine. I don’t eat sweets. I don’t drink alcohol. No real family issues just the day-to-day stuff. I love my job. So, I’ve always had this problem. It’s not new. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t have trouble going to sleep even when I was a kid.”

“Really, well that’s unusual. I think we should do blood tests if nothing comes back that is out of order, I’m going to put you on a new sleeping medication called Ambien. It has been shown to be helpful for people with long-term insomnia. And so far, there haven’t been any reports of harmful side effects. We’ll start you off on a low dose and then increase it if doesn’t seem strong enough.”

“Oh, that would be fantastic, I would feel better and function better if I was able to sleep at night as most normal people do. When can I start taking it?”

“Well, it will take a couple of days for the lab to come back with the results of your blood work. I’ll have my nurse call the prescription into your pharmacy. So in a few days and you will begin feeling like a new woman.”

“Thank you doctor, so, so much. This will give me a new lease on life.”

“Alright, then Alex give my office a call in a week or two and let me know how you are feeling. I’m positive you will be right as rain in the very near future. If you encounter any problems please feel free to let me know. Take care, now, you can check out now.”

Three days later I received a call from Rite Aid to tell me my prescription was ready to be picked up. And I threw my jacket on over my pajamas and shoved my feet into my shoes and grabbed my purse and was on my way. I fairly flew down the road to the pharmacy.

As I entered Rite Aid, I ran into my neighbor Sherry and she said.” Hello, Alex so nice to see you. Are you feeling alright?”

“Feeling alright, why do you say that?”

“Well, your face is flushed and I couldn’t help but notice that you are wearing your pajamas.”

“Pajamas?” Then I look down at my legs and notice I‘m still wearing my pajamas. “Oh, how silly, I completely forgot I was still wearing my pajamas. I ran out the door so fast. Well, take care. I’ll talk to you later.”

I practically knock her down in my hurry to get past her and get to the pharmacist. I didn’t even look back at her to see if she is alright. I never liked her that much anyway, she has always been such a busy body. I zigzag my way through the people in the store and notice that there are two people ahead of me at the pharmacy counter. Damn, I scream inside my head, damn.

Ten minutes later I have my prescription in my hot little hands and run through the store and out the door to my car. Which I apparently left running, doors unlocked and the driver’s door wide open. I realize I need to calm down before having some kind of stroke or seizure. I’m so wound up and exhausted.

When I arrive home, I sit in my car for a few moments to collect myself. And then I start thinking, why did I rush to the pharmacy like that. I can’t take the pill until tonight before I want to go to bed. I decide I’m going to spend the day listening to music and doing things that will calm me down. Perhaps I’ll read for a while. That always has a calming effect on me.

At 8:30 pm I decide to take a hot bubble bath and get ready for bed. I’m still a little hyper but after my bath, I should feel a lot better. I take one Ambien out of the prescription bottle and down it with a little water from the sink tap. After that, I bring a cup of Sleepy Time herbal tea with me into the bathroom and close the blinds and the bathroom door. I lit two candles that I keep by the tub and slip into the hot soapy water.

The next thing I realize is that I feel like I’m drowning. I think it must be a dream. And then I realize I’m still in the tub and my head has slipped under the water. I pull myself up and spit the water out of my mouth and blow my nose on a washcloth. “Holy Crap, this stuff really works,” I shout to no one in particular. I drag my body out of the now cold water and look at the clock I keep on the bathroom counter. I have been in the tub for an hour. I had fallen fast asleep. I hope I will be able to fall asleep again once I get out of the tub and back into my pajamas and into my bed.

I wake up and look over at the clock and it is seven-thirty in the morning. I feel pretty good, a little bit fuzzy-headed. As I get out of bed, I realize I don’t have any pajamas on. I know I had them on when I went to bed. Huh, that’s weird. I walk towards my bathroom and then I notice the tub is filled with water. I look in the mirror and I notice my hair is sticking out in every direction and it feels damp. I think about it and then out of the depths of my memory, I vaguely remember taking a bath. But that’s about it. I don’t give it a second thought.

