A Voice From An Inner World
A Collection of Short Stories
By Montrée Whiles
A VOICE FROM AN INNER WORLD
Published by Arachne Enterprises at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Montrée Whiles
EPub ISBN: 978-1-4524-8330-6
Smashwords Edition, License Statement
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedicated to my parents and sister.
~~~
Thanks to my friends Armida, Linda, Melinda, and Sam
for their encouragement.
~~~
I'm ever indebted to the writers' group for their insights
and shared experiences.
PREFACE
In this collection of short stories you’ll find introductions to characters who will appear again in their own full-length stories, a bit of whimsy here and there, and even a chuckle or two.
1. Fireworks ~ Moms who have tried to answer the complex questions of very young children will be able to relate to this.
2. Footprints In The Sand ~ A bitter-sweet recount of “Daddy’s Little Girl” and her struggle to let him go.
3. I Am Mudd ~ Get the low down on what it means to be a Mudder.
4. Home: You Can Never Go Back ~ Even in the most dysfunctional of upbringings its possible to become a well-adjusted adult.
5. And Then The Rainbow ~ When a person helps a chrysalis emerge from its cocoon the kind intent only serves to weaken and cripple the resulting butterfly.
6. Road Rage ~ Ever have your routine changed unexpectedly then regret it?
7. Lives: Nine Of ‘Em ~ A cat who has done it all talks about life number nine.
8. The Coup’s Been Counted ~ The bonds between soldiers who have seen action go deeper and are forged stronger than those of mother and child, seemingly.
9. Dreams ~ A little prosaic thinking on dreams.
“Mom?”
“Yes dear?
“How much does Fire make an hour?”
“What do you mean sweetie?”
“I mean,” Kim paused to think for a minute. “Daddy works, and they pay him.”
Marge chuckled as she turned the chicken frying in the pan to brown on the other side. Kim perched on the stool seemingly oblivious to her mother’s efforts over the stove. A cock crowed outside.
“Oh, Kimmie. Works means something else here. It means the parts of something that make it work. Fireworks kinda means the parts that make fire.”
“But Mommie. I thought it was colored lights. You said fireworks were colored lights in the sky.”
“Yes, dear, I did. And, it’s true, it’s colored lights in the sky, but it’s made from something that makes fire.”
A loud wail was heard from another room. Turning off the stove, Marge placed the pieces of chicken in a baking dish, put the lid on it and stuck it in the oven to cook some more.
“Quick Kimmie, go say good morning to your brother. Tell him Mommie’s coming.”
Kim climbed off the stool she was sitting on and ran out of the room. After pulling a bowl out of the fridge and setting it on the counter, Marge dashed out of the room also.
“Hear Bubba? Mommie’s coming. She’s cooking for the picnic today. Then we’re going to watch Fire work. His job is to make colored lights in the sky.”
Marge smiled to herself as she entered the room.
“Now what’s your fuss there Bubbs? Whew-ee! I can smell that diaper all the way over here. Bet you’re hungry too.” She leaned over the crib and made clucking sounds at Bubba. “Kim, give me the diaper pad and a diaper hon.”
About 45 minutes later found them all back in the kitchen now with a brown curly-haired toddler in a high chair. Kimmie was feeding him cereal from the box and he was alternately putting the little round bits of cereal in his mouth and throwing others on the floor.
“But Mommie. Fire is always orange and yellow. How does fireworks have other colors? You said the colors like blue, and red, and pink, and purple, and other pretty colors.”
“Well, they mix stuff with the gun powder.”
“Gun powder? Guns use powder? Like the powder you put all over me after a bath? What does it smell like, bubble gum like my powder?”
“No honey. Really, it’s a mixture of charcoal, sulphur and saltpeter. You know what charcoal is. It’s the same as the black rocks we put in the barbeque outside. But it’s all ground up. Sulphur is what we make matches from. You know when Uncle Paul smokes his pipe? He lights it with a match. Do you remember that?” Marge was busily stirring potatoes and other things together for potato salad. She reached over and turned the oven off.
“Yes. I think so. It smells funny when he scratches it on the box, Mommie, right? Did I ever see Fire do work?” She was unsuccessfully trying to keep her brother from throwing cereal on the floor.
“No. Hon. I don’t think you did. Dad says you fell asleep last year when he took you to the family picnic. He said you played all day and almost wouldn’t eat. You and your cousins ran and teased the dogs and played in the water and when he brought you home you were still asleep.”
