Author Archives: Susan

Christmas Gifts

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It’s the night before Christmas and all through the night, not a creature is stirring not even a mouse. Well, that’s not entirely true because I’m wide awake. My imagination is going wild, thinking of all the exciting surprises that might happen on Christmas morning. I know I’ll never fall asleep.

I’ve been counting the days down until Christmas for over three months. I asked Santa for art supplies. I love to draw, and I really want a Barbie doll. My best friends have one and I want one too. I imagine combing her long hair and making clothes for her. I have tried so hard to be good this year so that my dream will come true.

I keep jumping out of my bed and staring out my bedroom window, trying to catch a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer. Can you imagine being able to see him? I would so love to have a ride in his sleigh and meet all the reindeer and fly through the sky all through this snowy and magical night.

My parents promised me that Santa would bring me whatever my heart desires. I believe them.

Glass fireplace

My father spent most of his free time in the past couple of weeks decorating our house for Christmas. In our living room, we have a glass fireplace that my father made many years ago. It’s made from glass blocks instead of bricks. My dad puts colored lights inside the glass blocks at Christmas time. It’s beautiful.

My dad loves to create beautiful and unusual things. He made our Christmas tree this year out of umbrella frames that he attached to one another. And then he hung up strands of golden, glass beads all around it. He places it carefully in front of the mirror that is at the bottom of the glass fireplace. At night we turn out all the lights in the living room. My dad turns on the Christmas lights on the umbrella tree and inside the fireplace.  The lights and colors twinkle on and off. It is so neat. I know that no one else will have a tree-like ours.

We have a wreath on the front door made from huge, plastic poinsettias. And there’s a fat Santa that resides on the front stoop. Christmas lights decorate the rose arbor that my father-built years ago on our front porch. In the Spring and the Summer, it is covered with the most beautiful red roses you can imagine. And the aroma of the roses and the lilac bush as you walk up onto our front step is unforgettable. My father loves roses, and he planted a rose garden in our backyard with all the colors of the rainbow. I love to sit back there and watch the bees travel from one bloom to the next.

Our kitchen table has a little water fountain on it that my father fashioned out of hubcaps and metal ashtrays. My dad puts different colors of food dye into the water every few days. Right now, the water is red for Christmas. I love to watch the fountain while I eat my breakfast of fried eggs and toast.

My mother started baking Christmas cookies a couple of weeks ago. I love to help my mother make the cookies, but I usually eat too much of the raw dough and get a stomach ache. She mixes all the dough in a huge metal mixing bowl, and then she puts the dough in this thing called a Cookie Gun. And on the front end of the gun, you can put different shaped cookie cutters, and each cookie comes out in a different shape, like snowflakes and stars and snowmen. After the cookies are baked, my mom and I decorate them with red and green icing and different colored sprinkles. They’re delicious, and I look forward to eating them. My mother places all the cookies in a huge tin can with wax paper between the layers. And she hides them in the basement. But I always find the cookie tin way before Christmas and eat a bunch.  My mother never yells about eating them. My mother hardly ever yells, no matter what we do.

As I’m putting on my Christmas outfit, I hear my mom calling, “it’s time for you to get up. The bells for the nine o’clock Mass are going to start ringing.”

Before we open our presents on Christmas morning, I have to go to the children’s Mass at the 9” o’clock mass.  The service is really long on Christmas. Father Nolan tells us the story from the bible about the birth of baby Jesus and Mary and Joseph.

“I’ll be right down, Mom,” I scream from my bedroom upstairs. As I jump down the steps two at a time. I rush through the swinging door that’s between the living room and the hallway. I let the door slam shut. My father shouts, “don’t slam the door.”

“Susie, will you stop making so much noise? It’s enough to wake up the dead. My mother adds.”

My new coat.

“Sorry, Mom. I yell at the top of my voice.” I pull the hall closet door as hard as I can because it sticks. I grab my coat, which was an early Christmas gift. It’s white and has fake fur, and there are snowflakes all over it. I absolutely love it. I pull up the hood, and I’m off to the nine o’clock Mass.”

I run up to the Church, slipping and sliding the whole way. There’s a good three feet of snow on the grass. The sidewalk was shoveled yesterday by everyone who lives on Fellowship Road a couple of days ago. But there’s a thin layer of ice on the entire sidewalk all the way up to the church. Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church is only two houses away from where I live. I arrive just in time to get in line to go to the children’s Mass on time. The church bells are ringing and playing The First Noel.

There is one thing that I love about living next to the church is that I can hear the church bells ringing all the time. The bells ring before each Mass and on Holy Days, and Saturdays. When people get married or there’s a funeral and when a baby is baptized. I love hearing those bells. It’s a joyful sound.

Sister Joseph Catherine grabs ahold of me as I run up the steps. “Hold on, Susan Carberry, remember what I told you,” I don’t want you to sing out loud, mouth the words. You have a terrible voice.”

“Yes, Sister,” I say. As I turn around, I stick out my tongue.” I suppose I’ll go to hell for that.

At this moment, I decided that I despise Sister Joseph Catherine. She is the bane of my existence. She was my fourth-grade teacher. And she made me hate every day of fourth grade. She made me follow her around wherever she went and carry her stuff. Reminding me every day how stupid she thought I was. I decide that I will sing as loud as I can during Mass, I love singing Christmas hymns.

All during Mass, I keep praying for a Barbie doll and art supplies. After we take Communion my stomach starts growling loudly. My friend, Helen Hartman, starts laughing and then I laugh too. Sister Joseph Catherine comes over to our pew, and scowling at us clicks the clicker in our hand. And gives me the evil eye.

I start thinking about Christmas breakfast. My mother will be cooking a special Christmas breakfast. She will make scrambled eggs and scrapple. And my father makes the toast and butters it. Or maybe biscuits. Oh, how I love my mother’s homemade biscuits. My stomach starts growling even louder. This starts the whole pew of my friends laughing. Sister Joseph Catherine looks like she wants to wring my neck. I will have to make a quick getaway after Mass is over. And I won’t see her until after the New Year, so maybe she’ll forget about it by then. I’ll have to pray about that before the end of Mass. I start saying some extra Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers.

After Father Nolan and the altar boys slowly march out of the church, Sister Joseph Catherine signals us with her clicker to start filing out of the pews. As I walk by her, she makes a grab for my collar, but I manage to get away. And before she catches up to me, I run out the double doors and nearly break my neck, jumping down the steps two at a time, forgetting that they are covered in ice. But it’s my lucky day, and I get up relatively unscathed and slip and slide my way to my front door. I fling open the door and knock my boots off. And slam the door behind me.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Susan, why do you always have to slam the door and make such a racket?”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m starving. When will breakfast be ready?”

“Go wash your hands, Susan, and then you can have breakfast.”

I don’t know what my mother thinks I was doing in church to get my hands dirty. But I go in the bathroom and run the water. And sit down at the table. “Hi, Daddy, Merry Christmas.”

“How was Mass Susie?”

“Oh, the same Dad, nothing new. I’m starved.”

“Yes, we heard you, Susan. Here it comes.”

Family Chrismas Morning 1962

After we eat breakfast, my married older sisters and brother will come over with their little kids. And we’ll open up the presents and have cake and Christmas cookies. I really love all my nieces and nephews. They are so much fun. They’re so excited and happy about Christmas, and they make me feel excited and happy too. I always take them over my friend’s house to show them off.

My daddy puts some Christmas music on the stereo. I sit on the floor and watch all my little nieces and nephews open their gifts. They are all laughing and throwing Christmas wrapping paper all over the living room. My mother is busy starting to get dinner ready. Even though we just ate breakfast. My mom never stops cleaning and cooking. She hardly ever sits down except to say the rosary in the morning.

It was a great Christmas. I didn’t get a Barbie Doll, I got a Miss Joan doll. But that’s alright. She came with an extra dress and high heels. And my best friend’s name is Joanie. So, I love her anyway. I also got an art set that has pictures that you can color with paint that has sparkles in it. It’s going to be such fun to paint.

When my sisters and brother and all their kids leave, I run down the street to visit my best friend, Joan’s house. And I see all her gifts and her beautiful Christmas tree. And best of all I get to have a whole lot of Italian Christmas cookies and they’re delicious. It’s been a great day. And I start looking forward to next Christmas.

FUNNY BUSINESS

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Coffee Break

I have been looking for a new job for over a year, with no luck. Or should I say with no good luck? But plenty of bad luck. I quit my last job. Well, that’s not entirely true. My immediate supervisor strongly suggested that I quit because he had every intention of firing me. There was a difference of opinions on why I quit or why my supervisor wanted to fire me, depending on the point of view.

He stated that I wasn’t a team player. And that’s true to a point; I prefer working independently. But I’m quite capable of working in concert with a team. I have difficulty taking direction from someone whom I consider to be less intelligent, less experienced, and a kiss-ass.

But give me a task, and I promise you it will be completed on time and might I say, impeccably. I do ask that people that work with me on a team or in my department have high standards. But most of all, I will not tolerate any kind of funny business.

What kind of funny business, you ask? That is an excellent question. Number one is to keep your hands to yourself. Secondly, do not ask personal questions. And most importantly, know that if I find out that you or any member of the team do anything that even the slightest bit illegal, immoral, I will promptly tell management and or call in the police if necessary. I have very high standards and will not tolerate any breach of professional ethics or the law.

