Category Archives: Fiction

Home Sweet Home

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

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

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

Victorian House

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, honey, I’m home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeff, what do you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was waiting for you, Kathleen.”

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

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

“Well, what do you think, Kathleen?”

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

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

“What do you think, Jeff?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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THE GIFT OF TIME

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

Trip to NYC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you miss?”

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright, dear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peach pie, that’s my favorite too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo by Robert Culver

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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KARMA BITES

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

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

Deserted Island by Hoobychubes-Pixabay

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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THE PURSE

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

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

Shopping Cart- Google Image

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not going anywhere. Get in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s a date, lunch, too, on me.”

__________________________________

THE WAITING ROOM

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I arrive fifteen minutes before my appointment. The parking lot is packed. I drive round and round looking for a place to park. Waiting for someone to leave so I can park in their spot. No luck. And then I see three isles over someone is about to get into their car. I head over in that direction as quickly as I can.

Just as I arrive at the aisle, I see a Mercedes Benz pulling into the aisle from the other end. They practically fly towards the parking spot and wait while the car backs out. This pisses me off to no end. I pound on my steering wheel and yell out,” damn.” I arrive at the parking spot, and the guy who stole my spot is out of the car and locking his car. “Hey, that was my spot; you stole my spot.”

The Waiting Room

He looks over at me and shrugs his shoulder and starts walking toward the doctor’s office. I yell, “jerk.”

I decide to drive to the parking lot in the business complex next door. I find a spot in the Merrill Lynch parking lot. It just so happens that this is the building where my investment broker’s office resides. So, if anyone questions me, I can just say that I stopped in the office to speak to Tod Pinto. Parking spots in this business district are rare.

I lock my car and walk towards the doctor’s offices. As I walk through the door, I realize I’m late for my appointment and that it doesn’t matter because the waiting room is full, packed to the rafters, overflowing.

This is my first appointment at this office. I see a sign that says Sign In at the main reception area. I get in line. Yeah, I have to wait in a line to sign in. I realize this is going to be a long morning. After ten minutes, I step up to the Sign In window and wait there. After a moment or two, the person behind me says, “just sign in they’ll call your name when they are ready for you. After you see the doctor, you go to the sign-out desk. That’s when you pay and show proof of insurance.”

I turn around and look at the person who’s talking to me, and she is ancient. No, I’m not exaggerating she’s as old as the hills, older than dirt, on her way out. “Thanks for telling me. This is the first time at this office.”

“Oh, a newbie, well good luck finding a seat. You have to get here a least a half-hour early or more to get a parking spot. And it’s the same for getting a seat. Sometimes you have to wait until someone is called into the doctor’s office and then jump into the seat immediately.”

“What, you have to be kidding me. They should just move to bigger offices. This is ridiculous.”

“This is their new office they’ve only been here for a little over six months. This practice has the best eye specialist for macular degeneration, diabetic retinopathy, and glaucoma in South Jersey. There’s a waiting list to come here.”

“Yeah, I had to wait for a cancellation to get an appointment. This is nuts.”

“Well, good luck. Oh, hey, somebody just got called into the exam room. Grab the seat before somebody else does.”

I mumble, “thanks.”

I literally throw myself into the empty seat. In fact, I almost topple over into the row of people behind me because of how hard I hit the metal chair. I hear someone say, “lookout, he’s going to fall.” And all the people jump up in anticipation that I’m about to descend on all their frail and decrepit old bodies.

My chair rocks back and forth, back and forth. But at the last moment, I manage to stabilize it. I say out, “Jesus that was close. I turn around slightly and say,” Oh, sorry, folks. I didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you, my bad.”

I hear some old lady, saying,” Oh dear, oh dear.” I honker down in my chair. I don’t move for about ten minutes; then I realize that I have to go to the bathroom. I know I will lose my seat if I get up, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold it in much longer. I start squirming around in my seat like a five-year-old. The lady next to me looks at me with some concern on her face. “Are you alright? Are you sick or something?”

“No, I just have to go to the bathroom. I didn’t go before I left because I was late leaving.”

