Author Archives: Susan

THE OTHER SIDE of HAPPINESS

The ancient Buick hustles down the dirt road. A cloud of dust swirls up on either side of the black car and paints it a dirty gray. In the back window, a young girl presses her face against the window. Tears stream down her pale face leaving trails on either cheek. Her body trembles in her struggle to suppress the sob that tries to escape from her heaving chest.

She counts to ten on her fingers over and over again. Her eyes tightly shut blocking out the burning light of the early morning sun. A single word escapes her lips, “home.”

“Sit down in your seat girl, there’s a long ride ahead of us.”

Giant Sunflower

Sunflower by ONZE greatvitijd Pixababy

She takes a deep breath, and with all the strength that remains in her lagging spirit, she sits back in the seat. She gulps air through her open mouth and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

She imagines walking up the path towards her house and through the red door. She sees her mother standing at the counter loading dishes into the dishwasher. She’s singing Walking After Midnight along with Miss Tammy Wynette at the top of her voice. She’s at the part where she wails out, I saw a girl that looked a lot like Billie Joe McAllister standing atop the Chocktoe Ridge.

Her mother is swinging her hips and is lost in the moment feeling every word and note of the song. When she sees Charlie, she dances up to her and sweeps her up in her arms, and continues singing and dancing.

After what seems a lifetime the car pulls onto an even more primitive road that’s little more than gravel on dirt. It’s full of ruts and the car bumps and swerves its way down the narrow path. Then makes its way up to a driveway paved with broken seashells. “Well, here we are. I want you to be on your best behavior while you’re here. You’re lucky we found someone in your family to take care of you while your mother is away. Otherwise, you would have ended up in foster care.

“Someone in my family, who, who is it? I’ve never been here before.”

“It’s your great-aunt, well actually she’s your grandmother’s sister so she’s your great, great aunt. Your Aunt Charlotte, your mother spent most of her summers with her when she was a kid.”

Charlie gets out of the car and stood stiffly next to it. She started counting to ten on her fingers again.
The woman from Social Services grabs Charlie’s bag out of the deep trunk of the old Buick and heaves it out and drops it on the ground. “Good lord child what have you got in here, rocks?”

Charlie shuffles her feet from side to side and shrugs her shoulders.

“Well let’s go then. It’s a long ride back.”

The woman picks up the duffle bag and walks toward the front door. She rings the doorbell. After a few minutes, they hear someone coming to the door and then suddenly the door flies open. And there stands an old woman not much bigger than Charlie. She has her long white hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing old jeans and a flannel shirt that hangs down to her knees. Her ears are pierced and have long feathers hanging from them. Her wrinkled face is dusted with flour. There’s a smile on her face that seems somehow familiar to Charlie.

“Well, here you are, and just in time for lunch. I made some fried chicken and homemade chocolate chip cookies. They used to be your mother’s favorite. Oh, where are my manners, come in, come in.”

“Hello, Miss Tremont. Would you like to stay for lunch? I made plenty?”

“Thank you, Miss Charlotte, but I have to be on my way. It’s a long way back. Here’s my card, if there are any problems please call me. I’ll keep in touch with you ”

“Goodbye Charlie. I know you’ll be fine here with Miss Charlotte. Be a good girl. Please don’t worry. Things are going to be ok.”

Charlie stares first at the lady and then at the old woman, her hands behind her back counting. She nods at the lady and waits for someone to tell her what to do. Silently begging them to tell her where her mother is and when. When will she be able to go home? But no one does. So, she just stands there and waits. The old woman walks over to the door with the lady and whispers things to her. Things Charlie can’t make out.

The old lady comes back over to Charlie and takes her hand. “Come on Charlie I’ll show you where the bathroom is, don’t forget to wash your hands. Here you go dear take your time. Then come on in to the kitchen and we’ll eat lunch.”

When Charlie finishes using the bathroom, she’s drawn to the kitchen by the tantalizing smell of fried chicken. She follows her nose and finds herself within the confines of a kitchen unlike she had ever seen before. It’s big and bright. The walls are painted the color of sunshine. There’s a ceiling made of tin with an amazing design of birds in flight. In the middle of the ceiling is a big fan. The fan’s paddles look like they are made out of giant leaves. The curtains are blue with white lace along the edge.

But the aroma, the aroma is unbelievably fragrant and enticing. Charlie feels as if she could stay in this room forever. Comforted by the good smells of fried chicken and homemade bread and chocolate chip cookies. “Well have a seat, Miss Charlie. I can’t tell you how much I have looked forward to having you stay here with me. You’re most welcome. Please help yourself while we get to know each other. Go on now don’t be shy.”

“I’d like to tell you a little bit about myself since I didn’t have the opportunity to meet you before. I’m your Mama’s great Aunt but since my sister passed long before your mother was born, I was fortunate enough to take her place. You know you look a lot like your mother. Those deep brown eyes and that shy smile. Yes, you look so much like her when she was your age. You know she used to spend every summer here with me and we became great friends. I hope you and I will do the same. Are you enjoying the chicken? Would you like to ask me any questions?”

Charlie looks up at her with her deep brown eyes but doesn’t say anything at first. Then a single tear flows down her cheek. She nods her head.

“Charlie you can talk to me. I promise I won’t bite.”

“Where is my mama? When can I see her again? Why am I here, and when can I go home?”

Aunt Charlotte rises quietly from her chair and comes over to Charlie and kneels down and puts her arms around her. “Oh, Charlie dear, hasn’t anyone explained what has happened?”

“No, a policeman came to my school and took me. Then I was taken to a building where a lot of other children were staying. It was really loud, and I was afraid. I had to stay there for a long time. I kept crying for my mother. But no one told me anything. Then one day the lady that brought me here came. She told me that I was going to stay at my aunt’s house for a while and today she brought me here.

“Charlie your Mama isn’t feeling very well right now. She is in a special kind of hospital, but she’s going to get better and you’ll see her again soon. But until then you’ll stay here with me. You’ll be safe.  I promise, no one is going to hurt you here. I’m going to take care of you. Just like I used to take care of your Mama when she was your age. Did you know that you are named after me? Your name is Charlotte, just like me. Your Mama sent you here to stay until she feels better again, ok.”

“You promise, my Mama is going to be alright, and she will come get me? When?”

“I don’t know exactly when Charlie, but I promise she will come and get you. You and your mother will be together again. Now, how about some of those cookies? Let me get you a glass of cold milk.”
The next morning Charlie wakes up to the smell of bacon cooking. Oh, how she loved that smell. Mama didn’t cook it very often because she said it wasn’t a very healthy food. Charlie ran over the dresser and pulls out a pair of shorts and a shirt and put them quickly on. She pushes her feet into her sneakers and runs down the steps toward the smell.

“Well good morning sunshine, how are you feeling this fine morning?”

“Fine, I’m starving. I smell bacon. I just love it. Can I have some?”

“Of course, you can. I made it a special treat since it is your first morning here. Would you like some eggs too? I can make them any way you like them.”

“Really, yes Mama and I only had eggs on Sunday. Can you make scrambled eggs with the bacon mixed in?”

“Why that was your mother’s favorite too. Of course, you can, have a seat. Would you like some orange juice to go with your eggs? How about you make the toast. There’s the toaster on the counter. That will be your job in the morning.”

“Charlie, I thought that while you’re here this summer that I could really use your help with my vegetable garden out back. I grow all kinds of vegetables, tomatoes, peppers, broccoli, and some herbs. I have a fig tree, and raspberries and strawberries, and some wonderful blueberries. But this year I decided to grow something special. Your mom always loved helping me. What do you think? Are you interested?”

“I guess, but I don’t know anything about gardening or growing things. We live in the city in an apartment.”

“Well, Charlie, it’s not hard. I’ll show you how to do it. Why don’t we finish eating? Could you help me with the dishes? How about I’ll wash, and you dry the dishes? Then we’ll go outside and get started.”

“Yeah, I guess so. My mom and I never had to wash dishes at home. We have a dishwasher. I never knew anyone who didn’t have one. Are you poor?”

“Well, Charlie, it’s true I don’t have a lot of money. But I have always been rich in the things that matter. I live in a beautiful place, and have plenty of sunshine and fresh air and wonderful friends. I’ve always felt those are the things in life that make you happy. It’s a simple life, but a good one. Now let’s wash these dishes and get busy outside.”

“It’s a beautiful day today Charlie, look at that sky. A blue and white sky my favorite kind.”

“Blue and white, what do you mean?”

“Well, just the right amount of blue sky with those wonderful, fluffy white clouds. It’s a miracle really.”

Charlie looks up at the sky and sees the clouds set against the clear blue and realizes she never really noticed the sky before. In the city, the sky is filled with skyscrapers and noise. People yelling, and cars beeping and the air is different; the air in the city isn’t clear it has a color all its own. She misses all the activity, the life that hustles and bustles around her on her street. It’s too quiet here. She misses all her friends.

“Why is it so quiet here? Where are all the people and cars?”

“Well, Charlie, I guess it does seem quiet to you after growing up in New York City, but you’ll see once you start listening, you’ll hear all the sounds of nature and realize that life is busy all around you.”

Charlie looks around her and at first, doesn’t notice anything moving. Then all of a sudden, she sees a rabbit hopping across the backyard. “Is that a rabbit?”

“Yes, I call her Tilly, because she’s always digging up my vegetables. But I don’t mind sharing some with her. It’s so much fun watching her and her babies running around the yard.”

“She has bunnies, oh where, where are they?”

“Be quiet and you’ll see them come out and follow their mother around eating the clover in the grass. And if you look over there at that big oak tree you’ll see Ozzie and Harriet. They’re squirrels, and they’re the best acrobats I’ve ever seen. They can climb a tree in a blink of an eye, and hang upside down by one leg. Oh, there’s Ozzie right now at the very top of the tree. Watch how he jumps from one limb to another. ”

Charlie tilts her head back and she sees at the very top of the tree a squirrel jumping from one limb to the other. She holds her breath thinking he’s going to fall for sure. But he doesn’t. He runs down the trunk of the knurled old tree and chases Tilly from one end of the garden to the other.

“Come one Charlie we’re going to plant some seeds today. Let’s go have a look at the garden. We can decide where we’re going to plant all the seeds. As they walk across the garden Charlie can hear all kinds of birds singing. She hears one bird singing in the most beautiful bold voice. What kind of bird is that, the one that sounds like it is singing pretty bird, pretty bird over and over?”

“Oh, that sounds like a bird called the Brown Thrasher or a Cardinal.”

“Can you see him?”

