GOOD MORNING STUDENTS,MY NAME IS SISTER JOHN MICHAEL

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

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

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

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

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

We mumble, “Yes.”

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

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

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

“Yes, Sister.” We say as one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We all yelled out,” Yes, sister.”

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

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

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

“Yes, sister.”

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

Sister says. “No, talking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LIE IS A LIE IS A LIE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FIRST DAY OF FIRST GRADE

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

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

School Yard – Pixabay

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

“No, you shut up, I’m telling Mom.”

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

“Pick up your feet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I guess I forgot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put your beanie on Susie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me and speak up.”

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

“Alright, Miss Carberry, follow me.”

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

The Foundling

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

Philadelphia Central Library

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, what are you looking for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bells of St. Mary’- Highschool Graduation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

LITTLE MAMA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Good News After Midnight

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Gina stumbles into bed late and drunk. She knows she’ll wake up feeling rough, real rough. In the distance, the phone rings. She puts the pillow over her head. The answering machine takes the call after three rings. Five minutes later, it starts ringing again.

Gina grabs the phone. She growls, “Whoever this is, it better be good.”

“Gina, it’s me. I’ve been trying to get hold of you all night. Your mother is in the hospital. She’s really bad, you better get here right away, or you’re never going to see her alive again.”

“Yeah, so? I’ve been dead to her for years.” 

“Gina, come. You need to make this right for yourself if nothing else. There’s a ticket waiting for you at JFK. It’s leaving in two hours. I texted you the information. I’ll meet you at the other end.” The phone disconnects.

Gina is sweating now, her stomach is churning, and she reaches over to her bedside table and grabs the nearest bottle. It’s a warm bottle of Johnny Walker. She throws it back in one swallow, choking. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Mumbles, “Fuck me, fuck me.”

She rolls out of bed and makes her way to the bathroom. She turns on the light and winces, covering her eyes. They feel like hard-boiled eggs. She throws cold water on her face and relieves herself. She pictures her mother on her deathbed; it seems impossible that evil can’t die. She feels nothing for her mother. She ceased to exist for her so long ago. it almost seems like another life, someone else’s life. Gina pulls a brush through her hair. It’s a lost cause. She leaves it.

Her bedroom closet is another disaster. She pulls her suitcase out and throws it on the unmade bed. She opens it. It still has clothes in it from some long-forgotten trip. Gina dumps the clothes on the floor. They join all the clothes that met a similar fate. She kicks them out of her way.

Then Gina empties her underwear drawer into the suitcase and whatever clean clothes that remain in her closet. Throws on a pair of jeans and a somewhat clean T-shirt from a long-ago concert. She grabs her boots and plops down on the bed hard, regrets it immediately. Her head starts spinning.

She makes a run to the toilet. Johnny Walker comes rocketing out, just missing the toilet. Gina groans as her stomach lurch. She opens the cabinet for some pills of any kind. But only finds a bottle of aspirin and an old prescription of oxy. Two left. She dry swallows them both. They burn all the way down, but they stay down.

Somehow, she makes it back to her bedroom and pulls on an ancient leather jacket some one-night stand left behind years ago. She takes one look around and spots her purse on the back of the couch. She grabs it and her keys and heads out the door.  Slams the door closed. It bounces back open. She keeps walking.

Gina makes it to the airport in record time. By the time she gets to the long-term parking, her car is running on fumes. She opens the trunk and pulls her suitcase out and slams the trunk closed, and locks the door.

The painkillers are kicking in. She makes it to the check-in counter at the last possible moment and carries her luggage onto the plane. Gina pitches unsteadily down the aisle and finds her seat. She jams her suitcase under the seat.

She lands in the seat relatively unscathed and falls immediately into a drugged sleep. She floats dreamlessly through the flight and wakes up only when she feels the plane landing. There are only a few other passengers on the plane. They all look as if they had a bad day and expect only bad days to come.

Jimmy is the only occupant in the receiving area. He would be hard to miss either way. Jimmy is big, really big. His head is bald and shining. He’s in his motorcycle gear. Gina hadn’t seen him in years, but she would recognize him anywhere, anytime. He’s the only member of her family that ever gave a damn.

“Crap, please tell me that you didn’t come here on your Harley, Jimmy?”

“No, Gina, I didn’t. I borrowed my friend Skit’s beater. Let’s go. We’ll go straight to the hospital.”

As they leave the icy cold air of the airport, Gina follows Jimmy through the revolving door and immediately hits a wall of superheated air. It takes her breath away, and she feels her stomach heave. “Sweet Jesus, we have stepped into the bowels of hell. I hate this fricking place. How can you still be living in this swamp?”

“It’s home, Gina. Let’s go; the car’s in short-term parking.”

As they drive towards the hospital, the sun starts to rise. It is a surreal mixture of pinks and golds. “Gina, your mom doesn’t look too good. She’s been awake on and off for the past couple of days. She has been hanging on for you.”

“Me, why would she give a damn? I haven’t heard from her in years. So, am I supposed to be the prodigal daughter returning home and pretending to give a shit?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Gina doesn’t say anything else for the duration of the trip. She looks at the landscape in the early morning light. Row after row of strip malls and ugly scrub pines line the cracked and bumpy highway. Some things change, but some things remain the same, just like her mother, no doubt, deathbed or not.

They pull into the parking lot, and Jimmy leads the way. He speaks to a weary-looking old man at the reception desk and comes back with two visitors’ cards. Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.”

They take the elevator to intensive care. Jimmy makes a left out of the elevator. It looks as if he has taken this path many times before. As they enter the dimly lit room, Gina sees what looks like a corpse lying in the first bed. God, this could not be her tough-as-nails mother. Jimmy walks past the corpse-like woman.

He walks over to the second bed. Gina holds her breath, not knowing what to expect. She looks down at the bed, and there she is, her mother or what’s left of her. Her skin is almost translucent. Her hair thinly covers her scalp. Her eyelids flutter open. At first, she seems to stare blindly, then her eyes focus, and she whispers, “Gina?” Her voice gains strength. “Well, it’s about damn time, girl.” The fire is still in her eyes.

Gina looks straight into her eyes. “Yes, mother, it’s about damn time you ask to see me. You know it’s been over ten years. I can’t say it’s good seeing you. You look like hell.”

“Well, girl, you’re not looking too good yourself. You look like you been rode hard and put down wet.”

“Yeah, you always had a way with words, mother.”

“OK, girls, play nice. I’m going to go get a coffee. I’ll be back in a few.” He turns and walks out of the room without looking back.

Gina pulls up a chair next to her mother’s bedside. She moves from side to side in the chair and tries to find some comfortable way to sit. There isn’t any. “Fucking hospitals, I hate them.”

“Nice mouth you got on ya, Gina.”

“Yeah, who do you think I got it from? So why am I here? Why now?”

“Why now? If not now, when Gina?”

Gina stares back at her mother, still feeling a little buzz from the oxy and a little sick from the booze. She can’t imagine what she’s supposed to do or say in this situation. She decides to wait. Her mother will eventually tell her what she wants. She waits. There was always a price to pay with her mother.