Oh, you need to hear more details about what happened exactly? Of course, if you think it’s necessary. I will explain the events that led to my current unemployment and job search.

As with all things in life, it began with something small but didn’t end there. I bring my lunch to work every day. And a thermos of hot coffee large enough to last all day. It’s a special blend.  I purchase it from an exclusive shop in Marlton, NJ.  It’s called Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee. It cost $50.00 a pound. It’s my one big self-indulgence. It has a wonderful flavor with absolutely no bitter aftertaste. Because the coffee beans are subject to many rainfalls in Jamaica while they grow, it’s amazing and worth every penny. I can’t describe how delicious it is and how much I look forward to drinking every last drop of it during my workday.

It all began one inauspicious day a year ago. I arrived at work one-half hour early as usual. I consider that thirty minutes to be my time to do whatever I wish. And I want to spend it reading the news and my emails. And drinking my first cup of Blue. That’s how I refer to my coffee, Blue.

I was the first person to arrive as usual. I made myself as comfortable as possible at my desk chair and powered up my computer. As I waited, I opened my thermos and inhale the rich aroma of Blue. I feel a sense of deep contentment. Ah, I think it’s all worth it just to feel the sense of anticipation before I take this first sip of the day.

And then that perfect moment is shattered when I hear my boss’s shrill voice calling out my name. “Rachael, is that you? Could you please come to my office right now? I have something that needs to be taken care of immediately.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to shout, “hell no, this is my time.”

I carefully place my coffee on my desk and take the last whiff of that aroma. I step back from my desk and walk toward my boss’ office.

“Hello, Mr. Cummings. I didn’t know you were here. It’s early, and I was just about…

“Yes, yes, I know it’s early. I need you to get started on the Murdock issue right away. It has to be finished by day’s end. Even if you have to work through your lunch and breaks. Do you understand?”

“Understand? Of course. But I was just about to drink my morning coffee. And then I’ll get started.”

“What don’t you grasp about the urgency of completing this project TODAY, ASAP? As in now, not later. Get busy if you want to keep your job. Close the door on the way out.”

As I walk over to my desk, I have a sense of not being entirely in my body. I have a feeling that I’m somehow floating. And then I realize that I’m irate. And every time I’m about to lose my temper completely, I have this weird out-of-body experience.

I try to take several long breaths. It doesn’t help. I go to the ladies’ room and take a look in the mirror. I hardly recognize myself. My face is red, and I’m gritting my teeth. I try breathing in and out of my nose. I feel lightheaded. Maybe, I‘m having a stroke or something. I step into the cubicle and sit on the closed toilet. I try to calm down. I go back to my desk.

All I need to do right now is have my morning coffee. Is that too much to ask? No, it is not. This is my time, goddammit. I pick up my coffee, and I take a small sip. And I taste not pipping hot but cold coffee. I slam the cup down and say out loud.” What the fuck?”

I’m startled by the sound of my voice.  I have never cursed at any place of employment. My hand flies up and covers my mouth of its own volition. I’m shocked. I’m suddenly terrified of what I may do next. I don’t recognize myself at this moment.

I feel a sudden impulse to run out of the office and get in my car and drive far, far away.

I contemplate it for a moment. And then I plop down in my chair and try to get control over my emotions. What’s happening to me? And then it occurs to me that I should go to my boss’s office and tell him that I most certainly will drink my coffee and take my breaks. And he can not legally force me to do otherwise.

I stand up so suddenly I almost fall over. Then I plop down in my chair again.

I consider the possible outcomes of such a bold move. I could be fired outright. I could be demoted. It took me five years to work my way up the corporate tight rope, and I don’t want to start over somewhere else. Dammit. I’m screwed.

At that moment, I have a flash of insight. I will nonchalantly walk into my boss’ office and offer him a fresh cup of Blue. He will, of course, love it. I mean, who wouldn’t. I won’t tell him the Brand of coffee. No matter how he begs. And then he will want more, and I will be his only connection. He will be at my mercy. And so, I begin.

I go into the employee luncheon area, and I find the best coffee cup in the cupboard. I will pour him a cup of my ambrosia, and he will be instantly hooked.

I wash and dry the cup, which is emblazoned with the epitaph, And So It Begins.   What could be more perfect than this? I take it to my desk and generously fill the cup almost to the top. It is painful to watch, for I know every drop I pour into this cup will not be one that I can drink today. I shudder at the thought. A tear slides down my cheek.

But it must be done. It is a significant sacrifice. But in the end, it will be worth it. I tiptoe to my boss’s office.  He is studying his flat screen. His face is expressionless. I clear my throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.”

He doesn’t reply, I repeat a bit louder, “Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.”

He looks up, and he looks at me as if he doesn’t recognize my face. There is a slight pause, and he says, Miss Hartman? Problem?”

“No, sir, I just thought you might like a cup of coffee to start the day.”

“Coffee, why that would be great. That’s thoughtful of you.”

As Rachael turns to leave her boss’s office, a sly smile appears on her face. She realizes she will soon have Mr. Cummings under her thumb.

Rachael knocks on his door, and he says, “Come.” For some reason, Rachael is enraged by this response. She rearranges her expression to appear benign.

“Here you go, sir, enjoy. I think you will find this more than satisfactory. This is a special blend. I don’t believe you will find it anywhere in this part of the country. Let’s say it is my little secret.”

Mr. Cummings sits back in his chair and smells the coffee.  He is pleasantly surprised by the deep, rich aroma. He takes a small sip. His eyes open wide. He takes a second sip. And before you know it. He has drunk the entire cup of coffee.

“Rachael, can you come in here, please?”

Rachael is just getting into her work mode and is annoyed because it was interrupted. But she isn’t surprised. She expects no less. She knows Mr. Cummings would want more. But he isn’t going to get it today or any day soon. She would soon have him beg for more. And that will be all she wrote when that happens.

“I’m sorry if I was short with you earlier. I’m under the gun with this Murdock deal. I really need your help to get this completed before the deadline. I realize that you come in early, but I would appreciate your input and assistance. Oh, if I can have some more of that coffee, that would be awesome. Where did you buy it?”

“Oh well, that is a special blend that I get by mail order. It isn’t available anywhere around here. I only have a thermos with me. It’s quite expensive, and I can’t afford to buy it more than once a month.”

“Oh really, well, perhaps we can discuss an increase in pay after we get this Murdock deal completed.”

“Well, sir, maybe just this once. And if we get this package completed early, I would like to leave an hour early.”

Rachael sits at her desk and types the final entry into the Murdock presentation. She’s quite sure this is the best work she has done. A small smile lights up her face and then disappears as quickly as it appeared. She rechecks all the collated copies and heads towards Mr. Cumming’s office, and knocks on his office door.

“Mr. Cummings, I’ve completed the package for the Murdock presentation. I think you will find everything in order. And since I’ll be leaving early, I brought you the last cup.”

After looking over the file, Mr. Cummings calls Rachael into the office. “Well done, excellent work. And that coffee hit the spot. It really is invigorating, isn’t it?

“See you tomorrow.”

Rachael straightens up her desk and locks the desk drawer, and heads out of the office. Nods to several of her office mates. And then takes the elevator down to the lobby and walks across the street to the company parking lot.

She unlocks her car and puts on her seat belt, and pulls out onto Fairmount Drive. The next thing she knows, she’s pulling into her driveway. She realizes that she must have been driving on autopilot the whole time. She shakes her head from left to right. She tries to remember what she had been thinking of the whole time.

And then it comes to her. She had been considering the next step in her plan to move up the corporate ladder and out of her assistant position. She knows damn well she’s as smart as her boss and most of the higher-ups in her company.

The next morning Rachael gently pours Blue into her thermos, being careful not to bruise it. She turns on her computer and looks through her feed. Nothing interesting yet. And then she hears someone walking towards her. And then senses someone standing behind her. He clears his throat. She turns her head slightly and looks down at his shoes. Yes, it’s her boss. He is wearing his favorite Fioravanti Suit and Ferragamo shoes. Because of the board meeting today.

“Rachael, I want to once again thank you for your hard work on the Murdock Project. As I said, if all goes well, I expect there will be a bonus in there for you in the near future. By the way, would it be possible for you to share a cup of that magnificent ambrosia you gave me yesterday? I was up quite late, and I could really use a little boost, if you know what I mean.”

“Boost, sir?” Oh, but I explained to you how expensive it is and that I have to send away for it.”

“Oh, come on, one cup, that’s not too much to ask, Rachael, is it? Is there nothing I can do to persuade you?”

It feels as if a light has literally been turned on in her head. She turns her face slightly to hide the sly smile on her face. She takes a deep breath and says,” Well, sir, here’s the deal. If you recommend me for the open position in the New Acquisitions Division, then I will not only share my unique blend with you. I will make sure that every day you can have as much of it as often as you want it. “

“Well, I don’t know, Rachael, that’s an awful lot to ask in return for a mere cup of coffee, isn’t it?”

“Well, sir, if that’s how you see it. I guess there’s no point in discussing it any further. You know that I have been working at this company for well over ten years. And I know this business backward and forward. This company is my life. I have proven my value here.”

“Rachael, let’s talk about this further after my meeting, shall we?”

“No, sir, let’s decide now. I’m sure that I can find a position at Farrington and Sons. In fact, Mr. Farrington Sr. offered me such a position a week ago.”