“Yes, that’s him right there in that big tree over there next to that shed.”
“Oh yes that’s a Cardinal, isn’t he a beauty. He serenades me every morning and sometimes again in the evening. You know I have a little book with pictures of the birds that live in this area if you would like to read it. You can look at the pictures and the description of the birds and learn to identify them and the songs they sing. Would you like that Charlie?”

“Yeah, sure I guess.”

“Alright, Charlie here we are. As you can see, I already prepared the garden for planting. I turned over all the soil, and I added nutrients to it. I make my own compost from leftover foods and plants and soil.”

Charlie had no idea what compost is, but she didn’t want to admit it so she just listens and hopes she’ll figure it all out. What kind of plants are we going to grow in the garden?”

“Well, I thought we would plant tomatoes, peppers, broccoli, lettuce, cabbage, and carrots. But I thought this year we would plant something special.”

“What’s that? What do you mean?

“Well, two things really. We’re going to plant pumpkins for the Fall. And something almost magical, I think. Giant sunflowers, they’ll be tall enough to tower over your head and mine and then some. The sunflowers will finish growing at the end of summer, and the pumpkins will be ready by Halloween. Won’t that be fun? Here let me show you the seeds. Charlotte held out her hand and small black and white seeds were in the palm of her hand. See these Charlie; from these little seeds, a giant flower will grow almost as big as a tree. And it will grow in just a few short months. It’s really amazing what can happen given the time and love.”

“Months, I ‘am going to have to stay here for months?”

“I know it seems like forever to you now, Charlie, but I promise you the time will pass more quickly than you realize. And in that time our garden will grow and produce wonderful things for us to eat and in that time your mother will get better. You’ll see her again soon, Charlie, I promise.”

“You promise, I’m going to be with my mom again?”

“Yes, Charlie, I promise. I will always tell you the truth. Now let’s get busy planting our garden. Let me show you how to plant the seeds.”

Every morning Charlie wakes up early, as soon as the sun shines through her bedroom window. She jumps out of the bed and runs over to the window. She sees Ozzie and Harriet chasing each other high in the tree. Leaping from one branch to another as graceful as any trapeze artist in the circus. She throws on her clothes and runs down to the kitchen to see what delicious meal her Aunt Charlotte has created.

Today it is homemade oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon. Charlie never liked oatmeal before, but Aunt Charlotte make it fresh with cream and brown sugar, and cinnamon. It is always wonderful and her tummy feels warm and content when she is finished. “Aunt Charlotte, this tastes really good. Can I go out to the garden now?”

“Well, yes, you can Charlie as soon as you brush your teeth. I’ll be out there in a little while as soon as I get the dishes washed and put away.”

Charlie runs into the bathroom and gives her teeth a quick cleaning. She can’t wait to see how her garden is doing now. Yesterday the pumpkins were as big as her head growing on long vines that trailed all over the garden. But the sunflowers were her favorite and yesterday one of them looked as if it might open its petals to the sun.

As Charlie runs out through the screen door of the back porch she can see that one of the sunflowers is blooming. Its bright yellow face turns up towards the warm light of the early morning sun. It is so tall it is towering over her head like a skyscraper. And on top of the sunflower sits Red singing out Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy at the top of his tiny lungs. In between songs he is pecking at the center of the sunflower. “What are you doing Red? Don’t ruin my sunflower.” Charlie runs back into the house and into the kitchen. Aunt Charlie Red is killing my sunflower, please come outside and stop him.”

Aunt Charlotte walks out to the garden and sees Red is atop the tallest sunflower and sees he is eating the seeds. “Oh, Charlie he isn’t killing the sunflower he’s just eating his breakfast. The whole center of the sunflower is full of seeds. That’s why I covered the tops of the other sunflowers so the birds wouldn’t take all the seeds. But I left the big one for the birds to thank them for bringing our garden to life with music. We have to share our bounty with our friends.”

“Alright, Aunt Charlotte, can I pick some of the vegetables and bring them into the house?”

“Of course, Charlie, I really appreciate your help. And when you come in, I have a surprise to share with you.”

“Really, what is it, Aunt Charlotte?”

“Well Charlie, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now.”

Charlie spent the morning picking the ripe red tomatoes, and glossy green peppers. She picked a cucumber that was as big around as her arm. She picked the long-string beans from their vines and finally some snap beans. Oh, how she loved to shell the beans. When she was finished, she turns on the sprinkler to give all her vegetables a drink.

She picks up the wicker basket that is almost too heavy for her to carry. Before she goes back into the house for lunch, she takes one more look at the giant sunflower. She can’t believe that this enormous flower grew from the tiny black and white seed.

As Charlie struggles through the porch door she sees her Aunt Charlotte standing at the stove. “Aunt Charlotte, wait until you see all the beautiful vegetables that I picked. They are the best ones so far. Look at how big this cucumber is.”

“Oh, Charlie that’s a beauty, you have become such a wonderful gardener, thank you so much for your help. Why don’t you go in and wash your hands? I’ve made a special lunch for us. I made grilled cheese sandwiches and homemade vegetable soup made from our very own vegetables.”

After Charlie washes her hands she looks into the mirror and sees that she’s smiling. She realizes that she is happy, and for a moment she feels guilty. But she knows in her heart that her mother wants her to be happy. That’s why she sent her to stay with her Aunt Charlotte. Because she had spent such wonderful and happy summers with her Aunt, she wanted the same for Charlie.

“Oh Charlie, there you are. Are you ready for your surprise?”

“Yes. Yes, what is it?” And that’s when she sees the sweet face of her mother walking through the doorway and into the kitchen. “Mommy, Mommy you’re here. I missed you so much. Charlie throws her arms around her mother and swears to herself that she will never let her go again.

“Oh, Charlie I missed you so much. I’m so sorry that I had to leave you. I promise I’ll never leave you again. Why don’t we sit down and eat what smells like a wonderful lunch? I have missed eating Aunt Charlottes’ food very much.”

After lunch, Charlie and her mother went upstairs and pack her things and get ready to leave. Suddenly Charlie feels sad at the idea of leaving Aunt Charlotte and the farm and Red and Ozzie and Harriet. She realizes she won’t see the sunflowers anymore or see the pumpkins grow large.

“Oh, Charlie dear what’s the matter?”

“Mommy I’m going to miss Aunt Charlotte so much. And I won’t see Red, and Ozzie, and Harriet again. I won’t see the sunflowers and the pumpkins.”

“Well, Charlie in life sometimes we have to lose something to gain something. But I promise you that we’re going to come back here to visit Aunt Charlotte. We’ll come here at Halloween to carve the pumpkins, and at Thanksgiving to eat pumpkin pie. Now let’s go give Aunt Charlotte a big hug and tell her how much we love her.”

As they hug Aunt Charlotte, Charlie wipes a tear from that threatens to run down her cheek. “Thank you so much, Aunt Charlotte. I love you so much. And I loved staying here with you. Mommy says that we’re going to come back and visit you at Halloween and Thanksgiving.”

“I know you will child, and I look forward to that every day until then. I’ll save some sunflower seeds for you and you can find a place in the city to grow a giant sunflower of your own.”

As Charlie looks out the back window of the car she smiles at the giant sunflower and her Aunt Charlie who is waving goodbye she looks so tiny standing next to the giant sunflower.

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CORONA VIRUS – 4/3/20

As I look back on last month, I realize that I’am finding it increasingly more difficult to accept the drastic changes that have taken place in such a short period. I wonder, is it just me? Or do other people feel a sense of disbelief?  Is this happening? A pandemic, a virus that has taken over the planet, changed the way we live, causing havoc in our daily lives. People are dying. One moment I think well it can’t happen to me. And then I think yes, it could. Why not me when I consider my age, my health issues. It could happen to me if I somehow contract the virus from another person or touching something that I shouldn’t have touched.

I miss my older daughter and her husband, who lives in Pennsylvania, outside of Philadelphia. I worry that she might get sick, and I wouldn’t be able to see her or take care of her. I want to protect them, but I can’t.

The front garden

And then there is anxiety. I keep thinking maybe I already have it and I don’t know it yet. I find myself taking my temperature before I go to bed. Insomnia is my new companion. It’s a long  when you wake up at 4 AM.

Here in North Carolina, there is a plethora of pollen. Everything is coated with it. People are sneezing and coughing, blowing their noses, including me. It is unnerving. People are afraid if you sneeze or cough. I understand because I’m one of those people.

I have attempted to keep busy every minute of my day. I volunteer at an Exotic animal sanctuary called Animal Edventure. I have been going there for three mornings a week for three and a half years, since right after I retired to NC from New Jersey.

Matilda the Emus

Matilda the Emus

I take care of twenty parrots and three Macaws. I decid that I will go in early and avoid interacting with the other people that work there. So I can decrease my chances of contracting the virus. I arrived at about 7:15 AM and leave by 10:30. I have come to love all the animals that reside in this sanctuary. And I would miss them if I wasn’t able to see them anymore. In North Carolina, people that work at animal shelters and animals, sanctuaries are permitted to go to work.  Over 220 Animals are living at Animal Edventure  including farm animals like horses, donkeys, a yak, a camel named Isaac, pigs, ostriches, emus, peacocks, monkeys, lemurs, rabbits, all types of reptiles, pheasants, turtles, tortoises of every size, and foxes. Just about anything you can think of.

After we moved to NC , we found a little restaurant in Garner, NC, about a half-hour drive from where we live. It is called the Toot and Tell. And we have been going there for breakfast on Saturday mornings for over three years. It is a family restaurant, but all kinds of people go there, young and old, black and white and brown, gay and straight. You name it. All are welcome. The people that work there know the customers. They are friendly and welcoming to everyone..They joke and laugh, and it makes you feel like your part of a family.

My husband and I always sit at the same booth. And the waitress at our table is the friendliest person you can imagine. I worry now that the restaurant is closed, how is she and all the other employees are making a living.  What is going to happen to them? How will they survive without a job? I hope they don’t go out of business. I am concerned that the people who work there will have difficulty finding new jobs. I am a worrier by nature. And then I worry about all the people out of work, how will they get by with no money or little money?

I decide to take one day at a time. I”ll fill my time with activities I enjoy. I wrote two new stories this week and started a sewing project that I hope to finish tonight. I still have a couple of hours before I have to cook dinner. So Douglas and I go out to our back yard. And I finish weeding our garden.

The sky is blue and the sun is shining on my back, There’s a slight breeze blowing. It really is a beautiful day. I try to live in the moment.

Our Koi Pond

My dog Douglas starts barking and he runs all around the yard. Enjoying the day and just happy being a dog.