“Gina, here’s the thing, the docs have told me I don’t have long. I want you to stay until I’m gone. Then I want you to take care of the funeral arrangements, the house, and all the other shit that needs to be done. I have it all written down. It’s in my bedroom closet in a shoebox marked Tony.”

“So, I haven’t heard word one from you in ten years, and you want me to hang around here and watch you die. For all you know, I was dead. Then you want me to take care of all the shit you left behind. Why didn’t you ask Jimmy to take care of it like always? Why me, Mom?”

“I knew where you were and what you been up to. How do you think Jimmy knew how to contact you? I’m asking you because you are my only daughter. And I wanted the chance to make things right between us before I died; that’s it.”

“That’s it, that’s it? What are you going to say to me that would ever make things right between us? Growing up in our house was like growing up in a war zone. You and Dad were always fighting. You were drunk half of the time, not giving a shit about me. How are you going to make that right? How?”

“Look, Gina, I know I wasn’t a great mother. I wasn’t the mother you deserved, but I was the mother you got. I did what I did. I can’t change that. But I always loved you. I want you to forgive me, for yourself, not me. I know I don’t deserve it.

Maybe then you can try not to make the same mistakes as me. Stop drinking and partying, get a regular life, find somebody who loves you, and be happy.”

“Be happy, yeah, right. I wouldn’t know happiness if it came up and bit me on the ass. I’ll stay here and take care of your business. Then I’m out of here. Thank god, here comes Jimmy.”

As Jimmy walks into the room, he walks past the living corpse. And he takes a look at Gina and his sister, Betty. He hands Gina a hot coffee. Be careful; it’s hot as hell and tastes like mud. But it’ll do the job.”

He pulls up a chair on the other side of the bed. He looks down at his sister. She is out of it. Her breath is shallow. He looks at Gina. Her mouth is pursed. She looks beat. They wait.

Three hours later, Gina wakes to an alarm and looks at her mother. Her skin is damp and gray. Her mouth is slack. People come rushing into the room. They push them out of the way and tell them to wait outside. They wait. There is nothing left to say.

The nurses and the doctor come out of the room. Jimmy and Gina look at his face. It has no expression. He walks up to them and says, “sorry, she’s gone. There was nothing we could do for her.” And he walks away on his way to deliver bad news to somebody else’s family, no doubt.” Gina, do you want to go in and say goodbye to your mother?”

“No, I said all I’m going to say to her in this life. Let’s go. I need to get some real sleep and then get a shower. I’m not staying long, and I will take care of her business, then I’m out of here.”

Jimmy drives them over to his sister’s house in silence. It’s been a long day that followed other long days. “Here we are. Here’s the key. Do you need some money? I don’t know if there is any food in the house?” He hands her some crumbled-up bills, leans past her, and opens the car door. He pops the trunk. And he says,” I’ll call you later today or tomorrow.”

Gina gets out of the car and walks to the back of the car, and pulls out her bag. Slams the trunk closed a little harder than was necessary.

She walks away and waves goodbye to him while driving out of sight. She makes her way up the sidewalk, which is strewn with yellowed newspapers and trash. The grass is overgrown and adorned with broken beer bottles and unidentifiable garbage. It’s been there so long that whatever odor it once had no longer remains. “Home sweet home.” Gina jams the key home into the lock, and it turns reluctantly.

The door swings in, and so does Gina. “God damn, it looks worse inside than out.” Gina glances around at the chaos and walks slowly up the stairway to her old bedroom. The carpet on the stairs is stained and worn through in spots. It’s the same carpet that was there throughout her childhood. Puke green looks like it hasn’t seen a vacuum since she left ten years ago. As she is walking down the hall towards her bedroom, she thinks, hell no, I don’t want to live like this, end up like her. Shit, shit, shit.

Her bedroom is covered in dust and filled with boxes of god knows what. She kicks them out the door and down the steps. Stuff falls out of the boxes and tumbles down the steps. Gina steps over to the bed and pushes off all the crap that is on it. She strips the bed and walks out to the hall closet, and finds some sheets that look like they might fit the bed. The sheet design screams the 1980s, with gaudy colors and an insane mixture of patterns. She makes up the bed and falls into it without even bothering to take off her clothes.

When she wakes up, the burning sun is streaming through the window. The mini-blinds are at half-mast on one side. The other side has long ago ceased to function. Gina is covered in sweat because she forgot to turn on the air conditioning last night. And the room is steaming and stinking.

She throws her legs over the side of the bed, and that’s when her head starts pounding, and her stomach starts roiling. She makes her way carefully to the bathroom. “Shit, what a fucking hole this place is.” She makes her way back into the hallway and, by some miracle, finds a clean towel.

Back in the bathroom, she looks in the medicine cabinet and finds an ancient bottle of aspirin and throws a handful in her mouth, and chews them. She turns on the spigot, and the water runs brown, then yellow. When it finally runs clear, she puts her mouth under the stream and gulps down enough to get the bitter taste out of her mouth.

She takes a shower in the tub after running the water for fifteen minutes to rinse out all the crap that was on the bottom. It’s still stained. Gina hopes she won’t get a  fatal disease from it. As she stands in the ice-cold stream of water, she thinks about her mother. And this house and all the memories that are attached to it. She thinks about the box and the nightmares it might release into her already fucked up life.

After getting out of the shower, Gina wipes the fog from the mirror and looks at the face reflected there. For a startling moment, she sees her mother’s worn and broken face looking back at her. She finds a comb on the top of the toilet and pulls it through her short, spiky hair.

She doesn’t know if she has the courage to get through the next few days. She tries to summon strength from the core of her being. She reminds herself that she’s gotten through worse shit, and she can handle this crap too. Hell, this is nothing compared to what she’s endured for the last ten years. Why this is just a walk in the park?

She hears the phone ringing from the kitchen. She throws on some clothes and runs down the steps. It’s Jimmy. He left a message saying he would pick her up in two hours to go to the undertaker’s office.

Gina goes into the kitchen and looks into the frig, a couple of beer bottles, a jar of mustard, and a couple of bread crusts. She’s tempted to drink the beers but doesn’t. She looks in the cabinet and finds a half-empty jar of peanut butter, the store-brand kind. She slaps some on the bread and swallows it. Her stomach protests, but she keeps it down.

Gina goes upstairs to brush her teeth and then remembers she didn’t bring her toothbrush. She finds a tube of toothpaste and cleans her teeth with her finger. Well, the good times keep coming. She let out a harsh laugh and spit.

Exactly two hours later, Jimmy pulls into the driveway. He’s dressed in a short-sleeved dress shirt and chinos. He knocks on the front door and sticks his head in the door, and calls out, “Gina, it’s me, Jimmy.”

Gina comes through the living room to the front door, “come in, Jimmy.”

“Hey, it looks different in here. What happened?”

“What happened I just spent the last two hours throwing out all the trash down here and trying to clean it up as much as possible. This house was an absolute pigsty. When was the last time my mother cleaned this place up, the millennium?”

“Your mother was never much for housework. She spent most of her time throwing back beers and playing cards with her cronies.”

“They played here. Wow, that’s hard to believe.”