“Oh well, I’m just waiting for my husband to come out. I’ll put my purse on your seat. And if anyone says anything, I’ll just tell them I’m saving it for my husband. And he’s going to be right back.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course, we all have to help each other out when we can don’t, we? Or, where would we all be?”

I look over at her. She is smiling, and her blue eyes are twinkling. That’s the only way I can describe it. Her eyes were smiling too. She looks at me and says,” Go on, it will be fine.”

“Oh, good, you’re back. Have a seat.”

“Thank you, that was kind of you.” She shrugs her shoulders and smiles again.

Just then, the automatic door opens up, and a man moves slowly into the room. He is using a walker. He takes two steps forward and then stops to rest. Then another two steps and stops. I realize he is using some kind of breathing apparatus.

I mumble under my breath,” dear god.” He slowly, excruciatingly makes his slow and painful walk up to the Sign-In desk at the front of the office. I watch him attempting to sign in. He has trouble because he has to take one hand off his walker to sign in. He wavers a little. It looks like he is going to fall. He’s rocking back and forth. I jump up and run to the desk.” Hi, I say. Can I give you a hand?”

He slowly turns his head and looks at me. “Yes, I would appreciate that. My niece was supposed to come with me today, but her baby got sick and she had to take him to the doctor.”

“Did you drive yourself here?”

“Yes, but it was slow going, especially since my vision isn’t what it used to be.”

I looked at him and thought dear god, should he be driving? “Listen, why don’t you take my seat over there? See that pretty lady with the white hair. Oh, wait, all the ladies in here have white hair. I ‘ll show you. You can have my seat, it’s almost time for my appointment, and I don’t mind standing for a while.

“Oh really, young man, that is thoughtful of you. I would love to sit down.”

“Ok, why don’t we head over to the seat, and you can rest up before name is called in for your appointment.”

As I follow him over to the seat, I notice several of the people in the waiting room are watching our slow progress across the room. And the strangest thing is that they are all smiling and nodding their heads at me. For some reason, I feel a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes well up with tears. I have to wipe one tear away as it threatens to run down my cheek. For some reason, I feel better at that moment than at any time in the recent past.

“Here we are, why don’t you let me help you sit down and I’ll put your walker at the end of the aisle. If you are still here after I go in for my appointment, I’ll wait for you to see the doctor and help you out to your car.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course, where would we be if we don’t help each other out?”

“Thank you, young man, do you mind telling me your name?”

“My name is Mathew Muller. But you can call me Matt.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence my name is Mathew too. Thank you, Matt.”

“You’re welcome. Mathew.”

I move out of the aisle and stand by the window. And then I look all around the room. And I see people, just people. And I think these are just people not unlike myself. They have families that love them and friends. They have problems sometimes. Not so different from me, they have just lived longer than I have. Probably, people that I could learn a lot from. I lean against the wall and, then I hear a young woman call my name. “Mathew, Mathew Miller.”

I walk up to the front of the room and she asks.” Are you Mathew Miller?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“How are you today Mathew?”

“I’m fine, just fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Well, Mathew Dr. Sarnow is running a bit late today so you may have a bit of a wait in the exam room. But I will start the tests before he comes in, and by the time, I’m finished he should be coming in to see you, all right?”

“Yes, that is just fine, thanks.”

__________________________________

MAMA’S BOY

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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 melody the trees made as the wind blew its way through the woods. She made a nest of leaves and sticks and spent the night there as the storm rages on.

It isn’t raining anymore. Everything looks and smells differently. Branches are strewn all over, and a few trees have fallen onto the ground. Little Mama stands up unsteadily. She peers through the tree branches in search of a fallen bird nest.

Photo-sspiche3-Pixabay

If she’s lucky, maybe she can find a baby bird or two. Late yesterday when she left the nest in search of food, she knew there was a storm brewing. But she was hungry. She needs to eat so she could nurse her babies. They were sound asleep when she left.

But that was yesterday; anything could have happened to them by now. The kittens recently opened their eyes. As she is about to give up, she spies a baby bird lying lifelessly on the ground. She smells it and determines it hasn’t been dead that long and swallows it whole.