So yes, this is a difficult and challenging time for me for all of us—some more than others.  I realize when I feel my life is out of my control if I help someone in some small or big way. I feel better.  I’m in control. If you can reach out and help people, do it..

And take solace in a sunny day, the Spring flowers blooming and in these few moments, peace. And let that feeling carry you through the next day and the next until this dark time is behind us—one day at a time.

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THE OLD BEAR

Did you ever meet someone that seems to wake up on the wrong side of the bed every day? Well, I did. And that man was my father. My father was a grouch. At least that’s what I believed when I was a child. It wasn’t until I grew up that I realized that my father was not so much a grouch as a perfectionist and with a dash of pessimism.

My father with his dog Andy

I look over at my dad on the other side of the dinner table. He doesn’t always eat dinner with our family. It depends on what shift he’s working on at the Philadelphia Transportation Company. He’s the head dispatcher for the city bus company. If he’s working the second shift, he works four to twelve pm; if he works the third shift, he works 12 Pm to 8 AM.

When my dad works the third shift, we have to be very quiet in the house. Because he is sleeping during the day. Luckily for us, he is deaf in one ear and has a tendency to sleep on his good ear. But woe is to you if you make too much noise and wake him up.

If he’s working the second shift, I usually get home from school right before he leaves for work. As I walk down our sidewalk, I look into the kitchen window and see my dad sitting at the kitchen table. As I rush through the door, I see my mother putting my father’s dinner plate on the table. He is sitting there with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. With his elbows on the table. The king of the kitchen. I see my mom is giving him his favorite dinner six hotdogs sliced up into little pieces and ketchup. My dad loves ketchup. Sometimes he water’s it down and drinks it. He likes to use the left-over pickle juice from the pickle jar and add all kinds of weird foods to it, like hard-boiled eggs and beets and relish and any other really spicy things. “Oh no, dad you’re eating that weird pickle juice stuff with the beets.”

“Ah, you don’t know what you’re missing, Susabelle.”

“Yuck.” One day I looked in the refrigerator and I saw a glass jar in there. I kept staring at it. Finally, I asked my mom, “What’s that in the jar in the back of the refrigerator?”

“Oh, that’s just your father’s cow tongue. He slices it and makes sandwiches.”

“Make’s sandwiches out of cow tongue?”  I thought I would puke. How disgusting can you be? Sometimes it’s better not to ask questions in my house.

One night last week, I was sitting at the table and watching him eat. He kept telling me to stop picking at my dinner. It wasn’t one of my favorite dinners, so I didn’t want to eat it. Sometimes, my mother would say, Susan, don’t waste your food. Think about the poor starving children in Africa.”

I really couldn’t understand why not eating my dinner would hurt the poor starving children in Africa. Where ever that was. So, I kept pushing the food around on my plate to make it look like I was eating. Then my father said,” Stop playing with your food, Susan.” I didn’t start eating, but I did start rocking my chair back on its back legs. My father got louder, “stop rocking your chair back and forth, Susan.” But, I didn’t, and all of the sudden my father reached across the table at me. I guess to smack me. Although he never hit me before. I guess I got on his last nerve. I figured he was going to smack me and I rocked back further on the chair legs. And over the chair went, taking the tablecloth with me and half the stuff on the table. As you can imagine he was really angry at me by then. And he roared at me, I can’t remember just what he said. But he did put the fear of god into me. And I started bawling like there was no tomorrow. “Get up, Susan, sit up. Are you happy now?”

I can’t really say I was happy, but I was relieved that he didn’t smack me. Although I probably deserved it.

My father kept his collection of pens on the counter behind his seat. And anyone who touched his pens was at risk of their lives. So, I always felt compelled to go over and move them around when he wasn’t looking. If he noticed he didn’t say anything. All the important things happened in our kitchen while we were sitting at the table. This included all of the conversations that we had as a family. Although, I tried to keep my mouth shut since I usually put my foot in it.

My father would sit in his seat, and behind him, he had a metal table fan that ran all year round. My father was a large man and he always felt hot and uncomfortable. He was the only one to have an air conditioner in his room and it ran all year round. In the dead of winter, he would go outside with just a wool scarf and a fake fur hat on his balding head.

My father is a creative man. He likes to make things out of stuff he finds or buys really cheap. He makes collages. He collects pictures out of magazines that he buys at the Lions Club. One of his favorite magazines is National Geographic. One of the collages is very large and hangs over our glass fireplace. Perhaps four by six feet wide. Within the collage are pictures of naked women. This collage became a silent battleground between my father and mother. My mother is a quiet person and a religious who doesn’t believe that pictures of naked women belonged on the living room wall for all the world to see.

My parents never talk about these pictures. Every time my father goes out to the store, or the track or to work my mother puts Holy Cards over the naked women in the collage. And when my father comes home, he uncovers the ladies. This went on for a long time until my father took up making String Art. The one hanging in our living room now is a huge piece over the fireplace. He made a spiderweb out of nails and string, and he found a giant plastic, hairy spider. When my friends came over, they all stare at it with their mouths hanging open. They look at me for an answer or explanation, I just shrug my shoulders. It doesn’t seem odd to me, because I love making things too, my father and I had that in common.

Yesterday my father said, “Susabelle, do you want to take a ride with me?’ I didn’t have to think twice. My father rarely took me anywhere.”

“Yes, I would. Where are we going?”

“Oh, not far.”

“We got in the car, and my father drove maybe five or ten minutes away. We were still in our town of Maple Shade, NJ. He drove down a street and pulled over to the curb and parked in front of a house. It looks similar to our Cape Cod house. “Do you see that Susie?”

“What that house?”

“Yes, that house, my friend Dar and I built that house?”

“It’s really great.” I looked at my dad and thought, my dad, can build houses. Wow. And then we went home, I never mentioned the ride I took with my dad to anybody. Because it made me feel like I was special because my dad took me to see it.

My father had our cellar filled with woodworking tools. He remodeled our kitchen and built a fence that was in our front yard for years.

Sometimes my father is in a bad mood, and he doesn’t want to talk to anybody. He’ll sit in his chair in the living room and watch one of his shows. Andy, our dog, will sit next to his chair, and my dad will pet his head all night. Until it is time to go to work or go to bed. Depending on the shift, he is working.  When he is in a bad mood. I stay far away from him. He can say cutting and hurtful things to me and my siblings when he is in a bad mood.

For instance, Christmas time is not always a good time for my father. He will put the Christmas lights on the rose arbor outside the front door. And put the big plastic Santa on the front step. And hang all the grandchildren’s stockings from the fireplace mantle. But then there are those times that Christmas seems to make him sad. He doesn’t want to talk too much. Everyone in my family goes out of their way to buy something that he will like. Sometimes He often refuses to open Christmas presents. Sometimes he will laugh and smile, sometimes silent.

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March 27th, 2020 Corona Virus

Photo by Bob Culver

Douglas

Last Saturday, my husband Bob and me with our dog Douglas, decided to go to the Carrol Howard Johnson Environmental Park in Fuqua-Varina. Douglas loves walking through the woods, keeping his nose to the ground. Smelling all the delicious smells.

There was lite traffic on the usually busy roads that lead to Fuquay and the park.  When we arrived at the park, there were about six cars parked out front. Usually, there is only one or two. But it was Saturday, and we usually go during the week.

We enjoy this particular park because it has trails through the woods with streams and is somewhat hilly, but not too strenuous. As we started our hike, we could hear voices in the distance, including the happy laughter of little kids. It was like music to my ears.

When we were within shouting distance of one of the families, I noticed they kept glancing in our direction. I said, “Bob, I don’t think we should walk too close to these families. It seems like it is making them uncomfortable. We waited on one of the wooden deck overlooks while they passed us. There were about ten feet between us and them. I called out to them,” Hello.” They quickly walked by us and appeared to avoid any eye contact at all. They didn’t return my greeting.  It was kind of weird. And this was repeated several times with three other families.

I asked Bob, “Did you notice that they didn’t even make eye contact and didn’t say hello?”

“Yes, I noticed it’s weird,” Bob said.

“You know I think they somehow they felt they were at risk just to pass ten or more feet away from us and to speak to us.”

“I think you’re right Susie, they appeared to be afraid.”

I felt a kind of sinking feeling in my stomach. I kept swallowing hard. I felt sad. I’m a friendly person and when we pass people on the street. I always greet them and say ‘hi, how are you? Or just, “hello.” People almost always respond to a friendly greeting.

Douglas happily made his way through the woods, smelling all the delicious aromas. Totally oblivious that the world had changed so rapidly in a short time. People are afraid of their fellow humans because too close contact with them could possibly cause them to die.

We made our way back to our parked car. I couldn’t help but think to myself. “How is this going to turn out? Will we make it through somehow? What is to become of us?’ And I’m not just talking about myself and my husband. But, all of us. How will this end?

I have come to this conclusion, yes, we must be careful of coming in contact with people, and by that, I mean physical distance. But we can still safely acknowledge one another. And care about one another and want them to continue on with their lives. And be able to live happy and productive lives. Would any of us want to live in a world where we care nothing for other people’s well-being? I wouldn’t want to live in such a place. Be careful, take care of yourselves and your families. Be kind to one another.

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HATS ON AND ON AND ON TO INFINITY

It’s just another ordinary day. I wasn’t expecting anything unusual to happen. My alarm rings at 7:47 am right on the dot. I dangle my legs over the side of the bed and let them hang there for a bit just to get the circulation back.

Cowboy Hats by Paul Br751

I start making the bed, and as I get out of bed, I straighten the sheets and then the Cowboy comforter. I smile, just looking at that bedspread. I can’t believe how lucky I was to find it on eBay. I’ve looked for one for twenty years. I owned one when I was a kid, but my mother gave it away when I was sixteen. She said I was too old for a cowboy bedspread. Can you imagine? Too grown-up for cowboys, ridiculous.

I walk the twenty-seven steps to my bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I take off my hat and look at the top of my head that clearly has less hair this morning than it did yesterday. I sigh. Oh well, what can you do? I get out my mustache kit. I comb it straight down and then trim each hair one at a time. I comb it seven times I try to be vigilant about the length and the shape.

You just can’t let yourself go to hell, right? I decide tonight I will touch up the gray a little. Not all of it, of course, I like to look my best, but no one’s going to believe that someone that is sixty-seven doesn’t have some gray hair in his stache. I jump into the shower and wash and rinse myself seven times. I put on my clothes and look in the mirror. Not bad, I think.

I pull up my bamboo socks, you wouldn’t believe how comfortable they are, and your feet can breathe. And the Piece De Resistance is my hand-made vintage Lee Miller boots. They cost a pretty penny, but believe me, they were worth it. They are hand-stitched with red hearts and inlaid white patches. I  feel like a million bucks.