“Why come you didn’t go?”
“I was sick and Bubba was sick too.” Marge left the kitchen for a few minutes, clicking her tongue as she passed Bubba’s high chair.
“Mommie?” Kim said as Marge walked back into the kitchen and set a big basket on the bar.
“Yes, Dear?”
“What kind of salt does Peter use? You said the Fire works with barbeque rocks and matches and Peter’s salt.”
“You silly! I said saltpeter, Dear. Saltpeter is something called potassium nitrate. Grandma uses it for making pickles. It also helps us make some kinds of fertilizer for plants and gardens.” Carefully Marge began packing the basket with picnic goods.
“Where does it come from Mommie? I mean the work Fire has to do?”
“Well, Dear, it’s fireworks. Long time ago a Chinese cook accidentally made it when he was cooking outdoors. Kinda like barbequing but that’s the way they cooked long time ago.” She left the kitchen again for a few minutes and came back carrying a red, white, and blue checkered table cloth. Which she packed on top. “Now sweetie, run across the street and get Carla. She’s coming with us to the picnic and your daddy will be back in a half hour.”
“Okay Mommie.” She skipped out of the kitchen and let the screen door slam on the way out.
“Okay Bubbs. Let’s get you ready to go. My, you do love your cereal, don’t you?”
Marge came back into the kitchen just in time to hear Kimmie and Carla talking.
“And, you know what? Fire works for a Chinese cook and uses Peter’s salt. My mommy said the colored lights Fire makes comes from planting rocks from the barbeque grill in a garden with fertilizer. That’s why Daddy left early this morning. He and the other firemen are gonna help Fire with getting the garden ready.”
Gulls screamed overhead as I ran down the beach in my new summer dress. My feet slapped the wet sand. Stopping suddenly and turning around, I carefully placed a foot in each footprint, then frog-marched back to the only person in my life who has ever meant everything to me.
“Look Da! I can swim!”
I dashed into the surf just as it broke against the shore, flopped onto my belly in the water, and began paddling. Well, that was the idea. But, at 5 years old, I began floundering instead. Without enough time to pass for me to panic, I felt strong arms lifting me out of the surf and holding me tight.
“Looks like I just caught me a fish for dinner tonight.” Eyes twinkled as he set me down on my own two feet again.
Still sputtering, I asked, “You wouldn’t eat me for dinner would you Da?”
“Naw, I don’t know. Seems to me for a fish you’re pretty full of sea water.” He ruffled my curly red locks and we headed for home.
I woke with a start as some piece of equipment or another bleeped and whistled and I smiled at the recalled dream-memory. That’s the way it had always been between us; him rescuing me from some knee scraping or another or teasing me until I broke into peals of laughter. Me, I always wanted to let my wings fly; never fearing failure because I knew his strong arms would be there to set me aright. He slept peacefully. My hand gripped his for some reassurance that this was temporary and that it was going to end, that things would be normal again some day. I’d kept that thought carefully tucked away in the back of my mind. The effort required to keep it tucked blissfully out of sight had become so great; it was all I could do to keep my sanity while maintaining this great fiction in my life. This state of denial had gone on since the first diagnosis came back “Terminal” all those many months ago.
“I’m sorry to bother you Lindsey. I have to take his vitals and check his morphine drip.”
Melody, a short red-headed nurse, came in and removed the chart from the foot of his bed. Her brightly colored scrubs were in gay contrast to the somber darkness of the room.
“Dr. Hansen will be in later today,” she said. She closed the door quietly when she left.
I knew what that meant. Dad had made a living will. He’d specified that if he ever became incapacitated to the point of being on any pain medication twenty-four seven and being unconscious or asleep for more than 75% of a day, he wanted to be removed from all life support excepting said pain medication. He’d stipulated they were to allow seven days after this state of consciousness manifested before taking those final steps. Right now it was hard to see his withered and colorless face for all the breathing tubes and what-not that surrounded him. His one free arm was all of him that I could hold on to.
“Look Da, I can do it without my training wheels.”
I whizzed by my dad in a blur of red. I lost my balance only a few moments later and landed hard on the clay of the jogging track. The sound of quick steps came closer and soon I and my bicycle were upright again. All that remained was the pain in my knee which I’d scraped badly. He kissed it gently and those smiling, twinkling eyes of his looked steadily into mine.