She leaps over the branches and debris along the path and makes her way back to her nest. Frighten that one of her kits wondered off. Last winter she had lost a litter due to her near starvation. Winter is never a good time to give birth. 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 tried to climb out of the nest? Her heart sinks a little at the thought of another lost kit. Nature is cruel, and she’s learned the best way to deal with losses was with acceptance.

She’ll take care of the rest of her litter as best as she can until they’re able to 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 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 finally, they all taste the sweet, warm milk, safe and warm. Little Mama sighs and falls into a fast sleep exhausted from her stormy adventure.

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

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

Just as he’s about to give up, he sees something fluttering just above his ahead. 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 as his mother’s milk had. He decides to find a place to take a nap. He starts walking through the woods until he sees another tree. Looking for a hollow place to sleep. He finds it and crawls under the musty leaves. He feels satisfied with himself.

He wonders what he’ll do next. And with that thought, he falls into a fast asleep. He dreams of how he caught the fluttering thing in the sky. And how he swiftly captured it. He feels safe.

He wakes up to an odd sound. He senses danger and looks from right to left. Trying to find the source of the strange noise. Without any warning, there is a movement right next to his bed. He lets out a frightened meow. And that is when he hears the strange noise again.

There’s a huge creature snuffling around him. Big Red is afraid that the creature will eat him, just as he had eaten the fluttering creature in the sky. He quickly ducks his head under the leaves and tries not to move.

“Daddy look., I think I just saw a little kitten in the leaves over here.”

“I doubt that, Chrissie, what would a kitten be doing out here in the woods all by itself? Come on, let’s go; your mother will be wondering what’s happened to us.”

Chrissie leans over and pushes the leaves out of the way. She yells excitedly.” Daddy look. It’s a kitten.”

Big Red knows he needs to get out of here. Or these giant creatures will surely make breakfast out of him. With that thought, he burst out of the leaves and runs through the wet leaves, and brush. He leaps over broken branches like the devil himself is chasing him. Of course, Big Red doesn’t know about the devil, but he knows something is chasing him. Something was about to make him their breakfast.

The next thing he knows, he is on a branch at the top of the tree. He has no real memory of climbing the tree. Let alone how he will ever get down again. The ground seems very, very far away. Big Red settles on the branch and digs his nails into it. But to his surprise, it’s comfortable. Maybe this will be his new home.

Chrissie and her father look up the tree. “Daddy look. The kitten is way up at the top of the tree. How will he get down? He’ll fall on the ground. Can you help him get down?”

“Chrissie, of course, he can get down by himself. He climbed, there didn’t he? He ran up there to get away from us. When we leave, he’ll come down out of the tree. And his mother is probably nearby and will come to get him. Let’s go home now; it’s getting late.”

“Oh, Daddy, please, please, please let me keep the kitten. I promise that I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Chrissie, that’s the same thing you said about the fish, and look what happened to him. Maybe when you are older, you can get a pet. Let’s go; it’s getting late.”

As the creatures start walking away, Big Red’s heart begins to beat more slowly. Suddenly a squirrel jumps onto the branch next to him. Big Red is so startled that he runs down the tree and is on the ground in a moment. He scampers over to his hiding place in the leaves.

He’s staring out through the leaves when something runs across his front paws. He lunges at it and grabs it with his sharp little claws. He holds it down. It is a strange creature, nothing like the giants that loomed above him earlier.

This is stranger yet, it’s small, and it feels hard and has many legs protruding from under its hard shell. Big Red tries to put it in his mouth. He feels it moving, not an all-together unpleasant feeling. He bites down on it. He finds it difficult. He opens his mouth slightly to get a better grip on it. Just as he is about to bite down again, he feels a sharp pain in his tongue. He opens his mouth wider, and the hideous creature makes his escape. Big Red decides to find something to eat that doesn’t try to swallow him first.

He feels and hears a weird feeling in his stomach. He knows it is because he needs to find something to eat soon. He looks around in every direction. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for now. But he knows that when he sees it, he will know then.

As he looks out from under the leaves, he hears a weird noise like something is moving near him. He looks toward the sound, and he sees something is moving near his feet underneath the leaves.

He jumps up, and all but flies onto the moving leaves. He slams his paws with their little sharp nails into the leaves. He captures whatever was moving.