This makes it even more difficult for me to understand why I can’t find a woman to keep me company in the sunset of my years. After all, I’m not bad-looking, have some money in the bank and own a home with no mortgage. What more could any woman want? Plus, I’m very, very neat, and a dam good cook to boot.

I set the table for two, I live alone, but I’m optimistic. I take two steps to the right and then two steps back. And take my seat, as I eat my bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch. I consider where I might purchase my next hat. My plan is to buy a Brick Cowboy Hat, which is similar to a cattleman cowboy hat but has a squarer crown. I also have to pick up my Gambler Cowboy hat because I left it at the hat shop to be blocked. It‘s a little too big for my head now that I have less hair. So, I’m having it resized.

I wash and rinse the cups and bowls twenty-seven times and put them away. Today is the third day of the week in the third week of the month, so it’s time to go out and buy a new cowboy hat. I decide to shop at my old standby Cowtown Cowboy Outfitters. I received an email informing me that they received some new hats just last week. And luckily, Zane Western Apparel is only about a quarter of a mile from Cowtown. And that is where my Gambler Hat is being blocked. What a great day this is going to be.

As I head towards Cowtown, I decide that while I’m buying my new hat, I’ll peruse the flea market. And then enjoy barbeque ribs for lunch. I realize that I’m humming my favorite tune. “Whoopie Yippie e. Hurrah.”

I see the sign for Cowtown, and my heart starts beating a little faster, “Yippee Ky O Ky Yea.” I yell at the top of my voice.

I disembark from my 1965 Shelby-Made Mustang. I step back three steps and sidestep five and take a long look at my baby. It’s cherry red and pristine. I love it like I loved my mother. It’s 10:45 am. I take a deep breath and stare at the Cowtown Cowboy. It’s one of my favorite icons of all time.

The cowboy had a lariat in his hand, but people kept trying to swing from it. So, they took off the lariat. I decided to peruse the flea market. I enjoy looking through the now worn and somewhat tattered stalls. Why? You ask it’s probably just a bunch of Chinese imports. Nothing is made in America anymore. Because it is part of my tradition, and that is reason enough for me.

I pick up a genuine replica of a Colt 45. I’m not a gun enthusiast, but it’s part of the Cowboy tradition. Still, I put it down and keep walking. And then I see in the distance a woman, a goddess, really. She’s wearing full cowgirl tradition. She has on amazing boots, and tight blue jeans with a red flannel shirt and matching red scarf. And the Piece de ’resistance, a creamy white Stetson hat.

I nonchalantly walk toward the table where she is standing. It’s a table covered in bright neck scarfs. I casually glance at a sky blue one and pick it up and feel the texture and put it in the light to get a better look. She looks over at me and smiles. I look at her, and I notice she has the most astonishing blue eyes. I almost gasp out loud. I smile and say, “that scarf would look great on you. It’s the exact color of your eyes.

She glances at me, and takes off the scarf, and says, “thanks, that’s a good choice.” I want to continue the conversation. But as usual, this is where I usually get tongue-tied. I continue, anyway. “Say, I was just going to get some bar-b-que ribs for lunch, would you be interested in joining me?”

“Lunch, sure, I guess that would be nice. I’m getting a little bit hungry.”  We head on over to Dutch Country Barbeque. She stops along the way and looks at tables at the wares. We arrive at the restaurant. A somewhat loud but friendly woman yells out. “Find a seat and sit-down folks. I’ll be right there.”

So, she has a seat, and then I take two steps to the right and two to the left and sit down. She gives me a funny look. I sit down and begin to move the salt and pepper into the right position. And then move the barbeque sauces next to each other. I take out a clean hand wipe and wipe the table down. I get another funny look. I begin to feel that uh-oh feeling. That I get when I notice people think I’m weird. But I don’t know what it is that I’m doing wrong.

“Well, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Robert Leroy Cassidy. But everyone calls me Butch. May I ask your name?”

“My name is Sue Ellen Bassett. I own a small ranch about twenty miles south of here. I raise and train horses for the Rodeo here. Wait a minute, did you just tell me your name was Butch Cassidy?”

“Well, yes, is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just you know Butch Cassidy was an outlaw. Are you a descendent or something?”

“No, I had my name legally changed to Butch Cassidy when I was thirty. He was kind of a hero to me, growing up.”

“A hero, but was an outlaw?’

“Well, yes, technically, I guess that’s true. He lived by the code of the old west. It was a different time.  People lived by different rules. You know live by the gun die by the gun.” I watched her face carefully as I related this information to her.

She starts clearing her throat. It looks like she’s going to make a run for it. “Wait, I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not crazy, I just have a thing for the old west, and the gunslingers back then. That’s all. I’m not an outlaw. I‘m a retired insurance salesman from Texas. By the way, what’s your name?” I see her face relax a little.

“My name is Etta Thompson. Do you come to Cowtown very often?

“Well, about once a month, if I’m picking up a new hat.”

“Oh, that’s interesting. Do you collect hats?”

I smile, I think ok she doesn’t seem to think that’s odd. And so, I continue.” Well, yes, I do. I collect cowboy hats. And other kinds of Western paraphernalia. But my main interest is hats.”

“Well. Everyone has hobbies, and collecting hats seems a harmless enough activity. I enjoy collecting brass bells. I have about five hundred. I had more, but I sold some of them on eBay recently because I was running out of room in my house.”

“Oh, how did you start collecting bells?”

“I go to estate sales because I enjoy looking at older homes. I started to collect bells, so I had a reason to keep going to the sales. Basically, I’m curious about how other people live and the things they accumulate over a lifetime. People are fascinating to me.”

“Well, I can’t say that I’m drawn to that many people, or that I  like to talk to most people. There are very few people that I’m attracted to, I mean to feel a connection “ I feel my face getting red, can you imagine still blushing when you’re over sixty years old.

“That’s alright, I know what you mean.”

At that point, the waitress comes over. “So, what can I get you to drink? Do you need the menus, or do you know what you want?”

“Well, I would like a sweet tea and the lunch special barbeque.”

“Me too.”, Butch says and blushes.

After the food arrives, they both dig in and don’t really say anything until they finish eating. Butch feels comfortable with Etta, a rare occurrence. They both sign push their plates away and sigh simultaneously. Then they both chuckle at the same time. “That was good, says Etta.”

“Delicious as usual,” says Butch.

“Well, what are your plans for the rest of the afternoon, Butch?”

“First, I’m going to pick up a hat I’m having blocked, and then I’m going to Zane Apparel and purchase a Gambler Hat that I’ve wanted to buy for a long time.’

“That sounds like fun?”

“Would you like to come along?”

“I would love that, but I’m meeting with some guys about a horse they want me to train. I would love to get together again. In fact, I would like to invite you to come over and see my ranch. I’m really proud of it.”

As Butch starts to rise out of his chair, he lays down a twenty-dollar bill and a tip. And he says I would enjoy that very much. Any day in particular?”

“How about on Sunday afternoon, it’s the only day I don’t have a lot of work to do on the ranch, and the weather is supposed to be spectacular. We could take a ride.”

“Take a ride? I don’t really have a great deal of experience riding, But I would love to give it a try.” Butch is secretly amazed at his own words. Not to mention that he didn’t even do the two-step when he arose from the chair or clean the whole table and stack the dishes. A big smile crosses his face.

“Fantastic. Here are my card and cell number, how about around 12:30 pm. I’m a pretty good cook if I do say so myself. I’ll make something special for us to eat.”

“Wow, I mean great, I look forward to it. I’ve had a great day. I look forward to seeing you on Sunday.”

They walk side by side out the door. Butch has never felt more alive and has a bounce to his step that he didn’t know existed before. As he is about to say goodbye, Eta leans in and kisses him on the cheek. I’ll see you then Butch; I look forward to it.”

“Me too, Eta. I look forward to it. See you Sunday.”

As he starts walking away, he says, “Hell, maybe I’ll get two new hats.”

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I HOPE THIS GOES VIRAL – PLEASE SHARE ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA- WRITE ON

I decided that on Fridays I will write an essay about the experiences that I have during the week.  These essays will speak to my personal experiences during our new reality of the Corvid 19 virus. I have been feeling a low-level amount of anxiety because of the virus. Sometimes I wake up at night, and it hits me again. And I can’t go back to sleep.

This is what happened to me today, and it made this virus “real” to me. I went to CVS to pick up eye drops for dry eyes.  I purchased several other small items. There were only a few customers in the store. I walked up to the check-up counter. The cashier was behind the counter, and there was a folding table in front of the counter. The cashier is wearing blue vinyl gloves. She instructed me to put my items on the folding table then she picked each one up with her gloved hands and scanned them an put them in a plastic bag and told me to pay by debit card or credit card which I could do from the machine that was on my side of the table. I did what she said. And then I looked at her face, and I saw a young woman about twenty.

And I thought, dear god, what is happening? I felt an overwhelming sense of grief for her, for all the rest of us living on this planet. And then, I felt tears streaming down my face and managed to say thank you and walk out the door. I wondered what will become of us, how will all of this end?

Here in North Carolina, the restaurants, schools, and large gatherings such as concerts are canceled for an unknown length of time. You can order food as take-out and then pick it up outside of the restaurant in your car. People can order their food from food stores as well, and then one of the employees bags the food, and customers can pick it up in the parking lot outside of the store. The dentists are closing their practices for routine cleanings and check-ups and are only seeing emergency patients. I haven’t had to go to the doctors, but I imagine they are treating this situation in the same way.

These changes did not happen slowly. It happened in the last two weeks. For me, it seems almost incomprehensible that so much has changed in such a short time. I find it hard to take it all in. And the fact that it is not just happening here in NC, in the United States but all over the world is mind-boggling and terrifying.

I somehow have a sense of immediacy in that I feel I must somehow fix or change what is happening to all of us. But I have no clue what to do or where to start. I know people that will be at higher risk of going hungry. Because they were on edge already, and now, they will go over that cliff. So, I decided to donate money to the Food Bank of Central and Central NC twice a month. And because I am an animal lover, I will donate to the local animal shelters.

Susan Culver with Noel the Cockatoo Animal Edventure

I volunteer at an animal sanctuary in Coats, NC, called Animal Edventure at https://www.facebook.com/AnimalEdventuresSanctuary/

I have worked there for three mornings a week for the past three and a half years. I take care of Parrots, Macaws, and Cockatoos. There are over 220 animals that live there most who have been rescues. There is everything there from horses to camels to monkeys, lemurs, and reptiles. Animal Edventure is dependent upon donations from the visitors that visit them. And now because of this virus, the donations if they continue at all will be significantly reduced.