“No, they played at her friend Ginny’s house every Tuesday and Friday, then they hit the bars and stayed until closing time.”

“Wow, she enjoyed her golden years, didn’t she? You know, there’s no way I’m going to end up like this. Living in your own filth in a purple haze. There has to be something better than that.”

“Gina, your life is whatever you make of it. You have to stop blaming your mother for how your life has turned out. You have been calling all the shots for the past ten years, not her. Maybe you should decide what you want out of life and then find ways to get there.”

“Well, haven’t you turned out to be quite a preacher? I think you’ve been known to keep a few bars open late yourself.”

“Gina, I’ve been clean for eight years. You can clean up your act too. You don’t have to end up like your mom.”

After meeting with the funeral director Jimmy and Gina went to Al Joe’s for lunch. A waitress who looks as if she’s working here all her life asks,” Do you need to see a menu?”

“No, I’ll have a Poor Boy with all the fixings and ginger ale.”

“Yeah, I’ll have the same, thanks. Could I have a coffee, black? ”

After eating, Jimmy says, “did your mother ask you to do anything special for her funeral?”

“She told me there was a box in her bedroom closet with instructions, but I haven’t got the nerve up to go in there yet. I’ll do it tonight; then I’ll let you know.”

“Ok, if you’re finished, I’m ready to go.”

“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s hit the road. Jimmy, I want to thank you for always being there for me when I needed somebody.”

“Hey, we may be a dysfunctional family, but we’re still family. That’s what it all comes down to, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that, Jimmy. You’re the only person that ever gave a good goddamn about me.” Jimmy hugs her as they stand up to leave. They head out the door. The heat hits them in full force as they leave the air-conditioned restaurant. “God, I just can’t believe anyone would choose to live in this little bit of hell.”

When Gina gets back to her mother’s house, she refuses to think of it as her home. She pulls whatever reserves she has left within her to go up to her mother’s bedroom.

She opens the bedroom door with some difficulty. She has to pull it with both hands on the doorknob. When the door finally opens, she holds her breath against the smell of sickness, old age, stale cigarettes, and beer. She looks at the room, and aside from ten years of accumulated grime, it’s pretty much the same as when she was a kid. Cheap furniture, an overstuffed chair with Chintz cabbage rose print and a TV with rabbit ears circa 1970 something. “God damn.”

Gina walks over to the bedroom closet and looks inside, and sees clothes from every decade hanging limply on wire hangers. The newest looks to be from the late 1990s. She grabs the footstool and steps up on it and roots around the top shelf, and finally grabs a shoebox labeled Tony from Neiman Marcus in NYC.

“Well, shit, who would have thought she ever owned anything that didn’t come off the clearance shelf of Walmart.” Gina carries the box over to the old chair and sits down. She hesitates before she opens it. Fearing at the last moment what might be in the note from her mother.

In the box, there is delicate tissue paper sprinkled with small yellow roses. Underneath the paper is a pair of white satin shoes with kitten heels, lined with pale pink silk, size six. Outlining the edge are small cutouts of hearts and ribbons. There is a pink bow on the back of the shoes. They’re the most beautiful shoes that Gina has ever seen. Gina tries to imagine her mother ever wearing anything so fine. She can’t. And she picks up the shoe and smells it. There is a faint smell of honeysuckles that still lingers.

Inside one of the shoes is a small photo. The picture is of a young girl, perhaps sixteen years old, wearing an old fashion prom dress. The dress is fitted to her small waist and flares out into a tea-length skirt. Her light brown hair is pulled up into a chignon with bangs framing her heart-shaped face. She looks so young. The smile on her face reflects the happiness she must have been feeling at the moment this photo was taken. The effect of that smile is so mesmerizing that Gina almost feels pulled into that frozen moment. She turns over the photograph, and in a delicate hand is written Elizabeth’s senior prom 1962.

“Elizabeth, who?” And then Gina realizes that this must be her mother on the night of her senior prom. Gina does not remember a smile that wide and radiant ever gracing her mother’s face in her life. She wonders what happened in the years between the time this picture was taken and the time she was born. Gina realizes she has never really thought about her mother as ever being more than just her mother. That she, too, must have been a young person with hopes and dreams of her own. That somewhere, it all went wrong for her.

Gina feels a tear roll down her cheek and lets it fall. She cries for her mother’s lost dreams and wasted life. She cries for the mother whose love always seemed so elusive. She cries for all the lost years. Hopes that her mother had more than this brief moment of happiness in her life. She is about to put the shoes back into the box when Gina glimpses a note among the tissue paper. Gina unfolds the note it reads.

 Dear Gina,

 I’m leaving these shoes for you as a reminder that life is fleeting, and you have to hold onto those happy moments. No one can give or make you happy. Only you have the power to bring happiness and love into your life. Only you can imagine your dreams and make them happen. Happiness is a gift that you give to yourself. I’m leaving you this house and my life insurance policy. These small gifts won’t make you happy, but I hope they can give you a new start. I know you don’t believe it, but I always loved you very much and wished only the best for you. Love. Mother

Gina folds the note and places it inside the box with the shoes, and puts the lid on. She thinks that this might be one of the happiest and saddest moments of her life.

A week after the funeral, Gina puts up For Sale sign outside the house and settles all the bills. Jimmy drives her to the airport and gives her a big hug as she boards the airplane. “Gina, please don’t be a stranger. Give your old uncle a call once in a while.”

“I will, Jimmy, I love you, and I’ll be in touch.”

Red, White And Blue, You Got It Made In The Shade

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I awoke that morning with a great sense of anticipation. I could hear the soft whirring of the fan that was so large it blocked the view from the one window in the bedroom. I shared the room with my three sisters. My twin sister, Karen, was still sleeping in the bed next to me, she was a sound sleeper, and it took something like a bomb going off in the room to wake her up.

Photo by Big Bear Vacations on Pexels.com

My older sisters, Eileen and Betty, were out to the world too. I could smell the bacon my mother was frying, and the coffee brewing in the kitchen. We usually only had a big breakfast on Sunday mornings, but the Fourth of July was a big deal, and a cause for celebration in my town, Maple Shade.

It was 1960; I was nine years old that past May. I had been looking forward to the Fourth of July. My parents felt I was now old enough to ride around town on my bike and see the parade, with all the other big kids.

I quickly threw on the clothes that I had carefully chosen the night before. I put on my white Keds sneakers, red top, and navy-blue shorts. I jumped down the steps two at a time, and rushed into the kitchen and sat down.

My father looked up from his morning paper and said,” what’s the rush, Susieque?”

I stared at him. He had on his usual banlon shirt, with cigarettes in his pocket. It did have red and white horizontal stripes, but there wasn’t any blue in sight.” Hi, Daddy, it’s the Fourth of July, did you forget?”

My mother, who still had her hair set in bobby pins, looked over at me and said,” hold your horses, Susie, you have plenty of time for all that. I’m making breakfast. How about some scrambled eggs and ham, and toast?”

“Of course, I want scrambled eggs and ham Mom, you know it’s my favorite and lots of butter on my toast!” I licked my lips in anticipation.