He pushes the squirming thing into his mouth and bites it. It isn’t moving anymore, He swallows it. It stops moving. Soon his stomach stops aching, and Big Red decides to look for a safe place to live.

He stealthily heads through the forest in search of a new nest and something to stem his thirst and hunger, which doesn’t seem to rest for long. He spies an enormous tree surrounded by piles of leaves that have recently fallen from above. As he makes his way closer to the tree, he hears a familiar sound. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

__________________________________

WIND CHIMES

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As Marie sits on the porch, the wind blows gently through the chimes. The sound doesn’t make Marie feel happy. Instead, there is an empty aching feeling that deepens. A tear slides down her face. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

Wind Chimes- Pixabay

The sound of the chimes brings back memories of her life with her husband, Harry. At times it feels as if he has been gone a hundred years ago. And at other times, she feels as if he might walk through the door at any moment. He would be wearing his red and white, Banlon striped shirt with a pack of Pall Malls in his pocket.

Harry Carlyle was a creative man. He had many hobbies, but by far, his favorite hobby was making wind chimes. He was a voracious reader. He read on every subject. And although Harry wasn’t a religious man. He never attended church, nor did Marie ever see him pray. He was a spiritual man. He studied all the religions of the world, including Christianity. At the end of his life, Harry seemed to believe in Buddhism and often quoted the teachings of Buddha.

Harry believed that bells and chimes attracted positive energy and repelled bad luck. He believed in living in the moment. that the past is gone, the future hasn’t happened yet. Harry began feverishly, making chimes, and they hung all over the entrances of their small home. On windy or rainy days, the chimes and bells would ring with great fervor. It set Marie’s teeth on edge. But Harry lived for these moments.

Harry and Marie were unable to have children, and Marie built her life around Harry. Content when he was home, but she felt isolated and lonely when he went out. Marie continuously checks the windows to see if Harry had come home.

Harry’s sudden and unexpected death paralyzed Marie. She feels an emptiness so deep it must travel through her body and reach the center of the earth. Marie made the decision after Harry’s funeral that she would go on as if Harry were still among the living.

The next day Marie arose at her usual time and washed her face and brushed her teeth, and made breakfast. She finished her household chores as usual. She even caught herself making comments to Harry out loud.

Months have passed since then: unfortunately, Marie has found it harder and harder to keep up the façade. One day in the middle of changing the sheets, Marie happens to find Harry’s lucky coin under the bed. It was from China, and it had a hole in the middle and some incomprehensible symbols on it.

Marie walks out to the front porch and slumps into the chair. She sits and looks out over the overgrown Rose garden. Oh, how Harry loved roses. She can barely look at them. She feels like pulling the rose bushes out by the roots. She considers her life. She doesn’t believe she has the strength to get through one more day. She feels empty and so alone.

Unexpectantly she hears a small voice call out, “Hello, hi, I just love your chimes. I walk by your house every day on my way to school. I’m in the fifth grade. This is the first time I’ve seen anyone on the porch.”

“Well, hello, I’m glad you like them. My husband, Harry, makes them. I mean used to make them.”

“Doesn’t he like to make them anymore?”

“My husband died several months ago. You know you are going to be late for school, you better go.”

“Oh, I have a few minutes. I go to the Ben Franklin School. I’m in the Special Classes.”

“What kind of Special class? What’s your name anyway?” I don’t remember seeing you in the neighborhood before?”

“My name is Lizzie. My family just moved here from Philadelphia a while back. My daddy had to change jobs.”

“What about this Special class of yours?”

“Oh, my mom told me it is because I have trouble learning. Sometimes when I try to read all the letters get mixed up. It has another name, but I can never remember it.”

“Oh, that must make it hard for you.”

“Sometimes, but there are kids in my class who have even worse problems. My Mom tells me to do my best. I better get going, or I will be late. See you later.”

“Bye Lizzie, it was nice talking to you.” Marie watches Lizzie walks and skips down the street. Marie takes a deep breath and is surprised that the heavy feeling in her chest feels lighter. She decides to work in her garden. “I have really neglected these roses, look at these aphids.”