Many people who live on the edge of poverty barely get by on a good day if they lose their job, then what? What about those who are laid off and then no longer have income or healthcare. They are between a rock and a hard place, no doubt.

I continue to have some modicum of hope that our government will step up and do the right thing, but I have doubts that they will.

So, here is what I propose, that all of us step up and find one person or one family that needs help, and we help them in whatever way we are able to do. And we help them without any expectations of being repaid.

If we are to survive this challenge that we face, we must do it together, and help one another. We can not do it alone; we must take one day at a time and try and rise to our higher selves.

And if you would like, you can read this post on my blog and follow my experiences there and add your experiences and how you feel to the comments. https://susanaculver.com

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A JOURNEY OF A THOUSAND MILES BEGINS WITH A SINGLE MISSTEP

The year I celebrated my twenty-first birthday, I had big plans. No, it’s not what you’re thinking I didn’t go out and get drunk. I didn’t get laid for the first time. I decided that a coming of age journey was in order. No, it wasn’t a remake of Thelma and Louise. Although, considering how it turned out maybe I should have brought Louise with me. Well, I don’t know anybody named Louise, but I do know a Helen, a Joan or Brenda that would have loved to come along.

But you know that’s not my style. I decided that I would go it alone. Why you may ask?  Well, because of all the things I feared, and the list is long, getting lost is at the top of the list.  And running a close second is public speaking and wearing a bikini at the beach.

The Auto Train by Engin Akyurt-Pixabay

I made a list of all the things that I wanted to do once I was a legal adult. I wanted to get up at dawn every day and see the sunrise. I wanted to dye my hair blond. Embrace each day with renewed energy and a positive vibe, no more negativity. I would learn how to parallel park, learn a new language. I was considering Chinese, it would be more of a challenge. Maybe I could learn to write it as well. I’ve always been good at languages. Remember, how good I was at Pig Latin when I was a kid.

Well, I could go on and on, perhaps I should stop prevaricating and get to the point. I had planned the whole trip. Oh, this was decades before the I Phone and Google Maps. I had purchased maps of the East Coast from New Jersey to Florida. I decided I would take the Auto Train. I would have to drive from South Jersey to Lorton, Virginia. Barring unforeseen circumstances and according to my calculations, it was a two hour and forty-minute drive to drive one hundred- and seventy-five-mile drive from my home in South Jersey to Lorton, Virginia.

And then I would board the train and go from Virginia to Sanford, Florida and then drive to West Palm Beach. It was a twenty-four-hour ride on the train.

And believe it or not, I arrived at Lorton, Virginia auto-train with time to spare. Even I was amazed since I had never taken a longer trip than going to Atlantic City about an hour from my parents’ house without getting lost. And I did not have to make a single U-Turn. I kid you not. Since I arrived early, my car was the first one to be loaded onto the train. Of course, what I failed to consider was that would mean my car would be the last one to get off the train in Sanford, Florida.

I watched as my beloved 1970 Volkswagen Beetle was loaded onto the train. I must admit I was somewhat nervous about it. I loved that car; it was my first car. I had purchased it on my own, with money that I earned while working my first real job. I loved that car so much that every morning I got up an hour early to wash it. It was lemon yellow with automatic stick shift. I loved it like it was my first-born child.

After waiting on a bench in Virginia’s August sizzling heat for well over an hour, I was allowed to board the train. I was drenched in sweat. I had my somewhat damp ticket in hand. The Conductor directed me to the box car. As I got onto the train, I realized that most of the passengers that were boarding were families with multiple children, some still in diapers. This was somewhat concerning since I knew we would be driving for twenty-four hours, which meant that at least eight hours of the drive would be overnight. Overnight with a large population of children under the age of five. I could see that this might cause some sleep problems. It turns out that crying babies would be the least of my problems.

As I boarded, the train trip got off to a rocky start. I tripped going up the steps and fell right into the passenger in head of me.  And I might add not very gracefully. I attempted to pull myself up using his leg, mistake number one. Inadvertently, his pants came down around his ankles. And to add insult to injury turns out this guy goes commando.

I was so shocked at the turn of events, I started talking gibberish, or maybe it was pig Latin. It’s kind of a blur now because his reaction was well, a little over the top, in my opinion.

As he yanked up his pants, you know the velvet kind with an elasticized waistband he let loose with a string of expletives that would make Genghis Kahn blush. The last thing he said was, “You better keep clear of me, you stupid bitch. If I see you again, I’m going to toss your fat ass off this train.” Well, I may be a little zaftig, but I’m not fat.

The line of people waiting to board the train behind me was beginning to back up. A couple of young guys grabbed my arms on either side and pulled me up. “Oh, thanks,” I mumbled and prayed I would never seen any of these people again. I had never been so simultaneously embarrassed and terrified at the same time.

I found a ladies room and stepped into a stall. I had myself a mini-breakdown. I may have shed a few tears and I was shaking like a leaf. I took some deep breaths and wiped my tears with toilet paper. When I  finished, I walked over to one of the sinks, and I gazed into the mirror. I realized that I had blood dripping down my face. I must have hit my lip or bit it when I fell. I splashed some cold water on my face and dried it off with a paper towel, the cheap kind that is brown and feels like sandpaper.

I decided that things could only get better from here on out since I couldn’t imagine anything worse happening. You see I was already putting the optimistic point of view into play.  I started to brush my hair but gave up on it as a lost cause.

I stepped out in the hall and looked for the boxcar that was listed on my ticket. It was a good thing that each car was marked because otherwise, I would have been lost as they all looked exactly the same to me.

I swayed from one end of the train to the other. The movement of the train was somewhat like walking on the deck of a boat in a rough sea. I found the right boxcar and sat down in my assigned seat with a deep sigh.

It turns out the seats were three across. So, it was going to be a tight fit. I shut my eyes and started doing some deep breathing. And I fell fast asleep probably from the shock and stress. I woke up abruptly, I looked around, unsure at first where I was. Something was banging on the back of my seat. I looked to my right there was an elderly man fast asleep on my shoulder, his drool was running down my sweaty arm. And to my left was a nursing mother. Who looked younger than I was. I was not in a good mood, I swore as loud as I could “I don’t know who is kicking my seat, but if you don’t stop, the shit is going to hit the fan.” I had never really cursed before, but I thought this occasion was a good time to start.

Unfortunately, I woke up both the drooling ancient man and the sleeping baby and mother. The baby let out a wail that would have raised Lazarus from the dead for a second time. Little Mama, well let’s just say if looks could kill, I would have been breathing my last breath.

“Hey Girlie, what’s all the racket about? Can’t you tell people are trying to sleep?” What’s all the racket about? Kids nowadays don’t have respect for their elders. I didn’t respond immediately because my attention is drawn to his lower lip, where a long string of drool is suspended. My stomach lurched. “Sorry, I was startled by somebody kicking my seat back. It’s been a long day.”

I decided that this would be a good time to go get something to eat. Hopefully, when I returned, everything would be copesetic again. Or at least everyone would have gone back to sleep. Since I’m working on being positive. I choose to believe this until reality smacks me in the face with the truth.

I meander down through one compartment after another. And then I hear before I see what I think must be the diner compartment. I stick my head in the doorway. And low and behold there looks like there is a party going on. It is loud, way past noisy. There is a yellow haze. It could be cigarette smoke, but most likely pot—smoking with one hand and drinks in the other. And now, we are talking; this is the type of experience I have been looking forward to.

I push my way through the crowd and find a seat at the bar. “Hey bartender, can I get something to eat here. My stomach thinks I cut my own throat?” He takes one look at me and asks for my ID. I take it out of my back pocket and hand it over to him. He is a scary-looking dude; he has a scar running the length of his face from his hairline down. I shutter to think how that happened. There is a tear tattooed underneath his right eye. Half his mustache is missing. I don’t even want to know the significance of that. He looks at me; he looks at the ID. “Ok, close enough, we have hamburgers and French fries, the first beer is on the house.”

“Awesome, well-done, please.”

“Well done, you’ll be lucky if it ain’t still mooing, honey.”

My eye starts twitching a little. I look around the room. My first thought was maybe I’m still sleeping because this looks like a bar scene from Casablanca. Would that make me Ilsa? I look around for my Rick. Unfortunately, I don’t see him, but maybe he is in the men’s room. The only thing missing here is the designer gowns and the tuxedos. I guess this is the poor man’s version.

My hamburger arrives, my mouth is watering; this is the first thing I’ve had to eat all day. It’s not that bad, and the French fries are just the way I like them salty and crisp.

At that moment, I feel someone’s hand grasp my shoulder. I look up, and who do I see, Pants Guy, or should I say no pants guy. I gulp down the last bite of my hamburger whole and almost choke. I grab my free beer and swallow. His grip is getting tighter. He is leering down at me. But not in a good way, if you know what I mean.

My breathing is becoming irregular, in short gasps. I’m hyperventilating. I try to slow my breathing down. And then it comes to me, go completely limp. he is so surprised that he lets go of my shoulder. I drop like a lead balloon,  I hit the ground. And before he knows what is happening, I‘m up and running and out the door.

I run through several boxcars. The constant swaying of the boxcars is making me feel nauseous. I hear a voice in the distance, yelling.” You wait until I catch up with you. I’m going to make you regret the day you were born.” And then a roaring sound, I’m not sure if that was him, or my intestines.

I hear music, I follow it. I see an open boxcar. And propel my body through the entrance.  It’s another bar or a cabaret. I’m not sure.  There is the sweet smell of pot and many voices talking at once. I can’t see clearly because of the smoke. I give a silent prayer of thanks for the smoke. If I can’t see anyone, then neither can the Neanderthal that is chasing me.

Someone grabs my arm and pulls me in. The next thing I know, I’m dancing with a guy with Do Wop hair. You know the greasy hair that swoops on across the forehead and down over one eye. He is wearing tight jeans and a cowboy shirt with fringe. I go with it. Better than doing the Last Tango in Paris with No Pants Guy. He pulls me in tight. I press my face against his chest. I’m thinking, safe at last, and then Do Wop swirls me out expectantly, and I let out a yelp. Then he yanks me not very gently back into his chest. And that, unfortunately, is when my intestines and I say adieu to the very rare hamburger and the warm beer. I projectile vomit across the floor and all over Do Wop.

It turns out Do Wop is a sympathetic vomiter. And it seems as if he has had a great deal to eat prior to coming to this bar. Apparently, he had Mexican food, unfortunately, for me and everyone behind me. And to add insult to injury, this set off a chain reaction of vomiting across the room. The smell alone was overwhelming, and then people started slipping and sliding all over the place. And that’s all she wrote as they say. The party was over.