My dad laughs and says, “Wow, she must be hungry today; she usually eats like a bird.”

Just then, my twin sister, Karen, steps into the room, and quips, “yeah, a vulture!”

I pouched up my face and told Karen, “shut up.”

My mother said, “Susie, you know better than to tell your sister to shut-up. You aren’t allowed to tell anyone to shut-up.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I said. But I wasn’t sorry at all. When my mother turned her back, I stuck my tongue out at Karen.

She immediately said,” Mom, Susie stuck her tongue out at me.” I mouthed at her, ‘Tattle tail.’

“Ok, that’s enough, or neither one of you will be going to parade.” My father said gruffly.  Karen and I knew better than to argue after that when my father got that tone in his voice, we knew he meant business and to be quiet.

My father went back to the paper, and toasting the bread, which was his job whenever my mother made a big breakfast for the family. My mom walks over to the steps and yells up to my sisters, “get up, it’s time for breakfast, Eileen and Betty.”

By the time they got up out of bed and came down for breakfast, Karen and I were already finished eating, and out the side door. Karen and I were twins, but we didn’t look alike, and we had different friends.

We got on our bikes and went in a different direction, without even a wave good-bye to each other. My mother calls out the kitchen door, “be back on time for lunch.”

I rode over to my best friend, Joanie’s house. It doesn’t take that long because she only lives three houses away. I got off my bike and put down the kickstand and immediately start yelling at the top of my voice. “Joan, Joanie get up, come outside it’s the Fourth of July.” No response, so I yelled again, Joan, Joan, get up!”

That was a mistake, because that’s when her father, Mr. Gioiella, came out, and he was only wearing his boxers. He yelled at me, “For the love of god, go home. Why are you always here at the crack of dawn, waking everyone up, go home, you practically live here.”

He looks like an angry hornet. “Sorry, Mr. Gioiella, I didn’t mean to yell so loud. I’ll wait for Joanie to come out.” Joanie likes to sleep in on mornings when she doesn’t have to go to school. In fact, sometimes she even slept until lunchtime. It wasn’t unknown for her to stay in bed all day and read. I liked to read too, but I read after dinner. I wouldn’t dream of sleeping away on a Saturday or a holiday.

Joanie finally comes out about a half-hour later. She’s wearing blue shorts with a shirt that looked like it was made out of an American Flag. I gawk at her, with my mouth open,” Joan, I think its disrespectful to wear the flag.”

Joan looks at me like I came from another planet and says, “everyone does it now, Susie, you’ve got to keep up with fashion.”

Fashion, I think. What the heck is she talking about? Just about everything I wore has been worn by one of my older sisters before me, including my school uniforms. I was lucky if I got a new Easter outfit. As it was, my father would buy my sister Karen, and I, boy’s shoes, because he thinks they last longer.

He was right, no matter how I tried to destroy those ugly shoes, they wouldn’t wear out. My current shoes look like bowling shoes and are a weird olive green. I always insist that Karen is lucky because her feet grew fast. Karen got new shoes twice as often as I did. She says she doesn’t feel lucky because her feet are getting so big!

Joan carries the streamers we had bought together at Ben Franklin’s 5 &10 Store the other day when we had walked down the pike. It’s Red, White, and Blue, of course. We had been planning on how we would decorate our bikes for weeks. We were going to ride in the 4th of July parade, with just about every other kid in town.

Joan’s bike is almost new. She got it for her birthday last August. My father had bought my bike used and then spent about a month, fixing it, and painting it. I thought it was beautiful, because he painted it in my favorite color, red.

We wove the streamers in and out of the spokes of the wheels, and cut short pieces and tied them together and put them on the end of our handlebars. I had also borrowed four of my fathers’ poker playing cards, which we attached with clothespins to the spokes on the wheels. When you rode, the cards made a fantastic snapping noise.”

Let’s go, Joanie. We have to get their early so that we can get a good place in line at the parade.” I thought it’s always better to be early than late. Joan is always late.

We ride down to the end of our street Fellowship Road. We make a left turn past the Rectory, at our school, Our Lady of Perpetual Help Elementary School. We’re heading towards the police station, which is attached to the library. That’s where all the kids are meeting up.

I can see that some of the older kids are there already and lining up. I see some of my friends riding toward us from the other end of town. Joan and I jump off our bikes and started walking towards them. Several kids yell, hello. And then Robin Schultz, this boy who makes my life miserable in school saw me, and yells, “look who’s here, it’s Susan Carburetor.”

God, I despise that kid. Every day he makes fun of me, calling me Susan Cranberry or Susan Carbuncle. I’d like to accidentally ride him over with my bike. My name is Susan Carberry. Is that so hard to say, you nitwit? Of course, I don’t say this out loud. He would probably smack me upside my head. He was a bully.

Joan says to me,” ignore him, Susie, he is a creep.” I probably should take her advice, but I was pretty sure one day soon, I was going to exact my revenge. I have been planning it for a long time, and he is going to get what was coming to him very soon, even if I had to stay after school and clap erases for the rest of my life as punishment for breaking one of the ten commandments.

I don’t think even Jesus would be that forgiving, and turn the other cheek if he had to deal with Robin Schultz every day of his life. For now, I’ll bide my time, and I settle on just sticking my tongue out at him.

Joan and I ride over to the kids we know and look at how they decorated their bikes. They were pretty cool, at the same time I was thinking of some new ideas for the next Fourth of July parade. I always look for new and creative ways of doing things.

Just then, Mr. Lombardi, my next-door neighbor, who’s a Maple Shade cop, blows his whistle and tells everyone to line up. They’re going to start the parade. It seems like most of the town was there, old people, babies with their coaches decorated. Most people were waving miniature flags.  They are all yelling hurrah, hurrah.

A lot of people had lined their folding chairs up along the Main Street days ago so they would get a good view of the parade. All the firemen from several towns are there with their newly washed fire trucks, and some old guys that must have been born about the same time as the dinosaurs were there with their old cars.  Beauty queens sat perched in the back seat of these old cars. They’re stuffed in their older sisters old prom gowns or bridesmaid dresses with stiff crinolines underneath. I was glad I didn’t have to wear anything like that, and I vowed to myself that no one would ever force me to wear such a monstrosity.

Then come the high school bands, girls in short skirts with batons twirling in the air, at the end of the parade were the veterans of foreign wars, who somehow managed to squeeze into their World War II, and some even from WWI uniforms.

All the kids are in turn excited, and bored because of the long wait. We all look

out into the crowd to see if our parents were there to see us. I see my older sisters on our corner waving, so I wave back and point at my patriotic red bike.

After the parade, Joan and I go down Main Street to the vegetable store. They have a snow cone cart out front. We treat ourselves to root beer ices. I love to watch them scoop out the ice; it looks like real snow. Then they pour your choice of flavor out of a tall bottle with a metal spout, be it vanilla, root beer, chocolate, or cherry. It tastes so great. After you eat all the root beer flavored ice, you tilt the paper cone and drink the unbelievably sweet juice at the bottom.

It’s so hot and humid outside, and we were in the shade. We took our time riding home and make plans to meet up after dark to see the fireworks.