I have a productive day. I work from home most days, occasionally I have to go to my work office for meetings. I’m an accountant. Not a glamorous job, but I make a decent living. And for the most part, I can avoid interacting with humans. I’m not what you would call a social person. I eat dinner at 5:30 as usual and then I wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen. I plan on watching a movie tonight. Just as I got comfortable in my chair in the living room the phone rings I look at the caller ID and it’s Thurmond Brown. He’s one of my customers. But it was after my work hours and I have no intention of talking to him tonight. I met him one time at my work office and within the first five minutes, he hit on me. Now, I keep my distance.

I get in my pajamas bring some cookies and a cup of hot tea into the living room and start watching When Harry Met Sally, I know that is a sentimental, unrealistic movie. But, I’m just a succor for a good romance movie. Although in my own life I’m a complete skeptic. About a half-hour before the movie ends, I take my Ambien. And that’s the last thing I remember until I hear my alarm go off and I wake up. My head feels a little off again, but still, nothing to worry about. When I walk into the kitchen to make some coffee and the kitchen looks like a food fight has taken place there. And there are two half-empty wine glasses sitting on the counter amongst what looks like the remains of a chocolate cake with bites taken out of it. “What the…” I say out loud. What the hell is going on?

I decide to go and get a shower and maybe it will clear my head and I’ll remember what happened last night. As I walk toward my bedroom, I notice the phone is blinking. I look at the phone ID and it’s Thurmond Brown. And I think, oh yeah, he called last night and then I realize the phone says two messages. I play the last message back. I hear a man’s voice, “Hey baby, I’m so glad you called me back last night. It was an unbelievable night. I’m sorry I had to leave while the night was young. But I had to get up early this morning to take that business trip to Des Moines that I told you about at the Corporate office. I’ll call you later. By the way, did I mention what a great time I had?”

“What the hell is he talking about, why is this man harassing me?” Then I stamped off to my bedroom. Thinking he must be out of his freaking mind. I go into the bathroom to take a shower and I happen to look in the mirror. I cannot believe my eyes. There is chocolate cake all over my face. And I mean all over my face. Even my forehead, and in one of my ears. “What the hell is going on? This is madness.”

After I shower and get dressed and clean up my entire apartment. I sit down and think about what has been happening the past few days, and I just can not figure out what to make of it all. It appears that I invited Thurmond over and we had some kind of romantic encounter. But that just can not be true. Maybe I am sleeping now and this is all a bad dream. It has to be. I put it out of my mind. I’m sure I will wake up soon and none of this will be real.

I spend the entire day finishing off the accounts that were outstanding and due in two days. I put all the insanity out of my conscious mind. I simply refuse to think about any of it. There must be some rational explanation for it all. Once again, I eat my dinner, tonight I have Chinese take-out delivered. I probably shouldn’t because it gives me horrible heartburn, but I just love spicy food, my stomach seems to disagree.

I decide to read for a while. Although, I’m feeling kind of tired from all the work I completed today. But I can’t sleep this early with all that Chinese food in my stomach or I will wake up feeling sick.

So, I read three chapters and then take Ambien. And off I go to the land of Nod, in no time flat. When I wake up, I hear someone singing in the kitchen. And I see a trail of feathers strewn across the living room floor into the hall and beyond. “What the hell is happening now?”, I yell at the top of my voice. I follow the trail into the kitchen. And what do I see, but a young man who appears to be Chinese is about to cut off the head of a live chicken. I scream, “Stop, stop what you’re doing? What are you doing at my house? Don’t you dare kill that chicken, are you insane?”

“Madame, you called my restaurant and ask to have this meal prepared in your home first this thing this morning.”

“I certainly did not. This is barbaric, I would never want to kill any animal and eat it. I’m a vegetarian.”

“If you say so, madame. But I’m sorry you’ll have to pay for this meal nonetheless.”

I paid him after looking at the receipt. I felt so bad for the chicken I told him that since I paid for the chicken, it was mine to keep. And then I show him the door. So, apparently, I’m the proud owner of a chicken with missing feathers. I hope they will grow back. Right now, I will have to keep him in my bathroom until I can find someone who wants to have a chicken for a pet, or maybe I’ll just keep him. Why not, I seem to be losing my mind. How much trouble can one chicken be?

I plop down on my bedroom chair and contemplate the events of the past few days. And then it comes to me, it must be the Ambien. I must be sleepwalking and sleep talking and eating and apparently having sex with a man in my sleep that I despise. Dear god, what is happening? I call my doctor and demand to speak to him on the phone immediately. His nurse says he can’t talk right now. I’ll have him return your call as soon as he is free.