As I crawl across the slimy and disgusting floor, I see No Pants Guy. I lay flat on the floor and hope for the best. He backs out of the room. No doubt blown back by the sheer stink of it all. I take a deep breath, and then immediately regret it.

As I rise, I consider throwing myself off the train and just hoping for the best. I crawl out into the passageway and look one way and then the other. I don’t see hide nor hair of my nemesis. I slip and slide until I see a lady’s room sign and shove open the door. I look right and left, and it is all clear. I enter somewhat trepidatiously.

As I once again gaze into the mirror, I realize I have reached a new level of looking like shit. A rare accomplishment for the first day of my twenty-first year. I congratulate myself. I turn on the cold water tap and splash lukewarm water onto my face. The water has a weird metallic smell. I wonder, where is this water coming from? The train isn’t connected to water lines. It must be stored in tanks under the train or something. This thought leads to another less savory thought where does all the shit and piss go? Do they flush it out the last boxcar? Do they store it until they arrive at the final destination? It is at this point in my stream of consciousness; I realize that my thoughts have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I cup my hands and throw the water into my mouth and rinse and spit. I‘m convinced I’ll never get the disgusting taste out of my mouth.

I stick my head out of the bathroom door; I think I see a kangaroo. I’m thoroughly exhausted. I believe I must be hallucinating.  My mind rejects the vision. So, I continue walking out the door and towards what I believe isn’t real. I shake my head and reach out to touch it. And that’s when I realize that this isn’t a vision but real. The kangaroo pulls back his arm and then strikes me in the chest I stagger backward a couple of feet. I’m momentarily so flabbergasted that I can’t catch my breath.

Imaginary or not, that thing can punch like Mike Tyson. I run in the other direction. Perhaps I inhaled so much pot fumes and that it was indeed imaginary. Or none of this is happening. And I’m fast asleep and dreaming, between drooling old man and nursing mother. I pray for the second option.

I decide that I’m going to head back to my boxcar and squeeze into my seat and not rise again until we reach Sanford, Florida. As I head back toward my destination, I fantasize lying on the beach and catching some rays and drinking a Margarita with a tanned and toned surfer dude. I convince myself that this is still possible. I just have to get back into my assigned seat and keep a low profile until we reach our destination. We will probably reach it in about fourteen hours. Meanwhile, I can catch some Zzzz’s.

I double-time it back to my boxcar.  Hopefully, there won’t be any further excitement or altercations. This day seems like the longest day of my life. I arrive at my boxcar and look in, fearing at first that my nemesis will somehow have found out where I was sitting and lie in wait for me. Luckily, this was just paranoia at work. And no one was waiting for me.

I walk down the aisle. I see what appears to be two empty seats where I was sitting earlier. I arrive and look down at the seats, and I see that drooling man is now slumping over into my seat. I fear the worse that he is dead and decomposing. I look at nursing mother is curled around her baby and sound asleep. Thank god for small favors.

I consider trying to clandestinely make a loud noise and wake him up. Nope, that would wake up the mother, and even worse the infant.

And so, I gently shove him over into his own space. I grasp his sleeve and push him ever so gently. It works except he is now slumped over onto the mother. I consider this; it works for me. I plop down quietly and immediately fall into a fretful sleep.

I wake up abruptly to a high-pitched screaming. My eyes pop open, I fear for the worse. Was it the kangaroo or No Pants Dude? Will this nightmare never end?

I look to the sound of the ungodly noise and it is the infant. It has awakened and is now bawling like there is no tomorrow. “Dear god, what is it? Why is it screaming, is it in pain? Please make it stop.”

“Sorry, he is just hungry or needs his diaper changed. I will have to take him to the lady’s room. They have a changing table in there. If you could just get up for a moment, I would appreciate it.”

As she gets up with her infant in tow, the old man slumps further into the other seat. My god, but he is a deep sleeper. I attempt to pull him up. He is like a sack of potatoes. He still doesn’t awaken, great I think. And I close my eyes and am out like a light in short order.

I am awakened by someone tugging at my sleeve. I mutter,” for the love of all that is holy, would you please leave me alone.”

“Sorry, but could you please let me in my seat again. I have to feed my baby, or he will start crying again.”

“Yeah, ok, ok.” When I get up, the old man falls right back into my seat. “What’s wrong with this guy anyway, nothing wakes him up?”

The mother touches the old man’s face and then grabs his wrist and holds it for a minute. “Shit,” she screams, this guy is dead. I was wondering why he slept so long. We will have to call the conductor or somebody in charge.”

She pulls the cord next to her seat. It says emergency only. Well, this certainly qualifies as an emergency to me. There is a loud squealing noise, and then a lurch as the train grinds to an abrupt stop. Everybody wakes up, some start screaming, mostly kids but quite a few burly young men.

By the time the train comes to a complete stop, everyone has calmed down. There is an announcement over the intercom that everyone should remain seated until they are told otherwise. About fifteen minutes pass by, and then two EMTs and a police officer come on board.

When they arrive in the boxcar, I start feeling a little sick to my stomach. I hope I won’t start throwing up again. I look up to see the police officer standing over me. “Alright, ladies, can you describe to me what has occurred here.

Well, I just came back to the boxcar, and I couldn’t sit down because he was slumped over into my seat. When I moved him, he just sort of plopped into his seat. Like a dead weight. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say it that way. It was such a shock. I’ve never seen a dead body before. And to tell you the truth, it has been a tough day for me. Oh, sorry.”

“And you miss?

“Well, I thought he was asleep for most of the trip. He didn’t really say anything to me at all. I was taking care of my baby, and as she said, it has been a really long day.”

“Do you two young ladies know each other? What is your relationship?”

Simultaneously, we both said, “No, I never ever talked to her. I never met her before. I don’t know her.”

The policeman said, “ok, you two will have to make a written statement before we leave. And at some time in the future, you may have to testify.”

I looked over at nursing mother. She looks like she is going to start crying. Which made me start crying. And before you knew it, we were both crying—a perfect end to a perfect day.

After they took the body out, she and I look at each other, and then we hug. I am not much of a hugger, but somehow it did make me feel better after that. “My name is Susan, and you are?”

“Well, this has been some trip and a weird way to meet somebody, my name is Joanne. And this is my baby Gerald. He’s four months old. We are on our way to see his grandparents in West Palm Beach.  God, what a day.

After that, we just sat back in our seats and didn’t say another word. I mean, what more can you say after somebody you didn’t know or even talk to dies in the seat next to you. I wonder what kind of lesson I was learning about being an adult from this experience. I still don’t know.

A police woman came in and told the two of us that we were going to have to move to other seats in a different boxcar. While the police look over the scene. I don’t know what they were looking for? Drool maybe? Sorry, I know that’s not funny, but what can I say. I can be a real jerk sometimes.

After I was told where my new seat was, I found my way without any difficulty. Maybe I was developing a sense of direction. Who knows. The new boxcar and seat look exactly the same sans nursing mother, I mean Joanne and her baby and the old man. Oh, there I go being a jerk again.

The next few hours of the trip passed without any further incidence probably because I never moved out of the seat. I just stared out the window as the sky gradually went from inky black to gray. And then I watched as the sun rose and moved higher into the sky. I notice that the trees changed from Maples and Oak to Palm Trees.  The sunrise in Florida is so beautiful it takes your breath away. The sun slowly rises and highlights the blues and pinks with gold. I will always remember that more than anything else I experienced on that trip. Because well, it was a new day and a new beginning for me.

When we arrive in Sanford, I start getting nervous about getting off the train. I was so afraid I might run into No Pants guy. I step down out of the train along with a hundred other people. It had only been twenty-four that’s for sure. I sit on a bench in the morning sun, and I think, holy crap it feels like I stepped into an oven. The heat and humidity are unbelievable. You just can’t believe how hot it is in Florida until you experience it. I was going to have to wait a long time for my car because it was the first one that was boarded. I keep on the lookout for No Pants Guy. I thought I was in the clear but all of a sudden, he burst out of the boxcar about thirty feet away . but I feel like a different person.

“ What the hell?” I am so startled that I stand up quickly and was about to start running. But then from the bowels of the boxcar, something jumps out and lands within three feet of No Pants Guy. It’s the kangaroo, unbelievable. I just stand there transfixed.

No Pants Guy takes off like a bat out of hell. And the kangaroo takes a giant leap. Before you could bat an eye he kicks No Pants Guy where the sun don’t shine. And that is all she wrote, my friend. Welcome to Florida.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

REALITY BITES

My cat is pretty good at playing dumb, but it wasn’t clear that he knew anything. I had left my cat, Sloopy, at home because he hates staying at the vet’s or even at my mother’s house. I really believe he’s more attached to my house than he is to me. In any event, I hired my neighbor to come over twice a day and feed him and give him fresh water. And spent a half-hour every evening watching TV in my living room while Sloopy slept next to him on the couch.

Sloopy-Photograph by Bob Culver

Oh, I almost forgot he had to clean out the litter box every day and brush Sloopy because he is a long-haired cat that gets terrible mats. If he isn’t brushed out regularly, and believe me, that is a real nightmare. He hates being brushed and is prone to biting and nipping at the brusher. I have the scars to prove it.

Anyway, to make a long story even longer, I took a much-anticipated cruise to Alaska. I live in Los Angeles, and so I just hopped on a Princess Cruise ship right there at the port.

Things got off to a rough start, and I should have taken that as a sign. But not being all that superstitious, I thought I was having a string of bad luck, as per usual. Somehow, my reservation got screwed up. And I didn’t get the cabin I paid for. I got one so small that it was difficult closing the cabin door. Once both I and my suitcase were in the room. I ended up keeping my suitcase under the bed. And taking my clean clothes out one at a time and putting my dirty ones in a plastic bag inside the suitcase after I took them off.

One good thing was the food. I never took a cruise before, and I didn’t realize that the ship was just one big, floating restaurant. A floating restaurant with tiny bedrooms attached. I ate so much in the first few days that I could hardly zip any of my pants. It turned out the second half of the cruise. We had some rocky waters due to an unexpected change in the weather.

I felt a bit seasick during that leg of the trip and didn’t eat that much. Since I was alone on the cruise, and almost everyone else came with their mate, I found myself having my meals with an odd assortment of single people ranging in age from forty-something to eighty-something.

I admit I’m over sixty, but I still have plenty of life left in me. I can’t say I was looking for the love of my life. I had already had that, at least for a while, until the unfortunate divorce. I was hoping to meet the love of my life on my vacation. Didn’t happen, not even close. I did meet an interesting woman. She was eighty years old.