“What? He is trying to steal away one of my best employees behind my back.”

“Well, that is not how I see it. He recognizes quality when he sees it. It’s up to you. You only have about five minutes before your meeting. What do you say?”

“Alright, Rachael, you have me over a barrel. Can you please get me that coffee now?”

“So, we have a deal?”

“Yes, yes, we do.”

“Good, I’ll get that coffee for you right now.”

After the meeting, Mr. Cummings walks nonchalantly into his office with the head of personnel and makes a call, and then he calls Rachael into his office.”

“Rachael, can you come here for a moment, please?”

Rachael jumps up from her desk chair so quickly that her chair falls backward onto the floor. She feels like she is floating across the room, and she knocks lightly on the door.”

“Come in, Rachael. As you can see, I have Mr. Hartley here from personnel. He has something to say to you.”

Rachael is absolutely convinced that she is about to her dream job. She holds her breath waiting to hear the good news. She is about to get everything she deserves for her years of hard work and achievement.

“Hello, Ms. Daniels, please have a seat. I have something to tell you.”

Rachael sat down and looks up expectantly. She had pictured this moment so many times. And now, here it is about to happen. “Yes, go ahead.”

“Ms. Daniels, I regret that I have to inform you that you are no longer going to be employed here at Megger. Your services will no longer be needed. You will be getting severance pay for two weeks. Right now, you are going to be escorted to your desk to collect your personal belongings. And then you will be taken to the front door. I will be collecting any keys or items belonging to the company when we get to your desk.”

Rachael almost passed out from the sheer shock at the unexpected and devastating turn of events. She makes a quick turn around and walks slowly to her desk. She is feeling as if not only her job will be terminated but that her life is being terminated.

“Alright, Ms. Daniels, let’s go through your desk, and you hand me the items such as keys and code lists. By the way, all the passwords on your computer will be wiped and changed. So, you will not be able to access this computer or any other computer you have had access to during your time here. Here is a list of items I will expect you to turn over to me now.”

Rachael puts her hand out, and the list is given to her but drifts to the ground. It almost feels like she’s having a waking nightmare. She leans down and picks up the list, and starts collecting all the items. She hands them over. “Please, can you tell me what I have done? I believe it is illegal to terminate someone’s job by providing the said employee with a reason?”

“Well, Ms. Daniels, it so happens that your boss records all his conversations in his office to avoid any possible accusations of impropriety. And we heard a conversation that sounded very much like blackmail. You demanded a promotion from your boss.”

“Demanded, no, I merely stated that I had worked many years and that I’m an excellent employee who deserves a promotion and salary increase. That’s all.”

“You also threatened your immediate supervisor to cut off the supply of his coffee and wouldn’t tell him where you purchased it. And wouldn’t give him anymore unless your demands were met. Is that right?”

“Well yes, I suppose you could say that. But it was just coffee, not drugs, nothing illegal: coffee, a good cup of coffee. Please, I need this job. It’s my life.”

“Sorry, Ms. Daniels you should have considered that before your attempt at blackmail?”

As he’s saying this, the head of personnel starts guiding her to the back entrance. He says, “goodbye.” I hope you learned a lesson here. Most companies will not tolerate this type of Funny Business. Goodbye. Ms. Daniels, good luck.”

As Rachael was given a gentle shove out the door, she yells, “but wait, it was just COFFEE.”

————————————–   

LET A SMILE BE YOUR UMBRELLA

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Harry wakes up feeling weary even though he overslept. He feels as if something is amiss. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and takes a deep breath. It smells like a wet dog in the room. Then he remembers that last night his dog, Andy escaped the backyard enclosure.

Andy made his way to a lake and took a little midnight swim. When Andy returns home, Harry is waiting up for him at the worn Formica kitchen table. He smoked one cigarette after another and drank stale coffee while staring out the kitchen window. About twelve-thirty in the morning, he sees Andy making his way up Fellowship Road. He seems in no great hurry.

Father

Harry Carberry, my dad circa 1960

Harry opens the front door and is about to give Andy the dressing down of his life when Andy suddenly pushes past Harry and runs excitedly through the house and into the front bedroom. He jumps on the bed and shakes himself off, spraying stinking lake water all over the floor and onto Marie’s bed for good measure.

Marie wakes up and says, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what is going on? Oh, I should have known. It’s that damn dog. Why didn’t you put him in the cellar until he dried off? I swear to god you love that dog more than you love your own kids. For the love of Mike, will you put him in the basement so we can all get some sleep?”

Harry grabs Andy’s collar and drags him down to the basement. Then he puts some water in his bowl and says, “Andy, you can wait until the morning for something to eat. I’m tired of your shenanigans. I’m going back to bed.”

Marie is probably praying for his heathen soul this morning as she did every morning. The house is empty because the kids are off to school. Their cereal bowls are drying on the rack. Marie left half of a grapefruit in the refrigerator for his breakfast. She cut all the sections for him and sprinkled sugar on the top. Two pieces of white bread waited patiently to be toasted.

Harry knows he’s lucky to have married Marie. She’s a loving and faithful wife and a wonderful mother. But somehow the words “I love you never make it past his lips except for the day they exchanged their vows in August 1929. He reasons that she must know he loved her because here he’s still by her side after all these years.

Harry hurriedly gulps down his cup of Joe and eats the grapefruit and toast. It’s his day off. He had his day planned. First, he’ll go hit his regular stops in the dumpsters behind all the local stores. There was Woolworth’s, Three Guys, the Acme and the 5&10. He always got a little excited. you never know what treasures are waiting to be found.
Then he’ll stop at the Chinaman’s fruit and vegetable store and see if he can get some good deals. While he was at the Mart, he’ll stop at the Penny Auction and see if he can find any treasures. He’s always amazed at what people throw away. Harry thought if anything is a sin, that sure as hell is.

Why last week he bought a whole box of the Reader’s Digest books for fifty cents. He would have enough books to read for a year. Marie said it was all trash. But he made use of everything he found and bought.

His widowed mother raised Harry, and she had taught him how to squeeze a penny until Lincoln yelled uncle, why he had built almost everything in this house from bits and pieces and scraps he had found for practically nothing.

Marie complained that they never bought anything new. But thanks to his dumpster diving, they had never gone hungry in the crash of 1929 like so many others had. They have never gone without food in their stomachs and clothes on their backs.

But the best part of the day is when he goes to the Garden State Race track and bet his $2.00 on his favorite horse. He had been studying the horses for the past week, and he knows this time, this time he will win big.

After breakfast, Harry opens the cellar door, and Andy’s waiting there patiently. Harry steps aside and lets him pass.” All right, Andy, my boy, all is forgiven. Come on, and I’ll give you some breakfast. I think today’s your lucky day because there’s some left-over chicken for you.”

Harry leaves Andy to his own devices and walks out to his 1956 Turquoise Rambler and checks the trunk to make sure he has his supplies for his treasure hunting. Yup, he had heavy gloves, a pole with a nail at the end. Just in case there was the odd rat or mouse occupying the dumpsters, and a stepladder and bags.

The hunt gets off to a good start behind Woolworth’s when Harry finds five beautiful white wedding gowns at the very top of the dumpster. He lifts them carefully out and places them in a plastic bag he keeps in his trunk. His daughter, Susie, will be thrilled when he gives her these. She just loves to sew, and she’ll prize these gowns as if they’re made of gold.

In the trash at Three Guys, he finds a set of four perfect beach chairs. His older daughters will enjoy taking them with them when they go down the shore for the weekends this summer. He can picture his beautiful daughters sitting on the beach at Wildwood, getting their Irish tan. He can’t wait to see their expressions.

As Harry makes his way toward the Pennsauken Mart, he starts reviewing the races that will be taking place after lunch at the Cherry Hill Race Track. There’s nothing that makes his heart beat faster than watching the horses take off at the starting gate and run full out around the track. Harry has a large circle of friends at the track and is known as “Smiley.” Because no one ever had a bigger smile, then he does when his horse comes in a winner.

Harry picks up some lettuce, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, and beets at the Chinaman’s vegetable store and then heads towards the auction.

There’s the usual group of people there, and he waves at the regulars. Then the first box is brought out. It’s a surprise box. So, the bidding starts low, a dime. The excitement of the crowd grows as the bidding reaches a dollar. Harry never spends more than two dollars. Sometimes there was only one thing in the box of any value. Sometimes nothing at all, but occasionally he’ll get a real winner, like that time he found a gold pocket watch. His son Hugh was thrilled when he received it at his high school graduation.

The auctioneer reaches Harry’s two-dollar limit, so Harry heads home for lunch. There would always be next week. Harry doesn’t let the occasional loss bother him. After all, when you gamble, you have to be able to afford to lose and accept that it’s all a part of the game.

As Harry pulls his Rambler into the driveway, he sees his wife Marie putting something in the garbage. He waves at her, and she flat out ignores Harry. She’s probably still mad about Andy’s midnight escapade.

Still, when he gets into the kitchen, there’s his lunch waiting for him. There are his Lebanon Bologna sandwich and a pot of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup cooking on the stove just like any other day. Marie comes into the kitchen just as the kids walk in the front door for lunch.

“Hi, Daddy.” The kids say together as if they practiced it on the way home. “Hi, Mom, lunch smells good. Umm, my favorite Chicken Noodle soup and Lebanon Bologna sandwiches, I’m starving.”