After dinner, Joanie and I meet on the sidewalk in front of her house. We’re deciding what we would do. Then we hear Mr. Softee truck playing its familiar tune from the end of Fellowship Road.

We have each squirreled away some money in anticipation of its arrival, which signals the real beginning of summer for us. We decide to ride our bikes to the corner on Popular Avenue. There are ten kids standing in line ahead of us. As we wait, we decide what we were going to buy.

In my house, ice cream is a treat we only got on special occasions. I decided on a sugar cone with vanilla custard and dipped in chocolate. I loved the first bite into the hardened chocolate and the sweet first taste of vanilla custard.

Joan says, “are you crazy, sprinkles are the best.”

Everyone is excited, and there’s the buzz of their talking, and the longer we wait, we notice the buzz of hungry mosquitoes. For some reason, mosquitoes just loved me. And they’re landing a mass attack on my bare arms and legs, and even managed to bite my face a couple of times. Joan shares her mosquito wisdom with me, “ whatever you do, don’t scratch the bites, it just makes it worse.” I knew this, but could never stop myself from scratching myself raw.

“I hear putting peanut butter on the bites, makes it stop itching, Susie “

“Peanut butter, why would that work?

“I don’t know, but it does!”

At this point, I’d covered myself in peanut butter from head to toe if it kept the little bloodsuckers off of me.

Just then Mr. Softee pulls up, and I can almost taste the ice cream in my mouth, I keep thinking, I can’t wait, I can’t wait! After we got our ice cream cones, we see the mosquito truck coming towards us.

So, Joan and I decide to follow it around town, while we eat our cones, some of the other kids came along too. This is as much of a summer tradition for us as catching fireflies in mayonnaise jars. We ride our bikes behind the trucks as it sprayed a mist of bug spray. All the kids in Maple Shade did it. We thought it was great fun.

When we got back to Joan’s house, Joanie tells me she had a surprise for me. She runs in her house, and when she comes out, I see she has a box of sparklers in her hand. She had a box of matches in her hand. She lit the first one; just then, her older sister, Elaine, comes out.

” Oh boy, are you two going to get it when Daddy finds out you are using matches, I am going to tell.”

Elaine is a tattletale, every time Joan and I are having fun, she tells on us, and gets us into trouble. She’s a jerk, and bossy, just because she thinks we’re babies, she was two years older than Joan and in the seventh grade.

Just then, we start to hear the fireworks. We can see them high in the sky above Maple Shade. All the kids that live on the block are outside, and some of the adults. They’re oohing and ahhing every time the lights hit the sky.

“Wow, Joan, this has been the greatest day ever. I can tell we are going to have a great summer. How about going to Strawbridge Lake tomorrow, and having a picnic?” Just then, I hear my mother calling,” Susie, it’s time to come in now.” I yell back,” in a minute, Mom, see you tomorrow, Joan,” ride down the street to my house.

Beddy-Bye

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At four-thirty sharp every morning, my eyes fly open, I‘m wide awake. This morning I look over at the digital clock that is large and glowing, and it is blinking 12:00. Oh, oh, it seems as if the power went out again. We must have had another electrical thunderstorm. Wonder, what time it is? I make a bet with myself that it is four-thirty in the morning.

I blindly make my way over to the bathroom and flip the light quickly on and off, long enough to see the alarm clock. It has a backup battery. I win or lose, depending on whether I’m feeling optimistic or pessimistic at any given moment. It is indeed 4:30 am. My inner clock has wakened me up at 4:30 am.

This had happened to me every night since August 23, 1986, when my mother passed away from a complete coronary and respiratory arrest. On that particular night, I had wakened up from a sound sleep at 4:30 am and knew my mother passed.

At five am the aide, Doris, who was staying with my mother during the week, called to let me know that my mother had died. The ambulance arrived at the house to take her to the hospital, but of course, I was too late.

Doris, the aide, thought my mother’s refusal to have the air conditioner on or any of the windows open had precipitated her death. It was the hottest August 23rd in the recorded weather history of NJ up to this time. I had a new air conditioner put in my mother’s room, early in the spring. She had mid-stage dementia. And she was sometimes argumentative and combative.

Her disease had caused a radical change in her personality. Formerly a shy and quiet woman that spent her time saying the rosary, reading from her prayer book, and for excitement, she read the Reader’s Digest.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention she was completely blind for the past ten years from glaucoma. She became a paranoid and terrified woman who called me ten times a day to tell me someone was breaking into the house to steal her money, or that someone was hiding behind the living room chair, and smoking pot.

Before I realized what was going on with her, I used to sneak over to her house and peak in the living window to see if someone was hiding behind the rocking chair in the living room. Of course, there never was. Sometimes she called the police. And then they would call me. And I would assure them that she was somewhat senile, and I would be over shortly to check on her. 

My mother suffered these delusions for three years before I was able to get her to agree to go to a psychiatrist who specialized in sedating senile patients into submission, or as in her case, sleeping away the rest of her life. Subdued.

But that day, she had refused to take the sedative and was acting delusional and stubborn. There wasn’t much left of her. But what was there was stubborn when she wanted to be.

I waited until seven in the morning to call the rest of my family, and they were all upset that I hadn’t called them earlier, as if it would have made any difference. She was buried four days later at Calvary Cemetery, next to my dad, who had passed away from lung cancer eight months earlier, after a short battle of eight months, the longest months of my life.

The day is quite long when you wake up at 4:30 every morning.  Sometimes the days seem to run one into the other. This day would be no different. I was exhausted when I fell into bed, into a deep sleep, at ten pm. A little tomato juice and Temazepam paved the way for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

It was Sunday night, I had a full week ahead of me, but thanks to Mama’s little helper, I fell asleep ten minutes after my head hit the pillow, and didn’t wake up until eight-thirty the following morning. I woke up slowly. The room seemed different somehow, oh I realized it was daylight and not the usual pitch dark I wake up to. I had slept the entire night. I thought this is going to be a good week.

Endgame

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He unfolds himself from the driver’s seat of his ancient Peugeot. It used to be Cherry Red but little remains of the original paint. As he stands up, he rubs the small of his back and slams the door closed. It hasn’t shut properly since he was side-swiped in a motel parking lot last month.  

The sign, Rooms for Rent, by the day or the week in the front of the hotel blinks over and over again. “Just another day in paradise.” He mumbles to himself. As he walks through the hotel door, the bell jingles once and then falls to the dirty cement.

Jorge yanks out his wallet and looks for his credit card. He glances at the worn photo of his former wife and dated pictures of his children, Mike and Flossie. He wonders if he‘ll ever see them again. And then he slaps his credit card down on the chipped and faded counter and says, “A single for the night in the back.”

The hotel clerk takes the credit card without looking up and runs it through the credit card machine. “Sorry buddy but this card has been declined. Do you have another one?”

Jorge rubs his hand across his unshaven face and sighs deeply. He rummages through his wallet and finds his backup credit card. The one he only used for emergencies like this. When he hadn’t made a payment on his credit card recently. He sighs and shoves the card in the desk clerk’s general direction.