I met her the first evening when I went down to have dinner in the dining room called Last Call. She saw me wondering about looking for a place to sit down. I heard a booming voice calling out above the buzzing of all the other voices, “Hey, you, big guy, come here, come sit with us.”

I looked around,  trying to figure out who belonged to this foghorn of a voice. Then I saw a very small woman in lime green and shocking pink Mumu waving frantically at me from across the room.

Her name was Hermine, and she was quite a pistol and had me laughing my head off throughout most of the trip. Goes to show you shouldn’t judge a book by its wrinkled old cover.

I walked nonchalantly over there, and she said, “come on, come on, don’t be shy, have a seat. She looks at all the people around the table, all women, by the way.

“Look at what we have here, the only handsome single man on the ship. You remind me of a man I knew back in the late 1960s, got to know him quite well, as matter of fact, intimately, if you know what I mean.” At this point, she gives me a big wink and a salacious grin.  This was the moment I knew my luck had taken a turn for the better.

It turns out she had spent most of her life traveling with some kind of carnival. She had a lot of intriguing stories to tell of bearded ladies and a man tattooed who looked like a tiger, including having fangs put on his canine teeth. Not to mention, a set of Siamese twins joined at their backs, who never actually saw each other face to face but hated each other’s guts all the same.

But the strangest one of them all was the three-legged man, who had three functioning legs, except he couldn’t use the third one because it was several inches shorter than the other two. He had special ornate suits made to fit his unique physique. He had made a fortune exhibiting himself. He was from India and retired at thirty, a wealthy man in his home country. Where he is considered a celebrity, he fell in love with the then-shortest woman in the world, who was about thirty-six inches tall. I dare say they must have created quite a stir when they were walking along the streets of Calcutta.

After visiting Anchorage, a place in which I damn near lost my fingers, it was so cold. I also took a lot of digital pictures. I planned on boring my fellow members of my camera club at the next monthly meeting. I have taken over five hundred pictures, and I hope to show them all.  They had done the same thing to me many times over the years. Hermine kept me company as we hit a few of the typical tourist spots. The second day, she said, “OK, stretch, this isn’t my first trip around this rodeo. So I’m going to show you some of the, shall we say out of the, way sites, places only the people in the know, know about.”

For the next two days, I met some of the strangest people. I think they were people. And I saw some sights that I would never forget, no matter how hard I try. I’ll mention this one because I keep hoping if I tell enough people about it, I can release it from my memory.

We walked for about a half-hour to an alley that led to yet another alley and then to a back street called, You Ain’t In Kansas Anymore. I’m not shitting you here. I met a guy, well over seven-foot-tall, whose hobby was to “create” fantasy creatures from parts of different animals. One that is forever burned into my memory. It’s preserved under a glass globe and looks like it comes from another planet. It seems part beaver and part antelope, with lots and lots of sharp pointed teeth. I could write a book about the tour that Hermine took me on in those few short days, and maybe I will one day.

Let’s just say for now that it was a very memorable trip, and don’t ever make the mistake of judging a book or an old lady by her wrinkled old cover.

Eight days after I left LA, I arrived home and took a taxi to my apartment. It took about one hour because of the heavy rush hour traffic. I was looking forward to seeing Sloopy. Who heard me coming to the door as I wrestled with the sticky lock on my apartment door. I had bought him a little souvenir doll from Anchorage, and I hoped he would love it as much as I did. It was a stuffed cat wearing a tee shirt with; I survived the Ice Rivers in Alaska emblazoned across it.

I fumbled with the lock for a few minutes. I managed to pull the door open only to be assailed by the most putrefying smell as if something had died and was rotting. I prayed it was not my beloved Sloopy, and thank god it wasn’t.

Unfortunately, it was my neighbor and cat sitter, Mr. Bean. He was laid out on the kitchen floor, with his hand clutching at his chest. Sloopy was sitting near him, but not too near since he has a very sensitive nose.

Mr. Bean was dead, as dead can be. He had a weird expression on his face, unfortunately not a peaceful one. I felt his pulse in his neck and was met by a cold dead stare. Sloopy walked over to me calmly and rubbed against my trembling arm, and let out a loud “Meow.” I washed out his bowl and put some kibble out for him since his food dish was empty. He seemed relieved to see me, as I was him, but not under these distressing circumstances.

I reached over to my phone and dialed 911, and explained the unpleasant circumstances. They arrived shortly and questioned me in detail. The coroner arrived and concluded that Mr. Bean was indeed dead as if I had questioned that fact. He asked if anyone else was witness to his death, and I said, “Yes, of course, Sloopy, but it just doesn’t matter anymore because he is my cat and can’t tell you a thing.


SUSIE-KAREN

My sister and I were born on May 24th, 1951. We were the fifth and sixth child born to Marie and Hugh Carberry. My mother didn’t know that she was going to have twins, and so when I was born seven minutes after Karen, I was a surprise. I have always hoped I was a pleasant surprise.

Carberry Home Maple Shade, NJ 1950

We lived in a small stucco house in Maple Shade in what was then considered to be rural New Jersey. My family had moved from Philadelphia, Pa. to NJ.  They didn’t own a car at that time and arrived in Maple Shade by taxi.

Carberry Family

Mother, Harry, Jeanie, Eileen, Betty,, Karen and Susie 1951

My brother Harry was nineteen years old at the time, my sister Jeanie was fifteen, Eileen was eight, and Betty was seven. This was back in the day when birth control was not all that reliable. My mother gave birth to twin boys a year after Karen and I were born. They did not survive. They were called Stephen and Gerard. My fraternal grandmother Elizabeth Carberry moved with my parents.

One of the unfortunate experiences of being a fraternal twin is that people seem to be unable to remember who is who. When we were young, people often called us Susie/Karen or, more often, Karen/Susie. Whenever anyone saw me, people would ask, “Where is your better half?”

My twin and I couldn’t have been more different in our appearance. She had dark brown curly hair, and I had straight blond hair. She grew faster and looked older than I did. And I well I was quiet and shy and imaginative.  She was outgoing. Throughout our childhoods, My sister and I were often compared although Fraternal twins are no more closely related or similar than and other siblings.

It is only recently that I found out just how uncomfortable that Karen had me for a twin as a child. Although of course, there were many indications throughout our childhood and our lives.

I started this blog a year ago and began writing my memoirs, my sister, Karen took exception to my interpretation of my childhood experiences. And she felt the need to explain to my readers her feelings about me. And she posted this comment on my blog. I have to say I was hurt. Although it wasn’t all negative. Here it is:

“This is Susan’s twin sister.
We couldn’t have been more different in our likes and dislikes, and our thought processes Susie was a person that kept almost everything to herself. So, there are many things I never really knew about her until we were older. And she was able to transform herself and to a normal and open person. We really didn’t become friends until we were adults and married. We are close now and have been since we were young adults not that we haven’t had our differences of opinions and outlooks that we came to appreciate and respect one another for our differences and more interesting she is always surprising me with the different pursuits that she continues to develop throughout her life she never sits down she’s always going. It has made her a wonderful person.

At the end of September, She called me. She was angry.  My sister let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t like the memoirs I have written, and she wasn’t going to read them anymore. She didn’t explain what I had said or why it bothered her so much. Karen also said she wasn’t going to read my fictional stories either. This upset me since I have always supported her in everything she has done. And this was the first time I ever asked her to do anything for me. As a result, she hasn’t spoken to me in five months. Even though one of the final things she said to me was that she had always been able to forgive people quickly, apparently, that ability did not apply to me.

In the last several weeks, I decided to attempt to gain a better understanding of why my sister, as a child, felt having me as a sister and a twin, was a liability. I have reflected on my childhood behaviors.  At one point in our late adolescence, she yelled at me, “if I ever run away, it will be because of you.” I recall responding,” Me, what did I do?” I have pondered this question many times of the years, and I believe I have finally come up with the answer. Karen just wanted to be an ordinary girl with an average family. And then there I was big as life, and somehow inadvertently calling attention to myself by being so different. And because I was an unusual child, my differences reflected on her. Because we were in the same family, and in the same classroom for the majority of our school experiences.

These same differences are what have enabled me to become an artist, a writer. These are not character flaws.

I have to admit that many of my closest friends were of the four-legged variety. I befriended every cat and dog in my neighborhood and any ones I met along my path in life. I also had a best friend that lived two doors down from me and neighborhood friends and school friends. Karen and I had some friends in common we just never went to visit them at the same time.

As a child, I was often content spending time by myself and recalled going out and sitting in the backyard and watching the birds flying in the sky. And I have clear memories of being able to imagine myself being a bird and flying across the sky. One-year, when we were probably seven or eight. My sister and I were given chicks for Easter. I named my chick Maverick after a character on a TV show I watched. I used to walk around my neighborhood with Maverick on my head. It never occurred to me that it was unusual or weird. But even if it did, I would have done it anyway.

I recall watching a movie called “The Flower Drum Song” about a beautiful young Japanese woman.  I was about eight or nine years old . I became enamored with the music and how beautiful the woman was, and for a few weeks, I pretended to be Japanese. I put my hair in a similar style as she did and walked with the kind of shuffle she had because she was wearing a kimono and wooden shoes. Of course, I wasn’t wearing the shoes or the kimono, but that didn’t stop me. I don’t recall my parents or siblings asking me, “what are you doing” Why are you walking like that?” I would have explained it if they asked, but they never did. I suppose they just thought I was acting weird again.

My sister and I shared eight years in the same classrooms in Catholic Parochial School. She avoided interacting with me. She never acknowledged that I was her sister. It was not uncommon for the other kids, not to know that we were siblings. Many people thought my friend Helen and I were the twins. In high school, My sister and I were in different classes, and I rarely saw her. At home, if we talked to each other at all, it was usually an argument.

It’s unfortunate that Karen didn’t get to know me when we were children. Possibly she would have realized that I was an interesting and intelligent person with a wide variety of interests, including art, sewing, animals, writing stories, and reading on every subject imaginable.

Someday hopefully not too far in the future, she will reevaluate her feelings towards me because the clock keeps ticking and time is slipping away. And none of us know when that time will run out for us. Perhaps she will come to realize that what other people think about our family makes little difference. What is important is what we mean to each other. And our acceptance of who we are with our strengths and weaknesses. I’ll always love my sister. She is in my heart.

As a final note, I would like to add that I have observed that creative people share some common traits. They can have a rapid flow of ideas, sometimes, multiple concepts at one time. Also, they have acute sensory skills, strong intuition, heighten awareness, empathetic, and tuned into other people’s emotions and feelings. I have some of these traits myself. Also, when I attended Temple University at Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia at the age of 36-40, I observed these traits in my fellow students. Being creative can be both a gift and a challenge. You are often seen as too sensitive, too much of a perfectionist. I can not stress how often I have was told I was too sensitive throughout my entire lifetime.