While Marie works in the rose garden, she thinks about Harry. She knows he wouldn’t have wanted her to give up on life. She knows that she had put up a wall so she wouldn’t feel her grief.

The more she thinks about it, she realizes that she put that wall up a long time before Harry died. It began to happen when she made Harry the center of her existence. Harry had brought the world to her. Once he passed, she found herself alone inside the walls of her home and the walls she created.

For the first time since Harry died, the tears ran freely down her face. “Oh, Harry, what will I do? I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.” That night as she lay in bed, she realizes that there was still hope for Marie McFarland. And realizes she hasn’t thought of herself as Marie McFarland since she was married thirty years ago.

The next morning after she gets out of bed, she gazes at herself in the bathroom mirror and says, “Marie, you don’t look too shabby for a sixty-something lady.” And a smile spreads across her face.

After breakfast, Marie keeps glancing out the window. She doesn’t realize at first what she’s looking for. Then she thinks of Lizzie with her big blue eyes and her long braids hanging down her back. And her crooked smile. At that moment, Marie hears tapping at the storm door. She finds Lizzie standing at the door with her hand thrust forward. “Hi, this is for you. I know it isn’t as good as your husband’s, but I hope you might like it. I made it with all the broken colored glass my father gave me. He makes stained glass. It’s a wind chime.”

Marie swallows hard, because of the lump in her throat. “Lizzie, this is the nicest gift I have ever received in my life. Could you stop by for some cookies before you go to school tomorrow? What’s your favorite kind? I’ll make them for you?”

“Oatmeal raisin is my absolute favorite I love them, I could eat a million of them.”

“Oatmeal raisin it is then, I’ll see you tomorrow. You know you can call me Marie, that’s what all my friends call me.”

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

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I knew it was a mistake when the words came out of my mouth. But unbidden, they slipped out of my thoughts and into the cold light of day.

“You don’t talk to me. Not when we are in the car. Not when we go out to eat. And not even at our own dining room table.”

photo by G. Altman-Pixabay

“What are you talking about? I talk to you all the time. Why, just this morning, I asked you if there was any coffee left and if you had washed my Hawaiian shirt, the one with the dragon on it?”

Katie looks at him with her eyes wide in disbelief. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about, Ron. I mean real conversation—the kind most men have with the wives that they supposedly love—the kind where you share your thoughts, your dreams, your hopes, and desires.”

“You want to hear about my thoughts, hopes, and dreams? Since when? I’m lucky if you ask me what I would like for dinner before I leave for work in the morning.”

“Ron, believe it or not, I am not your housekeeper or the cook. My sole purpose in life is not to wait on your hand and foot. I’m a real person with needs and wants.”

“What needs and wants? I work ten hours a day and come straight home every night. I don’t stop at the bar to drink a cold one—not that I wouldn’t like to—I sure would. The first thing I ask you when I walk into the door is how is dinner coming along.”

“Yeah, Ron, it’s every woman’s dream for her loving husband to come home and ask if dinner is ready yet. Do you know what I wish? I wish that I had married someone else. Anyone else? He wouldn’t have to be rich, although I wouldn’t mind that. He would just have to be a sweet, kind man who loved me and wanted to spend time talking to me. Is that too much to ask?”

“So maybe I should quit my job and stay home to keep you company all day. Of course, I don’t know how we’ll pay our bills and take that vacation you are always talking about. And then there’s the deck you wanted me to build this summer. I won’t be able to afford to do that either.”

“Ron, I never said you should quit your job. I ask if you could spare some of your TV time and actually talk to me or even have a real conversation at dinner.”

“Ok, ok, tonight we’ll have a real conversation. Wait, we just had a real conversation. So, we don’t have to converse until tomorrow night. Meanwhile, I’ll consider what to talk about. I will go in the bathroom until dinnertime and give it some deep thought. Just give me a holler when dinner is ready. See ya later.”

At dinner, Ron eats his meatloaf and mashed potatoes in record time. “Ok, Katie, I’ll see you later. I have previous plans tonight. I think I mentioned to you that Kyle and I will meet at the Hockey Puck to watch the game tonight and toss back a few.”