“Room 33 just make a left out of the door and around the back. Checkout is at eleven AM. There are towels in the room. If you need anything else just let me know. Then he dismisses Jorge by blinking his eyes slowly and goes back to reading a cheap paperback novel called Endgame.

Jorge yanks open his car door and gets in and moans. “Shit, shit, shit. my back is killing me. He pictures himself lying in a deep and luxurious tub with hot water jets spraying him in every direction. As he parks in front of the room, he notices that the number on his room is askew. Not a good sign. He painfully extracts himself from the car and goes to the trunk and heaves out his suitcase. Which is held closed by an old belt. He walks up to the door and slides the key card into the slot. It doesn’t work the first time or the second. But the third time is the charm.

As Jorge enters the room, he realizes any fantasy he has about soaking in a luxurious tub is just not going to pan out. He plops his suitcase down on the bed and walks toward the bathroom. He stands in the doorway. He feels his last hope disappear and depression sets in.

Instead of a tub, he stands before what looks like a coffin standing on end. The plastic shower curtain doesn’t quite reach across the width of the shower coffin. The tile floor is cracked and stained. The showerhead is minuscule. There are two towels. He puts one on the floor outside the shower. The other one has a large yellow stain in the middle. He tosses it across the closed toilet.

Jorge yanks off his clothes and shakes them out. He hangs them on a metal rod that’s sticking out of the wall across from the bathroom. He paces his shoes under what he guesses is the table. A rough piece of lumber nailed to the wall. He has been in quite a few shitholes recently but this one is going to set the standard to a new low.

As he steps into the shower and turns on the water, it trickles out slowly and wheezes, and then spits out a reddish-brown residue that smells like sulfur. Jorge opens the hot water spigot all the way up. Then the water comes out in spurts and finally lukewarm and less acrid smelling. And that’s where it remains. Jorge often uses his time bathing to consider how his life is going. And if he should consider going on at all.

Today is one of those days when he doesn’t know if it’s worth going on any longer. He can’t remember the last time anything went his way. He’s afraid he’s will be unemployed in the very near future. He hasn’t made any sales in over a month. He sells large construction and landscaping equipment. Mostly, he has been selling used lawn equipment.

The main problem was Jorge just didn’t give a good god damn about lawn equipment or construction equipment for that matter. He can’t fake it anymore. He really needs to find a new line of work. But he didn’t even have the energy to consider what in the hell he could do.  He just doesn’t have the where with all to do much of anything. Jorge is winding down like an old watch. In fact, Jorge is running out of time.

He realizes that the water is running cold, and he turns the spigot, and it falls off. Surely, this is another bad sign. He steps out of the shower and grabs the stained towel and attempts to dry off with what amounts to a dirty paper towel.

Jorge is so exhausted that he just yanks on his underwear and throws himself across the bed. And falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

There is a blinding light, someone is parking in front of his room. He quickly jumps off the bed to double-step it to the window to close the curtains. He attempts to pull them shut. He tugs them so hard that one of the curtains comes off in his hand.

He is immobilized for a few moments trying to decide what he should do next. The answer comes when he hears his stomach growling angrily. Time for lunch. He heads to the bathroom and throws his somewhat wrinkled and slightly dirty clothes back on.

He gets back into his car and decides to stop at the first restaurant he sees. He is beginning to give up hope when he sees a sign which says in big letters, EATS, GOOD EATS.

“Well, that’s good enough for me.” He parks in front of the entrance. He looks in the picture window. There’s quite a crowd. He steps out of the car and slams the door shut.  Then he pushes open the restaurant door, it bangs closed behind him. He can hear Elvis singing Jailhouse Rock. He likes this place already. One of the waitresses yells out shrilly, “If you can find a seat, take it.”

Jorge scans the room from one section of the restaurant to the other. He notices a small, unoccupied table. He double-times it over there and plops down. He immediately regrets it because it sends a searing pain up his spine. A waitress with a beehive hairstyle and deep red lipstick stops at his table and flings a menu onto it. “Be back in five. Take a gander.”

Five minutes later, she’s back at his table. “Yeah, so what can I do you for?”

“I’ll take a hamburger, rare with all the works. And some spicy fries, no veggies, and a cup of coffee, hot. Thanks.” As he waits, he looks around at the locals. Usually, these kinds of places are filled with truck drivers, but not this one. It looks like dinnertime at the old people’s home. He can’t see a single customer here who is under sixty-five. It’s weird. For the first time in years, he feels young. A smile creeps across his face. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. It makes his cheeks hurt a little. But it’s a good hurt. Maybe he is in the Twilight Zone or something.

The waitress brings his dinner and a large carafe of coffee. “Enjoy.” She turns to go, and he says, “Hey, wait a minute, are you having some kind of meeting for old people? I mean seniors or something?”

“What, no? What are you talking about? Just give me a yell if you need something else?” Jorge shakes his head. Just as he’s about to take his first bite of the huge and greasy hamburger, he hears someone pulling out the chair across from him. He looks up and sees a young woman sitting across from him. Now he knows he’s in the Twilight Zone.

“Hello, I hope you don’t mind, but this is the only empty seat in the restaurant and I’m starved.”

“Mind, no. No, I don’t mind at all. Glad for the company.” He gapes across the table at her. She has purple hair. One side hangs down to her shoulders. The other side is shaved and has a Celtic knot tattooed on it. She has piercings through her nose, lip, and eyebrow. Her right ear has a large safety pin in it with a silver eye with a sapphire dangling from it. There’s a tattoo on her bare shoulder. It’s a dragon, and it continues down her arm. It’s purple and yellow. There are three tattooed stars down the middle of her chin. Jorge can’t stop staring.

“Well, this is the first restaurant I found in the last twenty miles. Hey, what’s with all the geezers?”

“Well, I think I’m going to get a chili cheese dog with French fries.”

Jorge gulps and thinks, this is the woman I’m going to marry.

“My name is Jorge, and you are?”

“My name? Oh yeah, sure, well, my friends all call me Lenny, but my real name is Lenore. I have a thing for Lenny Kravitz. Do you know who he is?

“Lenny Kravitz, hell yeah. But that goes back about twenty years. You must have been a kid then.”

“Yeah, I was a kid, but my big brothers listened to him. My favorite cut is. Fly Away. Do you know that one?”

“You’re damn right I do. I want to get away. I want to fly away. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. My favorite is Let’s go and see the stars, the Milky Way, or even Mars, where it could just be ours.”

The waitress comes over to their table and says,” Sorry for taking so long, but we are really getting slammed today. Although it’s always busy here. We’re the only restaurant for about twenty miles.  What can I get for you?”

“Could I get a large order of spicy fries and a chili dog? And a coke, thanks.”

“Coming right up.”

“So, how did you end up here in Podunk? Did your car break down or what?”

“No, Lenny believe it or not, I’m a traveling salesman. I sell commercial lawnmowers and construction equipment. But I’m thinking about changing my jobs. I kind of burned out on lawnmowers and traveling. If you know what I mean. How about you? What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Traveling Salesman, wow, like Death of A Salesman with Dustin Hoffman?”