“Good morning Marie, or should I say good afternoon. I brought home some beautiful vegetables from the Chinaman’s today for you.”

“Harry, you know you shouldn’t say Chinaman. Here’s your soup.”

“Why the hell not? He’s a man from China, isn’t he?”

“Never mind, Harry eat your lunch. Will you help me hang the curtains this afternoon they should be dry by then?”

“Well, I can see later this afternoon. I ‘m going to the track for a couple of hours after lunch.”

Marie’s frowns. She decides to keep her mouth shut because she’s told Harry many times that gambling was an evil thing to do and a waste of good money. She sits down, and without looking up at Harry, she mumbles, “alright later this afternoon then.”
When Harry returns home from the track, he’s so excited he thinks his head might explode. He practically breaks the door he opens it with such force. “Marie, Marie, where are you?”

“I’m right here, Harry. I thought you would get home in time to help me hang the curtains before dinner.”

“Hang the curtains, hang the curtains. Marie, I just won a hundred dollars at the track. And I’m giving you $20.00, and you can buy new curtains for the whole house if you want. And with the rest of the money, we’re all going to go out for dinner for Sunday dinner. Now, what do you think about that?”

Well, it would be hard to judge who had the biggest smile on their faces that night at dinner. When the kids come to the table and sit down, they look from one to the other of their parents.

Finally, Eileen says, “Daddy, Mom, what’s going on?”

“Well, have I got a story to tell you, it’s all about a Mudder.”

Oh Crap

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Oh crap! Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in the back of my neck. The mosquitoes are out in full force tonight. But why, oh, why am I always the prime target? I feel the back of my neck. Something sticking out, thin, and sharp, I pull it out. It ‘s some kind of dart.

“What the hell?”

Emergency

Emergency Room-Pixabay Paulbr75/2013

That’s the last thing I remember until I wake up. I wake up slowly, thinking I must be in bed, having a bad dream. In a few minutes, I’ll wake up and find myself in my queen size bed, with my brand-new goose down comforter keeping me warm and comfy, with Ralphy lying next to me. Ralphy is my golden Lab and my best friend. I adopted him five years ago from a shelter.

My friend Oswald who volunteers at the shelter called me and told me all about Ralphy, and what a great dog he was. His owner had passed away suddenly, and no one in the family could take him, and he had been in the shelter for four months, his time was running out.

My dog, Cody, had passed away from cancer about a year ago. Oswald thought we both needed a new best friend. I was somewhat reluctant at first since I was broken up after Cody died, but I did miss having someone greet me when I get home. Someone that likes me, unlike my ex, who hates everything about me at the end of our relationship, including how I sneezed.

I went to the shelter to meet Ralphy, and he was a beautiful Golden. He has an endearing outgoing personality. Easy going live and let live outlook on life. We hit it right off.  I filled out the adoption papers right then and there.  A week later, I took him home. We have been best buds ever since.

But unfortunately, I’m not in my big, soft bed with my new down comforter. I ‘m unable to move my arms or legs, so I thought at first I was tied up, I tried to look down and see, but I can’t do that either.

Oh my god, I’m paralyzed. I hear a low, kind of soothing voice from somewhere I not sure; maybe it was a recording or from a microphone.

“You’re going to be alright. The anesthetic will wear off slowly over the next hour. In the meantime, would you please answer all my questions?

My god, I thought, I’ve been kidnapped and am now being kept captive. I can’t move my head, so I roll my eyes from left to right and then up to the ceiling. I see fluorescent lights above, and white walls, adorned by nothing.

At the foot of my bed, I think I see a white jacket, but it’s hard to tell. Because somewhere along the line, I lost my glasses I need to see at a distance. Anything beyond three feet is at a blur for me. My little brother used to call me Mr. Magoo when I was growing up. Because before lightweight glasses came out, I had the real glass type as thick as the bottom of a soda bottle. So, this was the source of the soothing voice.

“Your name, date of birth, social security number, and insurance information, please?”

“My name is Helen, Helen Randolph. My birth date is August 4th, 1984. I do not have health insurance at this time. I got laid off from work eight months ago, and I couldn’t afford to pay for the Cobra insurance. Wait, wait, why are you asking me these questions? What kind of kidnapper ask for insurance information? I don’t have any money. I already told you I am unemployed? Nobody I know has any money, what do you want from me?”

“Kidnapper? Did you hit your head when you fell? We will have to have a CAT scan to make sure you don’t have a head injury.”

“I don’t know if I hit my head, maybe I don’t remember anything past getting a small dart of some kind in the back of my neck. When will I start to be able to move?” Helen suddenly realizes that she is indeed beginning to be able to move. First, her toes could wiggle, and now her hands. And now she can lift her head.

Ms. Randolph, this is Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital in Camden, NJ. It is on July twenty-first, 2019. You were brought into the hospital after someone in the park, noticed you were lying on the ground, unconscious. A tranquilizing dart accidentally hit you. Animal control was trying to capture a brown bear that had wandered into the park from the adjoining woods looking for food. You will be perfectly fine by the end of the day.

“Thank God.”

“It’s all is a day’s work, Ms. Randolph, all in a day’s work.

GOOD MORNING STUDENTS,MY NAME IS SISTER JOHN MICHAEL

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In she storms her full skirt, making a swishing noise as she moves. When she stops, the giant rosary that hangs from her waist swings back and forth, she’s dressed in black that flows down to the top of her black boots; a white wimple covered her forehead and chin. And she wears a white bib that spans her shoulders from one side to the other. 

If she has any hair, you can’t see it; a black veil covers her head. She appears six feet tall. My first thought is she’s the Wicked Witch of the West.

Today is my first day of school at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Elementary School. I’m seven years old.   The classroom is overflowing with kids. There’re more kids in the class there than desks. A bunch of other kids and I have to sit on the windowsill. I saw three first grades in line in the schoolyard.

There’s a low murmur as the students whisper to one another. Suddenly, Sister yells out, “that will be enough of that. No one is to speak unless they have permission to speak, or unless I ask you a direct question, is that understood?” None of us made a sound.

She screeches, what’s wrong with you? Answer.

We mumble, “Yes.”

She says, “when you reply, you are to say, yes, Sister, or no, Sister.” Now repeat after me, yes, Sister, no. Sister.”

And we did.  “Yes, sister, no sister.”

“If you have to go to the bathroom, you must raise your hand, and ask for permission, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sister.” We say as one.

She walks up to the blackboard and picks up a piece of chalk, and writes her name, Sister John Michael. None of us can read.   “My name is Sister John Michael. You may call me Sister. By the end of the school year, you all will be able to read and write your names. You will know how to do Arithmetic.”

“Good, now let us begin. I’ll start with the fist aisle. You will stand and state your name, now go.”  I ‘m not in an aisle, so I’m hoping I won’t have to stand up and say my name.

After everyone who has a desk says their names, Sister tells the students sitting on the windowsills to speak. When it’s my turn, I stand up, and with my head down, mumble my name, “Susan Carberry.”

“What? I can’t hear you, speak up, and put your head up.”

I put my head up, but I don’t look at her. I stare at the large round clock that’s on the column in front of her. I don’t know how to tell time, but I hope it will be time to leave soon.  I spit it out all at once, “my name is Susan Carberry.” Then I sit down so hard, I jar my whole body.

After everyone has introduced themselves, Sister picks up a long wooden stick that’s pointed at the end. We all hunker down in our seats. Wondering what she’ll do next. Is she going to hit us all one by one?

She points at green cards that line the top of the walls along the front of the room. “Boys and girls, this is the alphabet. I’m going to point at each letter and say the name, and you will all repeat it after me, do you understand?”  She puts her hands deep into the pockets hidden in her long skirt.“Yes, Sister.” We said in unison.

“Good, now we will say the alphabet over and over until we know it by heart. You will all have a chance to show your classmates that you recognize and say each letter out loud. Later we’ll begin writing the letters in a special copybook. And you will learn how to read words that are made by putting these letters together. You will learn how to read and write by the end of the year. You will have to work hard. But you will learn. Do you understand?”

We all sit and stare at her. No one answers. Her voiced booms out, “I said, do you understand?” I for one don’t know what she’s talking about. But I yell out as loudly as I can,” Yes, Sister.”

“Well, Miss Carberry, you’re learning already. Now, I want to hear the whole class. Do you understand what I said?”

All a sudden everyone yells as loud as they can, “Yes, sister.”

“Good, let us begin. I’ll point at each letter and say the name. You’ll all repeat what I said, out loud. Let’s begin.”

After we repeat every letter out loud, Sister announces,” we’ll practice this every day. Beginning next week each student will be called on and they will have to repeat each letter as I point at it. Everyone will have a chance. “Do you understand class?”

There was a moment of silence and then sister repeats, “Do you understand?”

We all yelled out,” Yes, sister.”

My stomach tightens up. I feel sick. I know I’ll never be able to learn all these letters and say them all out loud in front of the class. I want to run out the door and go home.

And then sister says, “Alright class, it’s time to use the girls and boy’s room before recess. Will aisle one and two come to the front of the room and stand at the door?” I look around at the rest of the class, and I wonder what’s a boy’s and girl’s room? Does everyone else know?

And then the first two rows go up to the front and sister says. “boys in front, girls in the back. Go out into the hall and wait until I come out there and direct you to the bathrooms. Be silent, do you understand?”