” No, you didn’t, Ron, but tomorrow night, you’re all mine. No TV, no internet, no Hockey Puck.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be home late, I’ll try not to wake ya.”

Katie watches Ron run up the stairs. About two minutes later, he comes down wearing his favorite hockey team shirt. He gives her a backhanded goodbye wave and is out the door.

Katie starts clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. She lets out a heavy sigh. She bathes and then goes to bed with one of her love stories.

The next evening, Ron comes through the front door and calls out, “Hey honey, I’m home.” His impulse is to ask what’s for dinner, but he suppresses it. Instead, he walks into the kitchen and gives his wife a kiss on the cheek and a shoulder hug. “Hey, how are you? How was your day?”

Katie looked over at Ron to see if he was serious and noticed he was no longer standing there. At first, she questions her sanity. She considers the possibility that she imagined the whole thing. No, he was here, gave her a kiss and a shoulder squeeze, and asked her how her day was, and the next thing she knew, he disappeared. She looks all around the kitchen, and he is just not there. Katie shakes her head from side to side. Trying to make sense of it. She calls out, “Ron, are you there? Where are you?”

“I’m right here; I just had to make a pit stop in the head to take a leak.”

“Oh, I thought I was losing my mind for a minute there.”

“Can I do anything to help you with dinner, hon?”

Katie’s eyes open wide. She knows she’s losing her mind now. “Really, well you could set the table, dinner is almost ready.”

Ron gets the dishes and starts setting the table. “Hey, Honey, can I get you a beer or anything? I think I’ll have a cold one.”

“Really, well, I would like a glass of wine; that would be nice, Ron.”

“Sure, coming right up.” Katie can hear him singing to himself. It sounds like. Let’s Get it On. Now, it all makes sense. That’s the song Ron always hums when he wants sex. Wow, he’s just unbelievable. On the other hand, at least he wants to spend time with her. Instead of going out with the boys or falling asleep on the couch, hammered.

After dinner, he offered to clean the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Katie thought he was laying it on thick but might as well take advantage.

“Sure, that would be great. I think I’ll take a bath. I’m exhausted. I had a rough day at work. Mr. Rathgab was on my back all day, telling Katie to do this and Katie to do that. Then he had the nerve to ask me to do some personal errands. I get sick of him. He thinks I’m his work wife or something.

When I finally get caught up, he drops about twenty files on my desk and says, make sure these get taken care of before you leave. Thanks, I have to leave, but my wife and I are going out to eat tonight. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, he’s a jerk, Katie, but how about forgetting about work for now and just spending some time together tonight? You know, quiet time. After your bath, you’ll be nice and relaxed. I’ll see you in our room in about an hour.”

Katie was a little pissed off at Ron because he never wanted to listen to her talk about her problems at work, but it was all right if he whined about his boss every night at dinner and on the weekends when he stayed home. He never listened to her at all. She decides to let it go this time. Maybe they could still have a good evening.

When Ron called out from their bedroom, Katie was getting out of the tub, ” Hey, could you make it quick? I only have about twenty minutes. I’m supposed to meet the guys for a beer and shoot some pool.”

Katie thought her head would explode, and she was so mad. She decides to give Ron a little surprise of her own. She puts on her sexiest nightgown and walks slowly into their bedroom.

She stands in the doorway and says, “Well, Ron, honestly, I’m starting to get a migraine. So we’ll have to spend some quality time together when the hell freezes over.

“What are you mad about now? I set the table. We had a nice dinner together. And now you have a headache and don’t have time for me. Well, there is no pleasing you, is there? Nothing is ever enough. So, see you later, don’t wait. I guess I’ll make it a boy’s night out.

Katie comes out of the bathroom in her flannel pajamas and an old robe. She decides to spend the night reading. As she’s getting comfortable in bed, she thinks that what she really ought to be doing is planning the rest of her life. And it’s abundantly clear that Ron isn’t interested in being part of it.

So, she removes her pen and notebook and starts making a list. Starting with a list of things that make her happy. Number one, find out what will make me happy in my life. That’s all she wrote, and it seemed like a great way to begin.