Jorge looks over at Lenny and stares momentarily. And shakes his head. He thinks she really has me pegged. His stomach clenches up. “What, I don’t think I ever heard of that before. Sorry.”

“Oh excellent, here comes my food. I haven’t eaten since yesterday at lunch.”

“Here you go, honey, enjoy.”

Lenny doesn’t say another word until she is finished eating. She has all but inhaled the food. And then she sucks down the coke. Jorge doesn’t know if he should be disgusted or impressed. He’s never seen a woman eat that much or that fast before. He decides to be impressed.

“How did you end up here, Lenny?

“Well, like I said, I was looking for a restaurant.”

“Do you have a destination, or are you just on a road trip?”

“Well, Jorge, I guess you could say that it is an unplanned road trip. My old man got up on the wrong side of the bed one night and decided to rearrange some of our furniture. And then he got that look in his eyes like my face was the next thing on his list that he wanted to rearrange. He’s done it before. And I just decided I had enough of his crap and grabbed some of my stuff, and took off. I hitched my way here.”

“So, where are you headed?”

“No idea, just as far away as possible from the shithole I just left.”

“Hey, how about a dessert, my treat.”

Jorge motions to the waitress to come over. “Yes, we would like to get a couple of desserts. What do you have?”

“Well, let’s see, we have apple pie, or we have apple pie. What would you like? Jorge looks at Lennie and winks. “Let me think. I believe we will each have a large slice of that apple pie you mentioned.”

As the waitress walks across the room, Lennie says, “quite the charmer, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she really has that Southern charm down.”

“I really enjoyed having your company at dinner. I usually eat alone when I’m traveling for my job. It gets kind of lonely.”

“Thanks, Jorge. It was nice meeting you. Maybe we’ll meet again someday. Take care.”

They parted ways outside the restaurant door. Jorge climbs into his car and looks in the direction Lennie walked toward. “Shit, my first opportunity, and I blow it.” Jorge turns the key in his ignition and revs up the engine, and flies down the street. He almost misses Lenny standing on the corner with her thumb out.

Jorge pulls over to the curb and says, “How about a ride? You mentioned that you didn’t have any destination in mind?”

Lennie stares at him and looks up and down the street. There are no other cars on the road. “Sure, why the hell not? Where are you headed anyway?”

“My first stop is Raleigh, NC. It’s a little over four hours from here, give or take. I have an appointment to talk to a dealer who’s considering buying some of my company’s used mowers. Hopefully, this will be a big sale because I only get a small draw. I live on my commissions.”

“Gotcha. I think I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get there.”

The drive from Charleston, SC, to Raleigh, NC, was a quiet one. Jorge’s imagination, however, is in overdrive. He keeps glancing over at the sleeping Lenny. She’s snoring loudly. Her mouth is wide open. Spittle is dripping down the side of her face. Still, Jorge finds her irresistible. He can’t put his finger on just what attracts him. Nevertheless, he feels that pull. He knows from his past experience that every time he feels this way towards a woman, disaster is on its way. It never failed. Most likely, she would turn out to be a pill-popping maniac or a female serial killer. He has no doubt. He’s attracted to sociopaths.

As Jorge pulls off the highway I 85 onto Discovery Drive. He sees a sign for J.P. Palm Inc. Large Equipment Sales and Rental.  He pulls in. He looks over at Lenny, and she’s still sound asleep. He doesn’t want her to wake up and not know where he went. “Lenny, wake up. We’re here, and I have to go in and talk to the sales manager. Lenny, wake up.” Nothing. He gives her shoulder a little shove and then a slightly harder one. He calls out loudly, “Lenny, wake up.” Nothing. He decides to write a note and tell her he’ll be right back. He puts the note under the passenger side sun visor.

Jorge yanks the door open and walks over to the counter, and hands him his business card. “Hello, my name is Jorge Keppel. I have an appointment with the purchasing manager. Is he available?

“Yeah, sure, hold on, I’ll buzz you in.”

Jorge walks through the door and sees a long hallway with five identical doors. He walks down the hall until he finds one that is labeled Harry Enright, purchasing manager. Jorge knocks and is greeted by a gruff, “come in already.”

“Hello, I’m Jorge Keppel. I represent Snyder and Sons Equipment out of Charlotte.”

“Yeah, I remember. What can I do for you?”

“Yes, we spoke on the phone, and you said you might be interested in some of our products. I emailed you with the specs of some of our equipment.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, sorry, it’s been one of those days. I meant to contact you before you came all the way out here. But my boss just informed me yesterday that he purchased the equipment at a reduced price. While he was at a meeting with another company. And we won’t be buying any further equipment until after the fiscal new year. Sorry for the trouble. I got busy and didn’t get around to calling you.”

Jorge stares at him momentarily and has to swallow his anger. “Oh, well, that is unfortunate. I hope you will keep my company in mind. Please contact me if I can assist you in any way. Jorge turns and opens the door. He feels like his head is going to explode. As he walks back down the hall, it seems a mile long. He thinks he’ll never get to the end. He keeps mumbling, shit, shit, shit.”  He walks out past the counter and out the door, never to return.

When Jorge looks into his car’s front seat. He doesn’t see Lenny sleeping or awake. He looks in the back seat. Nada. “Crap, crap, crap, I give up. Just when you think it can’t get any worse than this, it does. Dammit.” Jorge looks up and down the street and doesn’t see a living soul. Across the street, he sees a bar that has seen better days. “Well, it can’t hurt to go and have a look in there.”

He walks across the street and into the bar. It’s empty save for a lone customer who is passed out and has his head on the bar. And the bartender doesn’t look that sober, either. “Hey, did a young woman with tattoos come in here in the past twenty minutes or so?”

“Nope, I would have remembered her. Just Old Charlie here. He’s my best customer this time of day, sorry.”

As Jorge steps outside, he sees Lenny getting into a car that must have just pulled over while he was in the bar looking for her. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He considers yelling out to her, but what’s the point, he thinks? The car pulls out so quickly that the tires spin in the loose gravel. And just like that, Lenny leaves his life just as unexpectedly as she arrived. If he weren’t so accustomed to disappointment, he would get depressed. As it was, he was already there, so he just sighed and put the car into drive, and headed toward his next destination Fayetteville. It would be a lonely two-and-a-half-hour trip.

Jorge was accustomed to being lonely. It’s his normal state of mind. About halfway to Fayetteville, he decides to stop at the next gas station and fill up. As he pulls off the main road from the ramp, he notices a car parked on the emergency shoulder. The only reason it gets his attention is that he sees a lot of frantic movement in the back seat. And then the back door flies open, and a young woman shoots out and takes off on foot.

He watches the woman, and then he realizes that the woman is none other than his Lenny. Jorge sees a somewhat rotund man attempting to catch her on foot. But with little success since he didn’t seem to be in any sort of physical shape to run anywhere. Jorge charges at him with his car and no doubt put the fear of god into him. As the fat man jumps back onto the shoulder of the road, he rolls and struggles onto his feet again and into his vehicle.

Jorge continues down the road toward Lenny. He begins beeping his car horn. Lenny turns her head momentarily in his direction. And apparently assumes he is a fat boy. Jorge sticks his head out the driver’s side window and starts shouting,” Lenny, Lenny, Lenny, it’s me, Jorge, stop. Stop, Lenny, it’s me.”