“Yes, sister.”

And they all walk silently out into the hall. Well, at least I now know we’re all going to the bathroom. I wait my turn hoping I don’t have to wait too long because my stomach is really hurting.  Finally, it’s the turn for the people sitting on the window sills to go to the bathroom. We march out to the hall.

Sister says. “No, talking.”

Suddenly I feel someone t.ake my hand I look to see who it is. It’s a girl with curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She smiles at me and I smile back. My stomach starts to feel a little better. Sister yells, “go into the bathroom now. When you finish, form a line and wait until you are all done and then go back to the class and sit where you were sitting before.

My new friend and I hold hands until we get in the bathroom. We see four doors inside. We each open one of the doors and look inside. There is a toilet in there. We go in, and then we shut the door. It’s weird, but at least I have a moment alone when sister will not yell at me. When I’m done, I flush, the toilet and my friend is waiting at the door for me.

‘Hi, my name is Irene Simpson. What’s your name? “

“My name is Susie Carberry.” I, smiling shyly at her. We walk out hand in hand into the hall.  After all the kids are out, there we march back to the classroom and sit down again.

“Alright class, quiet, please we’ll begin practicing our letters. The first person in each row pass the copybooks to the person behind you. I would like a volunteer to come up to the front of the class to pass out the copybooks to the people who sit next to the windows. What no one wants to volunteer?” She looks up and down the aisle.

I feel her eyes resting on me. I turn my head slightly and put my head down. I’m thinking, please, please don’t call out my name.

“No volunteers? Alright then, Miss Carberry, come up here and get the books, please and pass them out.” I try to shrink down lower. “Miss Carberry, Susan Carberry, come up here this minute. I can see you.” I hop off the windowsill and walk up to the front of the class, and stick out my hands to take the books.

“Very good Miss Carberry, that wasn’t that bad was it?’ She hands the black and white books to me. I turn around and walk to the back of the class to the window and give each of the kids a book. And then I plop back on my window seat. I take a deep breath.

“Alright, let us. Begin I’m going to pass out pencils to each student and you must never lose it. This will be your pencil. And then, we will begin learning to write the letters.  Do you understand students?”

We all say, “yes, sister.” And sister hands out the pencils and shows us how we are to write the letter on the special lines of the copybook. It takes forever to fill up one page of letters.

I’m tired and want to go home. I feel like crying, but I hold it in. “Alright girls and boys, it’s almost time to go home for lunch. Please put your pencils and books on your desk or on the windowsill next to you. I ‘ll be calling each row and we will be walking outside. You will wait until you are dismissed and then you can go home for lunch. There’re people who will help you cross the streets if you need them. They are called safeties they have badges on over their uniforms. Do what they say. You have to come back to class at 12:30 and meet in the schoolyard and stay there until the bell rings then line up and you will come back here to class for the afternoon. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sister.”I have no intention of ever returning to this classroom. But later my mother told me I would have to go back there. My older sister tells me I will have to go to school for twelve years. But I know that can’t be true. So I stick my tongue out at her.

A LIE IS A LIE IS A LIE

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“Delta Dawn Rafferty, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” As I sit in the witness chair, I feel a cold sweat break out on my forehead. And then a shudder runs through my whole body. I stare out across the courtroom. I hear a low buzzing in my ears, and heat on the back of my neck and ears. My heart is beating so hard I think it might explode out of my chest. Dear god, I think I’m going to pass out in front of God and country.  Carrie Z - Pixababy

I blink and take a long, deep breath and exhale. “Yes, I do swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me god.” I’m biting my lip so hard it starts to bleed. I take an old tissue out of my jacket pocket and dab at my lip and gulp. I stuff the tissue back from whence it came. I sit up as straight as I can. And then I look out at Douglas, the accused, my former boyfriend, although a short-lived one.

“Can you relate to the court the circumstances that brought you here today? In your own words, can you tell the court what exactly occurred on January first of this year?”

As I sit there and try to decide what I should say, I realize that I had made up my mind a long time ago. I’m going to say precisely what it will take to put that bastard behind bars for as long as possible. Douglas is the picture of innocence. His face is blank, flaccid, you might say. But I know him better than anyone here. I can see that he’s gritting his teeth and his jaw is tightening. His lips are slightly pursed. If he could, he would rush up here and strangle me with his bare hands; he would. I have no doubt.

It began back when I was in grad school. Everything was going along as planned, and then I met Douglas. It was just after mid-term. I was on my break and my friends, and I decided to go out and party at the local pubs. Hell, I think we hit all of them on South Street in Philadelphia. I’m not much of a drinker, but for some reason that night, I just gave myself permission to drink myself into oblivion. Later, I wished that was all I found oblivion, not Douglas.

It was a beautiful starlit night. Well, that’s not exactly true, but it sounds better then it was raining like hell, and we all got soaked to the bone. There were five of us. There was Dolores, she has glorious red hair down to her waist and a tattoo on her arm that reads, Born to Die. She is the funniest person I ever met. She has a very dry wit,  dryer than the Mojave Dessert. She says the most outrageous things with a straight face. You have to think twice about everything she says, and then she will burst out laughing.

And then there’s Candy as beautiful as any model with an IQ that Einstein would envy. She’s only twenty-two and has two doctorate degrees. One in advanced physics, the other in psychology. Abnormal psychology was her area of interest.

And my best friend, Alicia. There isn’t any brief description of Ali she is all heart. I do not doubt that she is an empath. She can take one look at you, and in a few minutes, she understands who you are and what makes you tick. Although, I have to admit she misjudged me. She will go to the end of the earth to help you if you need her to. She has never met anyone who she doesn’t consider a friend. And the feeling is mutual. She has been my best friend since grade school. I can’t imagine my life without her in it.

And then there’s Thelma. How best to describe Thelma? She grew up in the Appalachian Mountains. Her family was poor. Not poor where they didn’t have extra money to go on vacation in the summer. But poor, she didn’t have food to eat every day of her life. She was homeschooled through high school. She has an endemic memory. If she reads it, she retains it. She has the frizziest hair that I have ever seen. She calls it her Irish Frow. There are freckles on her face and body the size of dimes. Is she the most beautiful girl in the world, no.? But, the men flock after her like a cat to catnip.

And then there’s me, of course, Delta Dawn Rafferty. Yes, I know that’s the name of a country-western song. My mother loved those old country ballads. Let me begin by saying that I have a good heart but don’t always make the best decisions. Often my heart leads the way instead of my head. I suppose I would have to say that of all of my friends I’m the creative one. My imagination knows no limits.  I’m an artist and writer. I’m quick with the sarcastic barb. I also have a quick temper and a short fuse. I’m a distant relative of Georgia O’Keefe. Now, you know everything relevant about me except how I came to be on trial for attempted murder. I didn’t attempt to murder anyone.  I was trying to save my own life. I believe that’s called self-defense.

As I was saying, we were out on the town hitting all the dive bars in Philadelphia’s South Street. If you ever have the time and the inclination, go there. The only possible place I could compare to South Street would be the Haute Ashbury section of San Francisco in the sixties and seventies. At least that’s what my grandmother Lou told me. And she ought to know she was a hippie back in the day.

We started at Tattooed Mom, it’s one of the most fabulous places on South Street if you are going on a bar troll with your best buds. Go there with a buzz on before you get there, even better.

Because this place is a sensory overload starting at the front of the building, the theme is carried on inside. Every surface is covered with psychedelic graffiti, including the walls and the furniture. All the artwork is created by the most talented and innovative graffiti artist in Philadelphia. Each one is a piece of history. They have a remarkable collection of craft beers. If you like some spicy chicken wings or an awesome veggie burger it’s yours for the asking.

They have poetry readings open to local poets. And then there’s Upstairs Mama’s where there’re political meet-ups with local Progressive leaders. Not your scene, then you can play a game of pool. It’s a very liberal place, so Conservatives’ beware. Anyway, my gal pals and I started here with a couple of beers and some food and listened to the poetry slam before we left.

We were all feeling the good vibes and moved on to The Twisted Tail. This is in the Society Hill section of South Street. The food is kind of uptown Southern Barbeque. We went there for the booze at the Southern Whiskey bar. And the music at the Juke Joint where talented local musicians play. That night a band called Mikey Jr. and the Stone-Cold Blues were playing. And then to top it all off there was a new musician and band who were playing Muddy Water’s Blues. By the time they got to Manish Boy, I was blown away. The singer could have been a reincarnation of Muddy Waters. And I was feeling no pain.

As I was throwing back my last whiskey a good-looking dude sat down next to me. And he asks if I wanted to dance. And that my friend was the beginning of a life-changing moment in my life. You know that little voice you hear in your head sometimes telling you, no don’t do it. Well, my little voice was screaming it at the top of its little non-existing lungs. But I was too far gone to hear it or care and I said yes.

Once I looked into his deep brown eyes, I was lost. I was his, for the taking. Next thing I know I got my jacket and told my best gal pal, Alicia, that I was leaving with this dude and would talk to her later. She tried to talk me out of it. They all did. But I had stopped listening. I was out the door hanging on his arm. Barely able to stand let alone walk.

Alicia came over just before I went out the door and tried once again to dissuade me. She physically tried to pry me off his arm. But I would have none of it. And I told her to mind her own business. And that was the last they heard of me for ten days. Yes, my friends that good-looking dude was none other than Douglas.