And finally, I would like to say in a world where you can be anything, be kind.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

THE BUS STOP

The rain is relentless, coming down hard and cold. Kathleen has been waiting for twenty minutes for her bus.  She’s chilled to the bone. Her feet are completely soaked. Her hair hangs limply, plastered to her face. Every time a car goes by, everyone at the bus stop moves back a foot or two. And then they move forward again.

Bus Stop by Jpleno

She looks at her fellow travelers. They’re a strange mix. She’s the youngest. There’s an ancient couple standing to the left of her.  She imagines that they have been married for fifty years or more. The man is very tall and gaunt with a handlebar mustache. He’s wearing a long raincoat that ends at the top of his goulashes. A steady stream of rainwater is dripping down from the brim of his hat. Kathleen imagines him wearing a top hat.

The frail wife, at least Kathleen believes that she’s his wife, has her arm locked in his bent arm. Perhaps she fears she’ll float away in the storm if she doesn’t hold tightly onto him. She has probably been holding onto him in much the same way since they first became a couple. The woman has a rain hat covering her short curly white hair. It’s one of those old-fashioned ones that fold like an accordion, and you keep it in a little plastic case in your pocket for the next rainy day. Kathleen’s great-grandmother used to sport one of those back in the day.

The old wife is wearing stockings that end above her knees and are held up by some sort of garter. Her black raincoat is tightly belted but keeps flapping open because she is missing the bottom two buttons. She has a strange expression on her face. Her lips pursed, and she looks like she is sucking on a lemon. Perhaps she hates standing in the rain. Kathleen certainly does.

A twenty-something dude is wearing skin-tight jeans and a fitted jacket. His boots look like snakeskin, ankle-high. He has a goatee and hair that is tight on the sides and bleached blond, and stands four inches high on the top. The rain had zero effect on his hair because it had so much product on it. He’s texting on his phone and seems oblivious to the rain and the people around him. Kathleen admires his audacity.

Kathleen takes a deep breath and then looks down the street for the bus. At that moment, she sees someone running at breakneck speed toward the bus stop.  Waving their arms frantically and yelling. At first, Kathleen believes that someone with mayhem on their mind must be chasing her. She can’t quite hear what the young woman is shrieking. She’s holding an umbrella aloft, but it has long since turned inside out. She arrives so abruptly at the bus stop that she skids to a halt. “Holy shit, I thought I was going to miss the damn bus again. If I’m late getting to work again, I’m toast.” She says this to no one in particular. However, she has everyone’s attention. Even the guy texting who looks at her momentarily and then looks back down at his cell phone. Kathleen feels a kinship with this woman. Her life is often on the edge of self-destruction.

Kathleen looks at her and says,” You haven’t missed the bus. It’s late. I hope it gets here soon.”

Umbrella girl says, ”Shit, it better get here soon. I can’t be late again this week.” Kathleen nods her head in agreement.

Five minutes go by, and then just as everyone is about to give up waiting for the bus, here it comes up the street and screeches to a stop. They all break out in a spontaneous “Hurray.” And start boarding the bus. There’re a few passengers aboard already. They all glare at the people boarding the bus. Then go back to sitting there quietly or just gazing out the window.

Kathleen looks from the front of the bus to the back. She has a fleeting thought that she’s on the Titanic. Unfortunately, she never had that little voice in her head that said no, don’t get on the bus, don’t go out with another loser. Don’t spend your last two dollars on a lottery ticket. Don’t wear a very low-cut blouse to work. Or if she ever did hear it, she never listened. And then the little voice gave up and stopped warning her of imminent death or dismemberment or looser alert. Kathleen was never one for self-reflection.

As the bus lurches forward on its trip to 55th and Broadway, Kathleen’s eyes slowly close, and she falls asleep. She never gets enough sleep. She stays up late every night, but she can never recall why, nor has she ever accomplished anything worth losing sleep. Still, she continues depriving herself of rest. In fact,  it was not unheard of for Kathleen to fall asleep at her desk while listening to music between being late and her mid-morning and afternoon naps. Kathleen’s job is at risk.

About halfway to her stop, a new passenger enters the bus and sits across from Kathleen. She is unaware, of course, because she has now entered the REM state of sleep and is dreaming. She has a reoccurring dream. She’s alone in a rowboat and is being taken out to sea by the current. The waves are becoming larger and larger, and she’s soaked. She swallows water and can’t breathe, and gasping for air. She yells out, “Help; I’m drowning. I’m drowning.” Just then, she feels someone grab her arm and roughly shake her.

“Hey, wake up. And while you’re at it. Shut the hell up.” It was a new passenger.

Kathleen’s eyes snap open, and she glares at the man. “What the hell, get your hands off me.”

The man has already lost interest in her. He’s staring out the rain-soaked window. He has his earbuds on, and the music is so loud that Kathleen can hear his heavy metal music blaring. It sounds like Paranoid by Ozzy Osbourn. Kathleen detests Heavy Metal. She recognizes it because her older brother was obsessed with it, and his bedroom was right next to her during her entire adolescence. Kathleen heard it until way after she tried to go to sleep for the night. Kathleen glares back at him, and she feels unreasonable disgust and hatred toward him, a total stranger.

The bus makes several more stops. Four more people step into the bus. And tight pants dude gets off and goes on his way. Kathleen’s ego feels slightly deflated after he walks by her without a second look.

A rough-looking middle-aged man comes aboard. He has his greasy hair pulled back into a low ponytail. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week or more. He has a drooping mustache that looks dyed and is growing out to its natural grey. He’s smoking. The bus driver says, ”Sorry buddy, you can’t smoke on a public conveyance. You’ll have to put that out.”

The man tosses his cigarette in the general direction of the bus driver’s feet. The driver gives the man a dirty look and stamps on the cigarette. The man walks down the center aisle and sits behind Kathleen. She thinks, what the frick? This is really turning into a shit day. I can’t wait until it’s over, and I haven’t even gotten to work yet. Well, at least I’m almost at work now. She closes her eyes and tries to block it all from her mind.

Kathleen is awakened once again by one of the new passengers who is sitting behind the bus driver. It appears that he is a regular on the bus. He’s having a loud and animated conversation with him. So much so that all the passengers can hear the conversation. Kathleen scowls at him to no avail since he seems oblivious to everyone’s presence except for his friend, who happens to be the bus driver. He’s rotund to the point of obesity.

In fact, he’s vigorously taking large bites out of a two-foot-long hoagie. While never stopping to chew. But he seems to be swallowing large mouthfuls of the hoagie whole like a shark. Occasionally, bits and pieces spew out of his mouth during his monologue. He looks for all the world like he just stepped out of a Wayback machine from 1965. He has long, unwashed hair in a braid. His face is embellished by a straggly, salt-and-pepper beard. His jeans are decrepit and are tight on his humongous gut.  He’s wearing a faded and shredded jeans jacket. He appears to have a massive doobie in his jacket pocket.

Kathleen hears the fat hippie telling the bus driver that his horse came in first and he won $500.00. The bus driver shoots him the high five, and then the hippie finishes off his hoagie. He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, and falls asleep. His head wobbles from side to side and keeps time to the sway of the bus.

Kathleen thinks dear god, will we never get to my stop? She looks at her cell phone and realizes that there is no way she is going to get to work on time. They are at least ten minutes from where she gets off, and then she still has to walk another five minutes to her building. “Crap, goddammit.”

As Kathleen contemplates what lies she will tell her boss for being late once again, she hears a commotion coming from the back of the bus. She turns and looks behind her. It appears as if the Old Man and Old Wife are having some disagreement. And then she hears someone yelling, “Stop that, get your hands off her now.” Kathleen realizes it is Umbrella Girl. And she’s pummeling the old man with her inside out, soaking, wet umbrella.

Someone screams, “For the love of Pete, call the police.” Then the rough-looking man comes over and physically pulls the old man’s hands off of the old woman’s neck. Who is by now all but unconscious from lack of oxygen. Her head falls to the side, and lays limply on her bony shoulder.

The bus driver pulls abruptly over to the side of the road. He screams,” “Will everyone please calm the hell down?”

He heads to the back of the bus to have a look at whatever happened. Alright, lady, you can stop bashing this guy with your umbrella. “You sit down.” The rough-looking guy takes his hands off the Old Man momentarily, and the Old Man tries to push past him and gets in the aisle to make good his escape. He gets halfway up the bus aisle.

Kathleen sticks her leg out into the aisle, and as the lanky old man tries to escape, he trips and falls flat on his face. His hat rolls a few feet away and then stops leaving a trail of rainwater in its wake. At that moment, the police arrive, and Rotund Hippie gets up and makes his way to the door, and opens it.

“Alright, what the hell is going on in here?” A burly-looking cop says?” The old Hippie says that the old man in the back tries to off his old lady. I think she might be dead. He was choking her. And she ain’t moving anymore. The Old Man on the floor is the guy that killed her.”

The policeman says, “ Ok, everybody, back in your seats.” An officer will be coming onto the bus—the cop calls for backup and an ambulance. The Old man starts to get up and is restrained with handcuffs. “Alright, buddy, looks like you are going for a ride in the back of my police car. Isn’t that a great way to start off the day?”

The Old Man is led off the bus by the second cop and put in the back seat of the car. A second police car has arrived, along with an ambulance. As the paramedics walk past Kathleen, she is swearing aloud. “For the love of all that is holy, what the fuck is happening? Why is this kinda shit always happening to me? Why? Just why today? Crap, crap, crap.”

The paramedic checks out Old Lady. And then they lift her onto the stretcher. And pull the sheet over her face. Kathleen looks at her as she goes by. “Crap, crap, crap.”

“Ok, everyone, we are going to have to get a statement from each one of you and your contact information. You’re all witnesses. You may be called to testify in court at a later date. It’s your duty to do so. Don’t try to leave until we permit you to do so. Sit back and relax; this may take a while.”

Kathleen smacks herself on the forehead. “Well, I’m dead in the water now. That’s for sure. My boss is never going to believe this story. I’m toast. Man, I should have just stayed in bed and called in sick today. “

There is a unified moan that rises from everyone on the bus. Somewhat reminiscent of the hurrah when the late bus arrived. They all sink in their seats simultaneously, almost as if it is choreographed.

Kathleen stares out the window at the dreary gray ski with rivers of rain flowing down the street. “Well, isn’t this just great, yet another day in paradise.”