“Now here’s a really good reason to go get pancakes and hot cocoa at the IHOP.”
I forgot about the pain and brightened quickly. IHOP was my favorite Sunday treat with my dad, and here he was offering it up on a silver platter on a Saturday. All the way back to the car with me in his arms and my bike at his side, he had me giggling and laughing without so much as wiggling one of his big fingers in my side or stomach.
When we had gotten to IHOP he’d deposited me in a booth and then whispered something in the waitresses ear. When my pancakes arrived to the table, I was in for quite a surprise. Stuck in the middle were seven candles ablaze.
“A Happy Early Birthday to you, darling.” Dad handed me a small gaily wrapped parcel.
My eyes widened as I opened it carefully. Inside was a silver heart with a filigree outline and 7 small diamonds along the inside of one side of the heart. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen.
“Sweetness, there’s a button on the side.”
My nimble fingers quickly found it. The locket opened in my hands. On one side was a picture of me cradled in my mother’s arms and on the right was a picture of my father and my mother together. She was so beautiful. I hoped I would look like her when I grew up.
“She really loved you so much when you were born.” His eyes watered briefly then shone brightly.
The drunk driver that had taken my mother’s life when I was a toddler was still making a monthly payment of one dollar to MADD. This sentence was in lieu of a thirty-year jail sentence and would be carried out as long. He now had only a few more years left to serve.
Dr. Hansen came in and interrupted this day-dream memory of mine. He was not much older than the man in the bed beside me; and dark eyed. His manner was efficient yet caring and I looked up as he faced me from the other side of the bed.
“Lindsey, will this be easier for you if you wait outside? He will go quickly after we remove the support. It’s been several days since he last roused.”
“No,” I struggled to control my voice, but it came out thickly. “I want to stay. Please.”
“Melody, please come in now. Bring Andrew; we’ll need him. Lindsey, I’m sorry but can you please move away from the bed?”
Melody entered the room followed by a tall, slender orderly. His dark skin and green eyes lent an exotic quality in spite of his plain green scrubs.
I gripped the chair as they set about work. There was a cold efficiency in the manner with which they unhooked wires and removed tubes. What was I going to do? This man who had always given of himself and never once insisted I do it his way or that I hold back. He’d never once reproached me for my many failings and was the source of my strength for my accomplishments. Never once did he ask anything of me. I’ve tried over the last year to give back to him of what I’ve had to give.
I had taken an open ended leave from work 3 months prior when he was admitted permanently into the hospital. I had sat at his bedside day and night for the last month making few excursions away. My selfless love had been selfish in so many ways. All I’d really wanted had been for him to not leave me; that this really was an illness from which he would recover. That I wasn’t really going to have to face life on my own two feet, brushing my knees off myself as I go along. Not once did his doctors or his nurses tell me he’d recover; but, they never once insisted I face my delusion either.
By the time they were done, the tears were flowing freely and though I could see Dr. Hansen was talking to me, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I recall his saying as he left, “We’ll talk later.”
I took Dad’s hand in mine again, and sat there, still in the darkened room. I must have dozed off again.
“Come on old man. Surely you can catch a football!”
Bruce caught the ball Da threw back at him and quickly replied with yet another throw as they ran down the beach, leaving me behind. I couldn’t tell if they were elder and younger brother, or father and son, or best friends. The amicable banter was soon inaudible as the distance increased. I’d only met Bruce a year before in my last year of college. Since then we’d been seeing each other exclusively. Sometimes I found myself feeling jealous of their closeness. They’d hit it off from the start. Da seemed to trust him immediately.
It was only two years after they’d met the diagnosis was made. I soon walled Bruce out of my life as I turned all my focus on my father.
A raspy breath woke me in a dark room lit only by the assorted LED’s and flashing lights of the monitoring equipment to which he was attached. In what seemed like hours later but was only seconds, another came. I thought I felt the hand in mine tighten into a grasp but I couldn’t be sure. My mind was dull and numb. Melody came in quietly. She spoke after checking his vitals.
“It won’t be long now. His heart rate has quickened considerably. I’m sorry. Is there anyone I can call for you?”
I shook my head because I couldn’t think of anyone I’d call. I couldn’t remember any names or faces. I only felt aloneness closing in. I couldn’t think of the questions I should be asking. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Soon I was unaware of Melody just standing there. I couldn’t see any details of the form in front of me. My eyes burned in their dryness. And then I imagined it. The strength of someone’s arms around me, holding me tightly, roused me mentally. But, how could this be? Because, as I became aware that it wasn’t in my head I couldn’t comprehend it. Then a soft male voice spoke in my ear.