Yes, I was missing in action for ten days. that was a first for me. My friends were frantic. They had no idea where I was. I really think I lost my mind. I only considered what I was feeling. And I was feeling no pain. I was in love or lust, or maybe both. Those ten days were intoxicating.  Every time he walked into the room. I literally swooned. After ten days, Douglas decided he needed to go back to work and pick up the pieces. He left me a note saying it had been great fun. But the fun was over, and he had to get back to his real life.

Real-life, what the hell did that mean? I’m real. These last ten days seemed more real than any experience I had in my life up to this point. I was having none of it. He wasn’t going to toss me out like last week’s left-over Chinese food. I spent the rest of the morning ransacking his apartment. I got into his email. Can you believe he used the same password for every one of his accounts? And he had his password taped to the bottom of his laptop. What an amateur.

I looked at his Facebook account, his LinkedIn account, Twitter, his Tinder. I unfriended everyone on his Facebook account. Lastly, I blocked anyone on Tinder that I thought might get in my way. I changed his passwords for everything, and I copied his new passwords. I looked at his documents. I left no stone unturned. I happen to keep a jump drive in my purse, and I copied all relevant information. I even looked at all his online bank accounts. I moved some of his money from his checking and savings account into long-term CDs.

Douglas never asked for my phone number or address or my cell. He doesn’t even know my last name. He may be finished with me, But I’m not finished with him. Not by a long shot. He may not know my last name or address, but I know everything about him, and I mean everything. I looked in his address book on his phone while he was taking a shower. And I copied all his contact information, including family, friends, and workplace.

I cleaned every surface that I might have touched. I put all the dishes into the dishwasher and turned it on. I washed the clothes, sheets, and towels in hot water. Douglas’ apartment had probably never been this clean dare I say antiseptic since day one. And then I began to exact my revenge. Oh, you thought I already exacted my revenge. Hardly, I believe I mentioned that I’m creative. Well, my creativity is not limited to, painting and writing.

Day one- I contacted Alicia first by text, and after she unloaded a raft of shit on me via texts. I called her. Unfortunately, I should have given her a little more time to simmer down. Her anger was still boiling over. “Del, where the hell have you been? We have been looking all over for you. We made a police report that you were a missing person. We called your parents. We all were sure that that guy murdered you, cut you up in little pieces, and threw you in the Schuylkill River. Del, they dragged the river. You are going to have to talk to the police. I’ll text you the name and number of the detective that was, or I guess is investigating your disappearance. His name is Detective Dan Shaw.

“Del, it was in the Philadelphia Inquirer.”  “For reals? Are you kidding?” No, I’m not kidding. Your parents are a mess; they think you’re probably dead. No, I’m not joking. Have you lost your mind? We were all worried, sick.”

I tried to interject some reason here. But Alicia was having none of it. God, can’t a girl go a little crazy once in a while? I mean, you’re only young once, for crying out loud. So, I made plans to get together with her and Dolores and Candice, and Thelma for dinner that night at the Pussy Cat. It’s a kind of a dive bar in Deptford, NJ, near the Mall. But they have the most fabulous spicy Chicken Wings in South Jersey.

After I spoke to Alicia, I called my mother. When my mother picked up the phone, she immediately started crying. And then she started yelling. It seemed that this was going to be a new theme with everyone I talk to in the near future. I was starting to feel a little guilty for not letting them know what I was up to. But not that guilty. I have a right to my privacy, don’t I? I assured her I was fine, and I apologized over and over again. Then my dad got on the phone and read me the riot act. I guess I could expect more of this at the Pussy Cat when I saw my other girlfriends. I will try to deflect the tirade by starting with an apology, right off the bat.

Meanwhile, I got busy with my plan for Douglas. The basic plan was to make him regret using me and then ditch me like a bad habit. And then regretting the day he was born. I started sending emails to his boss at Megger International, describing some of the things Douglas had done to me. I copied that email to all his co-workers and close friends. And all his past girlfriends and on Tinder for any possible future girlfriends.

I was feeling a little jazzed for some reason. I guess I was feeling a sense of accomplishment. I didn’t stop for a minute to consider the possible consequence of my actions, not even for a minute. I found it divine retribution. Not that I felt sorry for my actions and how they would affect Douglas. But how it possibly affects me. I think I had every right to destroy Douglas’ little world and his pathetic life. Look what he did to me. Told me he loved me, adored me even. We were meant to be together forever. Men have been doing this to women forever. And it is time for it to stop.

My coup d’état was when I showed up at his place of employment, Megger international. They were having a meeting for all the top-performing employees at a special luncheon to thank them for their outstanding service to the company. I knew all this because I have been hacking into his work email. God, he had made it so easy.

I arrived just as the plant manager was standing in front of all the employees to hand out bonuses and announce raises. I saw Douglas sitting at one of the front tables. He seemed poised to stand up. I started to slowly move forward to the front of the large meeting room. I was going to start crying and telling everyone what a shit he was when he was finished speaking. But that never happened because as his name was called, Douglas sensed my presence somehow and looked over at me.

And I stepped forward he launched himself across the front of the room and toward me. He started choking me.   I was kicking and scratching. I was no match for his strength. I don’t think I mentioned that Douglas was over six and a half feet tall and cut. It looks like he spent a lot of time working out at the gym. He was shaking me like a dog with a bone. And then, at the last possible moment, I pulled the knife out of my jacket pocket and stabbed him a couple of times in the upper chest. Which was all I could manage, considering he was wringing my neck?

That was also when several of his co-workers and boss jumped on me and restrained me. Someone punched me really hard in the face. I don’t know who. But I intend to find out, and they will be sorry. The last thing I remember is the police putting me in handcuffs and shoving me in the back of the squad car. And that is all she wrote. And here I’m standing before you all ad innocent women trying to defend my honor. Nothing more. I was just defending myself, nothing more.

THE FIRST DAY OF FIRST GRADE

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It was September of 1957 when my sister Karen and I entered first grade at Our Lady of Perpetual Help School in Maple Shade, NJ.

“Karen, Susan, Karen, Susan get up it’s time to get ready for school.” My mother yells from the bottom of the steps. We moan and reluctantly throw the covers off. And slowly we get out of bed.

School Yard – Pixabay

My mother had put our school uniforms out for us. They look exactly alike, a maroon jumper with a white blouse that had what my mother called a Peter Pan Collar, black and white saddle shoes, and white socks. And worst of all, a hat called a beanie that was also maroon. I put on the blouse and the jumper, and it is so itchy I can’t believe it. I don’t think I’ll be able to wear it all day. I start scratching. I put on my new shoes. They look kind of neat but feel heavy. Since I haven’t worn shoes all summer.

As soon as I start walking around, my feet start hurting. I take them off and put my old sneakers on instead.

Karen looks over at me and says, “What are you doing? You have to wear  school shoes.”

I stick my tongue out at her. She says I’m telling Mom.

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up, I’m telling Mom.”

We walk down the steps to the kitchen. Karen’s shoes are making a lot of noise as she clumps down the stairs. I’m wearing my sneakers, so I’m not making any noise. I hear my mother yell.

“Pick up your feet.”

I start laughing at Karen. She rushes down the rest of the steps and runs in the kitchen.” Mom, Susie isn’t wearing her new shoes, she’s wearing her old sneakers.”

My mother says, “Don’t tattle Karen; that’s not nice.”

Karen is mad now, “but Mom, she’s not wearing her school shoes.”

“Alright Karen, sit down and eat your cereal, I’ll talk to your sister.”

I am hiding at the bottom of the stairwell, so I know my mother is coming to talk to me. There’s nowhere for me to hide, so I just stand there and wait for my mom.

“Susie, please go back upstairs and change your shoes. We already talked about this the other day you have to wear shoes and a uniform. It’s a rule.”

I look at my mother, and I want to cry, but instead, I say, “I hate school, I don’t want to go.”

“No, you don’t Susie, you don’t even know what it’s like. You’ll make new friends, and learn all kinds of new things. Now, please go upstairs and put on your new shoes. And while you’re at it, get your beanie. And after breakfast, I’ll fix your hair and help you brush your teeth.”

Now I stomp up the steps, muttering under my breath, “I hate school, I hate school.” I hear Karen laughing in the kitchen.

When I come down, I hear my mom talking to Karen in the bathroom while she is brushing Karen’s curly, dark hair. I start shoveling my cheerios in as fast as I can. I feel like I’m going to start crying. Karen and my mother come back into the kitchen. I feel a tear and then another run down my cheeks.

“Look, Mom, Susie’s crying, she’s such a baby.”

I look at Karen, and I’m so mad at her that I stop crying and stare at her hard. I stick my tongue out at her.

She yells, “Mom, Susie is sticking out her tongue at me again.”

“Alright Karen, that’s enough, go get your school bag, and wait for Susie on the front porch she’ll be outside in a minute.”

“Come on Susie, I’ll fix your hair, and you can brush your teeth.”

I follow my mother down the hall passed the Blessed Mother grotto towards the bathroom. I start feeling sick to my stomach. “Mommy, I don’t feel good, I feel sick.

“You’ll be alright, Susie, you’re just nervous. Let me brush your hair and then brush your teeth. Don’t forget to put on your beanie, or you’ll get into trouble.”