TOMORROW

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When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me every day that tomorrow may never come, enjoy today. I wasn’t sure what she meant, and I was afraid to ask? Perhaps she knew something that I didn’t know. Did I have some sort of terminal illness that I didn’t know about? Can she see into the future, and knows I’m going to die in some sort of horrible accident? I was a shy and nervous child.

Little girl eating ice cream -Pixelbay by Lucas

I ‘m preoccupied with worrying about what terrible event might take place tomorrow. I’m easily startled. If someone comes up behind me and says boo, I ‘ll jump and shake and then scream at the top of my lungs. After the kids at school found out how I was easily startled, they would sneak up behind me at least once a day and yell boo. And then all of my classmates would all start laughing. After a while, I didn’t want to go to school anymore.

My mother made me go to school. She comes into my bedroom and kneels down next to my bed and whispers, “Darlene, it’s time to wake up for school. You don’t want to be late, do you? If I don’t wake up right away, she starts tapping my shoulder, “Darlene, Darlene, wake up, wake up.” You’re going to be late.” Her final attempt, she yells as loud as she can,” DARLENE, GET UP, NOW.”

I jump out of bed, and then she whispers, “Enjoy your day, Darlene, tomorrow may never come.”

I started having difficulty sleeping because I don’t want my mother to come into my room and waking me up. I’m so tired of not sleeping. I have an even more difficult time waking up. And when I do wake up, I worry about what’s going to happen to me. It’s all I can think about. Will I get hit by a car, run over by a bus, trampled by the boy’s football team if I didn’t get off the field fast enough, or choke to death on a hotdog. The possibilities are endless.

I’m failing all my classes in school. I’m so exhausted from not sleeping at night that I fall asleep at my desk. My teacher sends me to the school nurse several times a week. She’s a kind woman. She lets me lie down on the cot in her office, and says, “Darlene, can you tell me what’s going on at home? Is someone hurting you?”

“No, Mrs. Pritchett no one is hurting me. I have trouble falling asleep. Sometimes, I fall asleep but I can’t stay asleep. Sometimes, when I do fall asleep, I have terrible nightmares. I wake up crying, and then I don’t want to go to sleep because of the nightmares. “

“What does your mother say about this problem?”

“She tells me to take a hot bath before I go to sleep. She thinks that might help me relax. But sometimes I fall asleep in the tub. One time I woke up and my head was under the water. Then I was afraid that I would drown in the tub, and I told my mother, “I only want to take showers from now on.”

She said, “Oh, Darlene, that’s silly. You’re not going to drown in the tub. But if it will make you feel better you can just take a shower.”

“Darlene, did your mother take you to the doctors for a check-up?”

“Yes, she took me to Dr. Hartman. He took my temperature, and weighed me, and listen to my heart. He said, “everything seems fine. Do you have any pain anywhere?”

I said, “No, I don’t have any pain. I can’t fall asleep, that’s all.”

He gave my mother a paper that said I should start taking vitamins since I was a little underweight. And he wants me to start eating better. Then he went into the other room with my mother and talked to her alone.

When my mother and I left she said, “Darlene, why don’t we stop at Friendly’s and get some ice cream we haven’t done anything fun for a long time. Would you like that?”

“Sure Mom. But I’m not that hungry.”

“Oh, come on, Darlene live a little, you only live once. Let’s enjoy today, tomorrow may never come.”

“After she said that, I lost my appetite. I thought the doctor might have told her some bad news. Then we went to the ice cream parlor. My mother got a root beer float with vanilla ice cream and all the toppings. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but my mother insisted on me at least eating a scoop. She said,” come on live it up, Darlene, how about some chocolate too or whipped cream on top.”

“Ok, Mom.” As we sit there eating, I look at my mother. And sure, enough she’s eating like there’s no tomorrow. Really shoving it in fast. I keep staring at her. Finally, she says, “Darlene, it’s impolite to stare at someone who eating.”

“Oh, sorry mom. Can I ask you a question?”

“A question, of course, you can ask me anything.”

“Did the doctor say I was sick or if anything is wrong with me?”

“Wrong with you? No, he said physically, you are fine. He thinks you are a little high strung that’s all. And you need to eat better and get more sleep.”

“High Strung? What does that mean?”