Three hours later the phone rings and it is my doctor’s office. I ask him if there are any strange side effects from Ambien. He stammers a bit, and then he says, “well there have been some reports of sleepwalking, sleep-driving, and sleep eating and one report of one woman having sex with a stranger while sleeping.”

For a moment I feel like my head is exploding. “And you didn’t think that is something you should have warned me about? Are you completely incompetent? I could have gotten myself killed or worse. I should sue your ass.”

“Alex, I felt the benefits outweighed the risks. And few people experienced these side effects. I had no idea you would be one of those. Did I?”

“You certainly know it was a possibility. This is unbelievable. What do you suggest I do now? If I stop taking the Ambien, I won’t be able to sleep. And I continue taking the Ambien who knows what I will do next in my sleep?”

“I don’t know Alex, but you are the only one who can make this decision. I do suggest you put your car keys in a safe place at night so you won’t sleep drive. Since that could be quite dangerous.”

Oh yeah, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind, doctor.”

So here is my dilemma, should I continue taking the Ambien and getting much-needed sleep or stop because of these sleep adventures? I think about it all day and decide that I’m going to set up some motion detector cameras around my apartment to see what kind of trouble I’m getting into and if it isn’t life-threatening, I will continue to take the Ambien. If it is, I’ll cut the dose in half and see what happens. Because really this is the best sleep I’ve had in years.

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Home Sweet Home

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We have been searching for our perfect house for months now. My husband and I and our two elderly cats have been living in our tiny two-bedroom apartment for over ten years. We finally made the decision that we needed to make the change. I would love to buy a house with character, an older home, but one that has been loved and maintained. Oh, it must have a wrap-around porch with a swing.

Oh, and it has to have a yard with a big tree in it. I can’t take another day off looking out my living room window and seeing a parking lot and the trash dumpster. I would love to create my own rose garden. I’ll plant a grapevine on the wrought iron fence or even a picket fence. Can you imagine walking out to the garden at the end of August and picking luscious grapes from my own vine?

Our realtor sent me some pictures of homes to look over in my email this morning. None of them stood out until I looked at the last house on her list. And I couldn’t believe it. It’s almost as if

Victorian House

the house was made for us. It checked every box I had made for my perfect house. I can’t believe how perfect it is.

It is in the part of Pennsylvania that we want to live in, country, but only about a half-hour from Philadelphia. It’s situated on a country lane lined with trees that look like they’re at least fifty years old. There are about twenty houses on the street, not too close to each other so that everyone knows your business, but not so far that you never see your neighbors. I can imagine how beautiful it will be at Christmas time. With all the old trees decorated by the falling snowflakes. And our very own Christmas tree in our front yard.

As soon as I saw this listing, I knew I better call our realtor Katherine and ask her to make an appointment asap to see this house. Today if possible. I would die if someone else got there before we did and bought it from under us. Just die, seriously die from a broken heart.

Anyway, I called her, and she said she would try and make an appointment to see the house after lunch today at about one o’clock. I was so excited I couldn’t eat anything. I even forgot to feed my cats. But they started crying non-stop and reminded me. They’ll probably be mad at me for the rest of the day. I admit it. I have spoiled my cats. They are our children. I know people hate when you say you love your pets like they’re your children, but it’s true. I love them like they were my little furry kids.

My husband Jeff should be home any minute. He tends to be late, so I told him our appointment was a half-hour earlier than it was. He said he’ll grab a Big Mac and eat it on the way home. So, we won’t be late. I called and reminded him a couple of times. He is somewhat forgetful. He won’t admit it, but he is. The second time I called, he let his phone go to voicemail. I left him a message.

Oh, here he comes now. I’m so excited I could dance a jig. If we get this house, I will never want another thing. Well, that’s not strictly true. We will have to get some more furniture because the house is 2400 square feet, and our apartment is 950 square feet.

And then we will have to get yard tools and a lawnmower. I will agree to take care of the yard and garden. That’s how much I want this house. And I hate summer; I have to avoid sunburn. I’m not twenty anymore. Well, we will work all these little details out, no doubt. Jeff wants to move out of this apartment as much as I do. We will have a big bedroom, and he can have his own office, and I will finally have my own space where I can do my artwork and sew and listen to my kind of music with earphones, of course. It is absolutely a dream come true.