I look in the mirror, I see my tear-streaked face, it is all red from me rubbing it. I had washed my hair last night, but I didn’t comb or brush it so it is full of knots.

“Susie, your hair is a rat’s nest. Didn’t you comb it last night after your bath?’

“No, I guess I forgot.”

Then my mother starts pulling the brush and then the big comb through my hair. It hurts. I look in the mirror. I have blond hair, but my sisters always tell me it’s “Dirty blond.” I hate when they say that cause I wash my hair every week.

“OK, Susie, here’s your brush, put some baking soda on it and start brushing, brush all your teeth not just the front ones.”

“OK, Mom, I will.” And I try to brush all my teeth, but my arm starts to feel tired so that I may have missed a few of the back teeth.

“Alright, let me see your teeth, Susie, open up.”

I open my mouth wide. She looks in. “Looks like you missed the ones in the back, here’s your brush. Do it again, and then rinse out your mouth.”

I do it again, I hate baking soda it tastes like poison. I brush the back teeth, rinse and spit.

“Put your beanie on Susie.”

I put it on the top of my head, it’s sticking up weird in the back, because of my ponytail. I make a face. My mom looks at my face in the mirror. “Here Susie, I’ll put a couple of bobby pins on the beanie to keep it on. Don’t lose them.”

She sticks the bobby pins into my hair, and I flinch. Now, my feet and my head hurt. I want to cry again, but I don’t.

My mother leans down and gives me a little hug. It makes me want to cry again, but I hold the tears back. “Bye, Mom, I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, Susie I forgot to tell you. You can come home for lunch. Sister will tell you when it’s time. I’ll see you at lunchtime.”

For a minute, I feel a little better. Then I run out of the front door, and I see Karen has already left. Now I have to go by myself. Karen’s a pain, but I always feel a little better when I can go with her somewhere I’ve never been to before. My stomach starts to hurt in earnest. And I get the weird scratchy feeling in my throat right before I start crying.

I cry all the way to the schoolyard — the school bell ringing. There are hundreds if not thousands of kids in the schoolyard. I don’t know where to go. Then I realize that I forgot my school bag — the crying increases. I run into the schoolyard. There is a sea of unfamiliar faces. I can’t find Karen. All the girls look alike in their uniforms.

I see a “nun” coming toward me. I want to run away. She looks like a giant. She has a really long black dress on and around her waist is a giant rosary swaying back and forth. As she comes toward me, I see she has a giant bib on her neck that comes down to her chest. And a stiff white piece of fabric is across her forehead and chin. There is a black veil on her head hanging down her back.

I ‘m terrified. “You’re late, don’t let that happen again. What is your name, and what grade are you in?”

I looked down at the ground. For a moment, I can’t remember my name or what grade I’m in.

“Look at me and speak up.”

I look up momentarily and mumble, “Susan Carberry, first grade.”

“Alright, Miss Carberry, follow me.”

The “Nun” takes me across the schoolyard and over to the line with the smallest kids. I see my sister, Karen. And I have never been so happy to see her in my life, as I did at that moment. She looks over at me, and she gives me a little smile. And then the second bell rings and all the kids start marching toward the school. The first day of school begins.

The Foundling

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I had decided to spend the day at the Philadelphia Library. I have been working on my family history for the past ten years, and I wanted to search the census records for the period of time between 1900 and 1920. I am studying my father’s side of the family.

Philadelphia Central Library

I knew that he was an only child and had been raised from the age of seven until he was sixteen at Girard College. During that time, Girard College was a residential school for boys only. The only requirement was that one of their parents was deceased. His father passed away when he was five from uremic poisoning.

It was a beautiful crisp autumn day, so I decided to take the high-speed line over to Philly.  I arrived about a half-hour before the library opened. So I decided to walk around the corner to grab something to eat for breakfast at Whole Foods.

I bought a small container of yogurt and green tea. Whole Foods is a great food store, but they are pricey. It cost almost six dollars for these two items. I devoured the yogurt as I hadn’t eaten any dinner the night before. The tea was hot, so I sipped slowly. It was good. I’m something of a tea connoisseur. At any given moment, I can name fifty different brands and types of teas.

Unfortunately, very few people seem particularly interested in hearing my list, although some have suffered in silence as I listed them in alphabetical order. I know they don’t want to hear it, but somehow, I feel compelled to tell them.

First, I see their eyes shift from right to left, looking for a way out of the conversation. It isn’t a conversation, more of a monologue. I give them very little chance to break away. I keep talking at breakneck speed. I see their eyes glazing over, I know that they are not listening anymore, but still, I persist, naming my favorite teas, or pies, or ice cream. I have a list for just about any subject.

I decided to walk across the street to the Book Corner, a used book store operated by the Central Library. It is filled with used and donated books. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I also collect books.

Books fill every inch of space in my two-bedroom apartment, stacked on tables, chairs, under tables and chairs, under my bed, and on the side of my bed that I don’t sleep on. People have told me that I am a hoarder of books. I say I ‘m a bibliophile. I love the feel, smell, and touch of old books. My favorite books are art books with full-color plates of art, every type of art, and periods of history. I’m a collector of many things, mostly useless facts that no one wants to hear or know about.  woman holding book

I almost purchase a book on Jasper Johns, one of my favorite abstract expressionist artists. But I talked myself out of it. Since I already had this self-same book at home in one of my piles.

I start walking up the street behind the library, and I see something on the sidewalk. I quickstepped up to it and lean over and pick it up. It’s a watch, a stunning watch. I don’t own valuable jewelry myself, but I certainly recognize quality when I see it. It’s gold, a women’s watch, with a mesh watch band. There are twenty-eight small diamonds surrounding the watch face. There is a small stone on the stem of the watch, I think a blue Topaz.

I turn over the watch and look on the back there is an inscription it reads: To BlJ, from JPO, and then some words in French. My high school French is somewhat rusty since I graduated. Well, let’s just say quite a few decades ago. I decided to type the phrase into Google translator when I finally got into the library.

When I arrive at the library, I fly up the steps and push open the beautiful ornate doors. I’m never disappointed when I enter the library, they have recently remodeled the first floor, and it is fabulous. The new entry floor is gleaming marble, all new showcases. I look at each one and study its contents.

Oh, there’s going to be a visit from an author. Oh, I definitely will sign up for that. I’ll purchase a copy of her book and have it autographed by her. I feel slightly buzzed being around all this beauty and the thousands upon thousands of stacks of books on every subject.

I should have been a librarian, but I wouldn’t have gotten any work done since I would have been reading all day instead of whatever librarians are supposed to be doing. Besides, I have observed that librarians are a bit on the strange side, either very quirky and annoyed by visitors or very formal, as if they’re famous professors who don’t have the time to speak to a visitor. If I worked there, I would probably be a little of both and get fired after a month.

I check my pockets to see if my treasure is still there. It is, but I know that I will check my pocket many times to be sure. It is one of my quirky traits, excessive checking of things. Checking to see if I really locked the door or turned off the iron, or didn’t accidentally run over a cat that I thought was a bump in the road. I’m just being cautious, that’s all.

I enter the main book room next to the entrance. I‘m so pleased with the remodel it’s dazzling. I run over to the computer and go onto the Internet, Google translator. I type in the phase Mon amour éternel. It means my eternal love. God, that is so romantic. The poor soul that lost this must be heartbroken. Imagine losing such a  keepsake.

I almost start to cry right there in the middle of the library. I start imagining what it must be like to have someone promise their eternal love. I have never had that, I want it, and now I know it is probably too late for me, but still, I keep my eyes open. You never know what might happen. I want to find a way to return the watch to the owner, but I don’t know what to do.

I approach the man who works at the main information desk, and he is one of the standoffish types, very formal. I’m not certain, but I believe he has some type of vision impairment, or he can’t bear to look anyone in the eyes. “Hello, can you tell me if there’s a lost and found?’ He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge my presence in any way. He starts typing on his keyboard. Perhaps he has a hearing deficit as well. I repeat my question only louder. Nothing.

Then somewhat abruptly, he says, “No book by that name but several containing that subject matter. Let me print it out for you. ”

“What, no, no you misunderstood. I’m asking if the library has a lost and found. You know you find or lose something and check to see if anyone turned it in, or you find something and turn it in. ”

“Go to the service desk. They might have an answer for you. I do not. ”

“But isn’t this the service desk?” I roll my eyes to the heavens. It’s lost on him. He has dismissed me from his mind. I no longer exist in his world. In my opinion, the library made a poor choice when they placed him at the central hall information desk. He should be sitting in the subbasement somewhere, filing something.

I walk over to the main room again toward the librarian. There are only two now since most of them were replaced by an automated checkout system. I wait patiently in line until it’s my turn. I repeat my question, “Have you got a lost and found?”

” This is the check-in or check-out department. You need to go to the service desk and ask Mr. Beaumont. He will be happy to assist you.”

“But I did speak to Mr. Beaumont. He didn’t assist me. He sent me to you. What do you suggest now?”

“Perhaps you could ask Charles, at the exit to the library; he’s the guard that checks all books as you exit the library.”

“Charles, thank you I’ll speak to him.” I walk over to the library exit, and Charles is sitting looking through a large stack of books that an older gentleman is checking out.