“Oh, it just means you seem nervous, that’s all. I told him that it was ridiculous that you are a normal kid who has trouble sleeping. He seems to think that having trouble sleeping indicates that something is bothering you.”

My mother looks at me for a moment after she says, “Darlene, is something bothering you? You can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?

I don’t know if I can tell my mother why I can’t sleep or about how the kids tortured me in school. And I’m really afraid of what she might say. Am I going to die suddenly? Is something terrible going to happen today or tomorrow?”

After we left the ice cream parlor, my mother said, “how about if this Saturday, we do something fun? Is there anything that you would like to do, Darlene?”

“Fun, like what Mom?”

“What would you like to do, Darlene? We could go to the movies or the petting zoo, or we could ride bikes around the park, what do you say? Do you have anything you would like to do, Darlene, anything at all?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess it would be fun to go out to lunch and then go to the movies on Saturday afternoon. You haven’t taken me to the movies since I was a little kid. I would really love to see the Dark Knight Trilogy. I hear the kids at school talking about it all the time. It just came into the theaters about a week ago. And we could get popcorn and candy and sodas. I would really love to do that.”

“Well, Superheroes are not really my thing. But who knows, maybe I’ll enjoy it? But maybe you would rather see that with your friends?”

Darlene stares at her mother and wonders how she could be so clueless about her. “Mom, do you know any of my friends? Did anyone ever come over to play or just spend time with me? “

“Well, Darlene, I can’t say when I remember the last time you had some of your friends over. Why don’t you ask them to come over?”

Darlene looks at her mother with her mouth open, nothing comes out. She starts feeling extremely angry at her mother. She doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Her mother stands there and stares at her. Suddenly, Darlene yells out as loud as she can, “Why, why don’t I ask my friends over. Because Mother, I don’t have any friends. And I never have. Why didn’t you ever ask me before where all my friends were? The kids at school hate me. They think I’m weird. The teachers hate me too. Everyone hates me. Because I’m weird. You hardly even talk to me, and you’re my mother.”

“Of course, you have friends Darlene. Why are you always so overdramatic?”

“No, no, no. I don’t have friends, no one at school likes me.”

“Why do they think you’re weird?”

“Because I am weird. I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid I might get a horrible illness, like cancer, and die. I’m afraid of crossing the street. I could get hit by a Mack Truck. I’m afraid I will live my whole life, and nobody will love me or even like me. And you know why mother, do you know why?”

Darlene’s mother looks at her and says,” No, I don’t where do you get all these crazy ideas anyway. It’s nonsense. And Darlene, I do love you with my whole heart. I want nothing but the best for you.”

“Mom, you never tell me you love me. You never tell me how smart I am, or how pretty or how kind. The only thing you say to me every day when I get up is, enjoy your day, Darlene, tomorrow may never come.”

“Oh, Darlene, I say that because I want you to make the most of every day of your life. I never had any idea that might make you think you were going to die, or that something horrible was going to happen to you. I’m so sorry I don’t tell you I love you, or that your pretty and smart. Because I do love you with my whole heart. I want nothing but good things in life to come your way. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how sad and lonely you are. But I’m happy that you were finally able to tell me how you feel. How about we start with a little hug.” Darlene’s mother puts her arms out for Darlene.

Darlene hesitates momentarily and then steps into her mother’s arms for the first hug she has had in years. Tears start rolling down her face. And then she realizes that her mother is crying too. And they hug one another. “I love you too, Mom.”

They stay like that for a long time. And then Darlene’s mother says,” How about we start every day and end every day with a hug, Darlene?”

“Yes, Mom, I would love that. And then you can just say,” Good Morning, or Good Night.”

“Ok Mom, let’s go home now, I’m tired maybe I could take a little nap. And dream bout going to the movies tomorrow.”

“Ok, Darlene why don’t we head out. This is the best day I’ve had in a long time; I love you, Darlene, with all my heart.”

Darlene looks at her mom, and says,” I love you too mom, let’s go home now.” And the two of then set off on their walk home hand in hand.

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Writer's Blog by Susan A. Culver

Category Archives: Fiction

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THE GIFT OF TIME

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

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MAMA’S BOY

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BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

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