At this point, Lenny realizes it’s him, and so Jorge slows up and pulls onto the shoulder in front of her. He opens the passenger’s side door, and she all but falls onto the back seat. “Christ, it’s about time you showed up. What took you so long? I almost got raped. Holy shit.”

“It’s about time I showed up. What is that supposed to mean? Why did you get into a car with a stranger? Why didn’t you wait for me? I wasn’t even gone that long? You are lucky I was headed in this direction, or I wouldn’t even be here now to save your ass.”

“A stranger? You are just as much a stranger as that guy. I don’t really know you either. And I didn’t know how long you had been gone. I was asleep.”

“Well, I, for one, I didn’t try to rape you, did I? You’re little nuts. Do you know that? Do you want to come with me or not? I can find a bus stop somewhere around here, or you can go hitch. Which, by the way, is getting into cars with strangers? And you told me you do that all the time.”

“I’m on my way to Fayetteville, and since you’re in my car, you are too. Unless you want to get out along the way somewhere, just let me know.”

“Yeah, I will, don’t worry. I think I’m going to take a nap now. Don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Yeah, right, thanks for the vote of confidence. We’ll be there in less than three hours. I’ll wake you when we get to our destination. I don’t want a repeat of your last performance. I’ll be in and out in a half-hour. Then we can get something to eat. Is that all right with your highness?”

Lenny was already asleep when he asked her the last question. But what the hell? He had the satisfaction of saying it anyway. Jorge turns on some tunes to keep him company on the drive. Lenny is already snoring and drooling. She sure wasn’t any sleeping beauty. But he still had to admire her spirit.

Jorge is making a great time, and he will be at the exit for Route 87 in about fifteen minutes. And Manito Construction Company was only about ten minutes from there. He wishes himself luck and mentally crosses his fingers and his toes. He needs a win badly. Otherwise, he will definitely be looking for employment when he gets back home. He glances over at Lennie, and he can see she’s still breathing but other than that no signs of life. She isn’t proving to be much company on the road. Since it seems being in a car puts her to sleep like a newborn baby.

As he pulls into the parking lot of Manito Construction, he considers his tactic for selling some top-of-the-line equipment to James Rathgeb, the Parts and Equipment guy at this division office. Jorge decides it’s time to wake up Lenny to prevent another unpleasant outcome. “Hey Lenny, wake up. We’re here. No response. “Hey, Lenny, wake the hell up. We’re here.”

“Here, where’s here?”

“We are at my next stop. Wake up. Stay in the car if you want to keep riding with me. I don’t want a repeat of the last experience anytime soon. I won’t be that long. Then we can get some food. Do you understand? Stay in the car? I’ll be back in a few.”

Lenny watches as he walks through the front door and talks to the guy at the counter, and then disappears through what she supposes must be a door.

Jorge walks through and looks for the parts and Equipment department. He sees it on the left and briefly knocks and walks in after hearing someone with a gravelly voice say, “Yeah, what?”

“Hello, I’m Jorge Gutierrez. I called earlier about talking to you about some used equipment my company has for sale. Jorge hands him his business card. I was told that you were having difficulty finding equipment at your local dealer. As it turns out, we have two 2016 CATERPILLAR 289D available with the front-loading tree grinding head if you need it. Here’s the information and the price. We can get to you by end of the week if need be.”

The manager looks at the schematic and the price and stands up and says,” Ok, if you can give me a discount for buying both, we have a deal.”

Jorge is so happy he feels like doing a jig. But controls himself and just nods,” yeah, I think we can do that.  I’ll fax you a copy of the details and give you a delivery date when I get back to my office tomorrow. If I can help you in the future, just give me a buzz on my cell.”

Jorge shakes his hand and walks out of the office into the vestibule and out the door. He is smiling from ear to ear. Finally, the worm has turned. It’s the first good luck he has had in six months. Calls for a celebration.

Jorge looks in the car window, and Lenny is asleep in the back seat. He pulls the door open and sits in the driver’s seat. He checks his cell to see what time it is. His stomach tells him it’s dinner time. “Hey, Lenny, wake up. It’s time to go. Jorge leans over and yells, “Get up. It’s time to get up. It’s time to go.”

Nothing, she’s still sound asleep. Jorge gets out of the car and goes around to the back door, and opens it. He leans in and gives her a shake. Nothing. He shakes her again. One eye opens, then the other. She moans, and her eyes roll back in her head. “Lenny, please wake up. Are you all right?

Lenny opens her eyes and asks, “What the hell is going on? I told you no funny stuff.”

“Funny stuff, I thought you were dead or overdosed or something.”

“Oh, well, I haven’t slept in a couple of days, what with my old man and all. And then I was hitchhiking. I’m just tired, is all. Calm down. Caffeine, that’s all I need, caffeine.”

“Look, Lenny, I’m finished with my business here. I’m going to check into a hotel for the night, get a shower and go out to dinner. As he was about to start the car, Jorge’s cell started ringing. He looks at the number, and he could have sworn that it was his old phone number. From when he was still married.

“Hello, Jorge Gutierrez here. Can I help you?”

“Jorge, this is Malory. I need you to come home to see your children. They haven’t seen you or gotten more than a Christmas or birthday card from you in almost two years. Mikey’s been getting into some trouble in school. And Flossie has been skipping school. They need a father in their life, Jorge. And that’s you whether you like it or not. When can you come here?”

Jorge doesn’t answer right away. It never occurred to him that his kids missed him or needed him. He hadn’t been much of a dad to them. He was always on the road and didn’t see them that often. And when he was home, he slept most of the time or watched sports. And then he pictures his kids the last time he saw them. They were standing in the driveway, crying. His wife told him,” if you feel that way, then just leave. We don’t need you.” The kids were calling out, “Daddy, daddy, don’t go. We’ll be good.”

“Put them on the phone, Malory, please.”

“Dad, is it really you? Are you coming home? Me and Mikey really miss you. Please come home.”

“Hi Mikey, I miss you too. I thought you and Flossie would be better off without me. I guess I was wrong. I’ll come home this weekend to see you guys. I really missed you too. Put your mom back on, please.”

“Malory, I’ll be there this weekend, late Saturday afternoon. Is that alright?”

“Yes, we will be looking forward to seeing you. We missed you, Jorge. We all do.”

“I’ll see you then, Malory. I’ll give you a call when I am about a half-hour away. See you Saturday, bye.”

Jorge looks in the back seat. He has completely forgotten that Lenny was back there. As he looks at her, he realizes that he really didn’t have anything in common with her. And really, she’s a stranger. He had just been getting desperate. “Lenny, that was my wife, I mean my former wife. I have to go home. My kids need me. So, let’s go get that meal, and then I will have to be on my way. If you still want a lift, I can take you anywhere you want to go along the way.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. It makes no diff to me. Wake me when we get to the restaurant.”

Jorge starts the car and puts it into gear. It occurs to him that today was the first day of the rest of his life. And a smile appears on his face, and it stays there.

 

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