I have seen him before. He looks like an aesthetic, or perhaps the English actor who is tall and thin, was some sort of magician in Lord of the Rings he has very long, shiny gray hair, down to his waist, I have often seen him when I visited the art department of the library. He always keeps to himself, is surrounded by books, and spends the day taking notes, in a leather notebook.

I patiently wait for my turn. Finally, I step up to Charles, “Hello, could you tell me if the library has a lost and found?” As I’m waiting, I recheck my pocket to make sure the watch is there.

“Yes, what are you looking for?”

“I’m not looking for anything; I found something.”

“Well, I can’t help you with that, other than you write down, what you have found on this form, and a contact number or email, and I will give them your information.”

“Alright, let’s do that.” I finally feel like I’m making some headway. I give Charles my information, “Thank you, Charles, you have been helpful.”

I head over to the elevator, push the button for the second floor, and wait as it slowly makes its way down from the third floor. The doors slide open. They remodeled the elevator, too, and it looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel. I step inside, and somehow it has not lost that urine smell it always had. I hold my breath until the doors open to the second floor, make a right turn down the first hall, through the literature department, and find my way into the art department.

Oh, crap, I think. What am I doing here? I meant to go to the records department and study the census. I head to the elevator and back to the records department. I arrive safely. I step up to the desk and ask the librarian to help me find the census for 1900-1930.

She’s accommodating. I look at the records, which are digital copies of the original census books. However, the books were all handwritten and somewhat challenging to read. I spend the next three hours looking through them, meeting with some success. I find the record where my father is listed as an inmate of Girard College. An inmate, as if he were a criminal in prison. This upset me so much that I turn off the machine and decided to head home.

I buy a hotdog from the vendor on the corner, such a cheerful fellow. I say, “Thank you.”

I head towards the bus stop that will get me to the High Speedline. I arrived at the Speedline intake, and I believe I checked my pocket about fifteen times before I got on the train.

I head home, and I notice that my stomach is starting to feel a little queasy, and by the time we get over the bridge to the Camden stop, I know that I have gotten food poisoning.

I rush off the train, and I’m forced to use the public facility. Dear god, I think I will be able to make it home! I do, but just barely. I take some medicine for my stomach. It doesn’t really help. I spend the next ten hours in and on the toilet. Finally, I start to feel better. I go to the kitchen. I feel so empty and get some tea and crackers.

I decided to check my email; to my surprise, I have five hundred emails. I open the first one; Bill declares it is his watch, and he wants it back. I open the next ten; they’re all the same. I realize that I have made a mistake in describing the watch. All the rest are the same.

Chivalry has died, and so has my trust in humanity. I will put the watch away or perhaps donate it to some worthwhile charity. I think of the woman who lost her watch and said a silent prayer for her. She has lost something that was close to her heart, and so have I.

The Bells of St. Mary’- Highschool Graduation

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I wake up, and my first thought is today is my last day of high school. I have this fear that someone will tell me that I’m not going to graduate and will have to start all over. I know it’s a ridiculous thought, but still, it could happen. I look at my hand and see my high school ring. It bears the name St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy and 1969. My high school yearbook is sitting on the floor next to my bed. So, it must be true. This is it. I’m graduating. 

Can you believe it’s 1969? Where did the time go? I can remember my younger self going to my first day of grammar school and being terrified. I guess that was about 1957. And here I am embarking on the world., I have babysat my nieces and nephews since I was about eleven. But this is my first real job and I’ll be getting a paycheck.

I was hired a dental assistant for Dr. Edward G. Wozniak in Oaklyn, in NJ.  I knew nothing about working in an office, let alone a dental office. Sister Eileen Marie the principal and Mother Superior of St. Mary’s, recommended me for the job. So, I took the bus over there from St. Mary’s one afternoon. It’s on Haddon Ave. in Oaklyn, NJ, not all that far from the school. St. Mary’s is on King’s Highway in Haddonfield, NJ. And about a half-hour bus ride from Maple Shade, where I live.

Dr. Wozniak’s wife, Connie Wozniak, interviewed me. I was so nervous I don’t really remember what I said. But she called Sister Eileen Marie back the next day and told her she wanted to hire me. I can’t imagine what I said to convince her. Anyway, I’m starting there next week and will work part-time at first and then eventually full-time.

I have only been to the dentist a couple of times myself when I have had toothaches and had to have my tooth pulled. So, my understanding of what I will be doing is very limited. I don’t suppose I’ll be pulling out people’s teeth.

Anyway, up until Sister Eileen Marie called me into the office to tell me about the job, I hadn’t really put any thought about what I would do after I graduated. I’m not kidding, I never thought about it at all. No one ever asked me what I wanted to do either. Not my parents, or my older sisters and brother, not my best friends. Nobody.

When I was a little kid, I thought I would like to be a veterinarian or an artist. I just love to draw and make things. And animals, well I prefer them over humans. But still, I had no clue how to go about doing either of those things, and no one ever talked about it with me. My mother always had the mindset that things would just work out somehow. And things did work out. At least I hope it will all work out. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Today I’ll be bringing my yearbook into school with me. So, my friends can sign it. And I can say good-bye to everyone. I guess this will be the last time I see them. Almost all of them are going off to college in September. I’ll be working at Dr. Wozniak’s.

It’s Saturday, June 7th, 1969. The day I graduate. I’m excited and terrified. Happy to be out of school, but terrified of being grown up. Because I don’t feel any differently than I did before graduation. 

I have been working at Dr. Wozniak’s dental office part-time for the past several weeks. And I think I’m going to like it. It turns out having a good memory is a good thing. And twelve years of memorizing prayers and commandments were all worthwhile.

I answer the phone and assist Dr. Wozniak at the dental chair. He also taught me how to develop x-rays. And I started learning how to send out bills. Apparently learning how to type was a good thing too. Also, I have to call all the patients the day before their appointments and confirm them.

I received my first paycheck and that was amazing even though it is not a lot of money. Apparently, the government gets a big chunk of each paycheck. I’m not entirely sure why. And no one has explained that one to me either. It’s my money, and I earned it. I’m going to start saving to buy a car.

Here I am sitting in the pew at Christ the King Church in Haddonfield. Everyone in the graduating class was given a dozen yellow roses. My favorite flower and m,y favorite color. So, I take that as a good sign. I’m waiting for my name to be called, holding my breath. And low and behold they, call my name. There are fifty-three students graduating, and I’m one of them.

So, I guess I’ve taken my first step into adulthood, out of school and getting paid for my first job. I have no clue what comes next. Do you?

 

Afterword: This year, my class of 1969 St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy marked 50 years since graduating. Can you believe it? Overall, it all worked out just as my mother promised..

LITTLE MAMA

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Little Mama slowly opens her eyes and squints at the bright morning sun. The wind has died down. Last night she listened to the eerie tune the trees made as the wind blew its way through the woods. She makes a nest of leaves and sticks and spends the night there as the storm rages.

It isn’t raining anymore, but everything looks different. Branches are strewn all over, and even a few trees have fallen to the ground.  Little Mama stands up unsteadily. She looks through the tree branches in search of fallen bird nests.

If she’s lucky, maybe she would be able to find a baby bird or two. Late yesterday when she left her nest in search of food, she knew there was a storm brewing, but she is extremely hungry. She needs to eat so she could nurse her babies. They are sound asleep when she leaves.

But that was yesterday, anything could have happened to them. The kits barely have their eyes open. Just as Little Mama is about to give up, she sees a baby bird lying lifeless on the ground.

She smells it and determines it hasn’t been dead that long and swallows it whole. She runs over the branches and debris along the path until Frightened that one of her kits has wandered off. Last winter she had lost her kittens due to her near starvation. Winter is never a good time to give birth to a litter. But she has little control over when these things happen.

As she makes her way over to the nest, she smells each of her mewling kittens. She realizes that one of them is missing.  The one who always tries to climb out of the nest? Her heart sinks a little at the thought of another lost kit. 

Nature is cruel, and she has learned the best way to learn is with acceptance. She’ll take care of the rest of her litter as best as she can. Until they can take care of themselves. When they’re about six weeks old, she’ll begin to teach them how to hunt. She’ll wean them off her milk.

She lies down on her side in the nest. It’s a little damp but still warm from the five kittens. That lie, sleeping bundled together. As soon as they sense their, mother they crawl over and find a place to nurse. They push and shove each other out of the way until they taste the sweet milk. They are safe and warm. Little Mama signs and falls into a fast sleep exhausted from her stormy adventure.

Big Red stumbles and cries, his stomach aching from hunger. He has been looking for his mother all night. Finally, he gives up his search. He finds shelter in the hollow of a tree under some fallen leaves.

When the morning wakes him up, once again his stomach is growling. He has no memory of ever feeling this gnawing pain in his stomach. He can’t think of anything else. He even stops wondering what has become of his mother.

Just as he is about to give up, Big Red sees something fluttering in the air just above his head. He doesn’t know what it is, but his instinct tells him to get it. He jumps as high as he can. And grabs it with his sharp claws. He can hardly believe it.

And he chomps down on it, and it stops moving. He swallows it. It tastes good. It’s warm and fills his stomach the same way as his mother’s milk had. He decides to find a place to take a nap. He starts walking forward through the woods until he sees another tree. He is looking for a hollow place to sleep. He finds it and crawls underneath the damp leaves. He feels satisfied with himself. He wonders what he will do next. And with that thought, he falls fast asleep.