Oh, here he is, and I think I see Sharon, our realtor pulling her car up behind his. Yeah!!!

“Hi, honey, I’m home.”

I run to the door and practically jump into his arms. I’m so excited. “Oh, Jeff, I feel so good about this house. I know this is the one we have been dreaming about all these years. Oh, here comes Sharon. Do you want to make a pit stop in the bathroom before we go? That will give me time to talk to Sharon, so she will understand how much we want to get this house.”

“Alright, Kathleen, but please do not get your heart set on this house before we even see it. We both know that the pictures of these houses for sale can be quite deceiving.”

“What, are you out of your mind, Jeff? This is going to be our house. I feel it deep in my bones. This is it. Don’t try to bring me down. For once, let me be happy. Why are you always so negative? You never let me have one moment of happiness?”

“Kathleen, all I want for you is to be happy and not heartbroken. Let’s go see this house and then talk to Sharon about it before you go off the deep end.”

I was beginning to get upset with Jeff’s defeatist attitude. But I decided to try and calm down. I take some deep breaths and slowly let them out, as my Yoga instructor taught me to do when I get angry or upset. I have to admit I’m a little high-strung. But hey, can’t I be excited about something once in a while?

Jeff let Sharon in our front door, and as usual, she looked like she was ready for anything. She has that determined look on her face. Her lips are pursed, and her eyes are narrow. I think I hear her teeth grinding. I have a feeling she would like nothing better than for us to buy a house so she will be done with us. It’s been a long six months. And we have seen nearly every home in our price range and a few out of our price range. Which I know is a waste of time. But I do so love looking at these beautiful, old homes.

“Hello, people, Kathleen, Jeff, are we ready to go? I have a feeling that this is going to be your lucky day. Let’s be on our way, shall we? Do you want to go in my car or follow me?”

“Jeff, what do you think?”

“I think we should go in our car; that way, Sharon doesn’t have to drive us back here. She can go home or go to her office without having to drive out here to our apartment.”

“Alright then, let’s be on our way. Here’s the address, just in case you lose sight of my car. You can get to the house by yourself, and I’ll wait outside for you until you guys show up.”

Sharon smiles, I guess she means it to be a smile, but it’s more like a grimace. She’s ready for us to buy a house. So, she can be done with us. And so, we all walk out the front door and into our respective vehicles. We take Jeff’s car since, even though his air conditioner is broken. And he hasn’t had time to get it fixed.

We follow Sharon without any difficulty because she drives like she’s about a hundred years old. However, I think she is younger than I am. Probably about thirty years old. She doesn’t seem to enjoy her job. She is competent, but somehow her personality is strident and somewhat abrasive. But she has spent so much time trying to help us find that perfect house I don’t have the heart to look for another realtor. Anyway, today is the day, and I’m certain that this will be our house.

After about a half-hour, I see Sharon putting her right turn signal on, and I realize we are on the street where our house is located. All the houses are different from one another. But still, there is a sense that they all belong together. The houses are well taken care of; the yards are well-kept. There aren’t any people outside right now, but that’s because it’s a workday for most of them. Anyway, it looks like a quiet neighborhood. And after living in an apartment for ten years and hearing every fight, kids running around screaming their lungs out all day and night. We can use some peace.

I’m staring at the house from inside the car I hear a sudden knocking on my window, and I almost jump out of my skin. I was so startled. It’s Sharon trying to get my attention. I laughed and mouthed “sorry” to her. And she steps back while I open the door. “Oh, sorry, Sharon, I guess I was daydreaming. Let’s go, Jeff.”

“I was waiting for you, Kathleen.”

Jeff always has to have the last word. I ignore his remark and get out of the car. “Oh, Sharon, it looks just like the picture on the internet. I love it already.”

As we walk up the slate sidewalk, I admire the garden in the front yard. There’s a grapevine growing on the wrought iron fence. It is knurled and twisted and growing in both directions on the fence. It looks like it has been there a hundred years. On the sideyard, there is a fig tree. And a rose garden with vintage roses. There are slate pathways on either side of the house. The yard is not huge, but it is perfection. There is a wraparound porch with Victorian furniture on it and on either sidelight that stand about eight feet tall and look as if they came from a museum. I begin to feel a little faint. I’m so enamored with this house I can hardly speak.

“Well, what do you think, Kathleen?”

“What do I think? I think that I’m in love with this house. I can’t imagine why it is still on the market.”

“Well, the only thing I read was that the family that lived here moved out suddenly and put it on the market. They moved to upstate New York. And they haven’t been back here since. Their realtor is handling the whole thing. Come on, I have the key to the lockbox; let’s take a look. “

“What do you think, Jeff?”

“I don’t know what to think; there must be some kind of catch.”

“Ok, we can go in now, I had a little trouble with the lockbox, and then the key wouldn’t turn in the lock.”

Then we walk through the entryway. I can’t believe what’s before my eyes. To the left of the door is a stairway and a living room to the right. The floors are all hardwood and in perfect shape. There’s a double door to the dining room with a swinging door into the kitchen. A crystal chandelier hangs from the dining room ceiling. As I look around, I realize all the rooms are furnished. “Sharon, all the furniture is still here. Does the house come furnished? It looks like it’s all authentic Victorian?”

“Yes, it is being sold with all the furniture. They’re anxious to sell. But The owners are not going to go down in the price. But it is within your budget. Wait until you see the rest of the house. It is unbelievably beautiful.”

Jeff and I look at each other with disbelief on our faces. I break out in a cold sweat. I was waiting for the bad news about the house. I know there has to be something not quite right for this house to be in our price range. And it was furnished with all these gorgeous authentic antiques. I was willing to make an offer at their asking price. No questions asked, but I know Jeff wouldn’t give in that easily.

As we head up the stairs, Sharon tells us there are three bedrooms and two bathrooms plus the half bath downstairs. Each room is more beautiful than the next. The main bedroom is enormous. It has a ten-foot ceiling with two chandeliers. There’s a king-size bed in the room and two dressers. l look into the bathroom, I thought I noticed a woman slipping into the second bedroom. “Oh, Sharon, there’s someone in the house. I just saw a young girl slip into that second bedroom.”

“What? No, there can’t be, I have the only key to the house. So, no one else could get in here unless they broke in. Let’s take a look, shall we? Jeff looks at me like I have lost my mind. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“Well, I did, at least I think I did.”

We all walk down the hall and peek into the room. There’s a child-sized four-poster bed and a stunning-looking dresser. There are Victorian sconces on either side of the bed on the side walls. They had crystals hanging from them. The light from the windows plays off of them and is reflected on the pale blue walls. Sharon and Jeff are looking out the windows. And I hear Jeff say, Oh, my god, there’s a balcony over there outside the main bedroom. How did I miss that? I open the closet and look in, and there’re empty hangers on the clothes pole. I step out of the closet and go over to the dresser and pull open the top drawer. I see a small piece of paper. I pick it up, and I read it. It says, “This is our house. We will never leave.”

It’s written in somewhat childish handwriting. It’s signed, Phoebe. The paper looks handmade. It’s embossed with roses and daffodils and has a family crest on it. And the handwriting is written in a stylized script that I remember my great-grandmother used to write in when I was a young child.

Just as I’m about to show the note to Sharon and Jeff, the closet door opens slightly by itself. And a small face peers out. She looks about ten years old but is wearing Victorian clothes that look brand new. She puts her finger up to her lips as if to tell me not to disclose her presence and then steps back into the closet and silently closes the door. I put the note into my pocket. I decided that this was going to be my little secret. Besides, sometimes I get so lonesome when Jeff has to work long hours and goes on all his business trips.

“Sharon says, let’s go downstairs and look at the kitchen and the backyard. There is a two-car garage and a small pond back there. But I warn you, it’s small but stunning.”

As we walk down the long hall towards the winding staircase, I hear Jeff peppering Sharon with questions about the heating system and the roof. I walk slowly and look back down the hall, and I see the little girl and a woman wearing a long dress with a full skirt and a mustache man wearing a Victorian suit. They’re looking at me. So, I smile and wave, and they smile and wave back. I realize that they’re going to be part of my family now. But I think it is going to be my little secret. It’s clear that Jeff and Sharon can’t see them.

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THE GIFT OF TIME

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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

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 2^nd and 84^th 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

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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

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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

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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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Writer's Blog by Susan A. Culver

Author Archives: Susan

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THE PURSE