“I’m here for you darling, if you’ll let me be. I couldn’t get a flight any sooner.”
Bruce. It was Bruce. A thousand memories flashed in my head in a matter of seconds. Yes, Bruce would be there for me. He has always loved me as I him. I had never turned to him for strength. He, like my father, had supported unconditionally, never reproached, always encouraged, and never been far away when needed. I knew now I was willing to give the love he never insisted I show him rather than thinking and feeling the love I felt. Now I could truly let him stand where my father always had in my heart. A single tone sounded as the grip on my hand lessened then ceased.
I AM MUDD
Professor Jean d’Arbervilles rose to address the class. Very quickly papers stopped rustling, book bag flaps stopped snapping, and conversations and whispers ceased. After dividing the stack of papers he had in his hand into two stacks and distributing one stack at the first desk of the first and last columns of desks, he stood about four feet in front of the class to speak.
“Today we have Declan Carnegie of Terra Sigillata’s experimental mining and technology development station. Give him your full attention as there will be a test tomorrow morning at the beginning of class. You’ll need to answer two essay questions and 25 fill in the blank questions,” he said. “I suggest doing additional research tonight so you’re essays tomorrow are fat and juicy.”
He paused to allow the cacophony of groans and moans to subside. He also allowed one late arrival a moment to get seated and acquire the study sheet he’d just handed out.
“And, now, Declan Carnegie.”
Declan took the spot in front of the class vacated by Dr. D’Arbervilles. After setting his palm-sized iJector on the table next to the podium, he turned to the class.
“Thanks Jean. Jean didn’t mention we go back a few years. I was one of the test subjects he studied while on his first research program at the T. S. Education Complex. Though scientists had been trying to answer many questions about the metamorphosis which occurs in the progression of symbiosis, it wasn’t until Jean’s team of xenobiologists, geneticists and cytologists was formed that answers were found to many of those questions. In fact, their team discovered the link between sickle cell trait in the dna and a successful onset of symbiosis.” He paused then continued. “I have a presentation by one of the test subjects from that study group to play back for you.” He touched a key on the iJector and the playback began.
I’m a Mudder. Been at it for some eighty years now. I figure I have another seventy years, give or take, before I become symbiotic and the one hundred and fifty years up to that point have their final pay off. Ma begged me not to take to the deep fields; begged me to become a doctor or a politician if money is what I wanted. She knew me. She knew that money hunger is what was keeping my common sense in check. Don’t get me wrong. We weren’t poor folk in my family. We lived quite well actually. Both my parents were hard workers all their lives and put some aside as they were growing older. They got me and my four siblings training, well schooling in the case of Tara my sister. She’s the doctor in the family. A fact I’m glad of as I want her by my side when I get taken by The Mudd.
See, about 300 years ago when the Mudd pools were discovered deep off the coast of Greenland, I wouldn’t have faired so well nor had so high a prospect. Mudders didn’t last long and weren’t paid as well as they are today. The polar ice caps had melted so much by then folks were finding there were more treasures to dig up, excavate, or otherwise explore in the newly exposed regions. Mudders back then were attached to scientific teams tasked to discover uses for the strange new substance. They did the diving and digging and gathering while the scientists did the question answering as to what, where, why, and how. They processed their catch when they returned to base. It took 30 years after the discovery of Mudd to realize the process of symbiosis to which the Mudders had been exposed.
Quite by accident they discovered Mudd produced energy, clean energy, when micro-waved. The next 75 years of research yielded new engine technology, new harnessing methods, and new transportation methods. Governments once in the throes of utter ruin due to limited petroleum availability latched onto the new technologies and began to rebuild their failing economies.
You see, the accidental discovery occurred when a research team member nuked their lunch in a porcelain bowl turned from clay laced with Mudd. They’d left the break room to get a something and when they came back the whole of the room was aglow with blue light. So now not only is fuel sold in carefully baked cubes, travelers can take their own extra supplies of fuel with them. Engines are manufactured to accommodate 3 different standard size cubes. The engine is really a remake of the old microwave oven but with locomotive and combustive properties. Traffic rules and control have changed too. Now vehicles are conducted above ground. Freeway travel courses 20 feet above ground, whereas street traffic is conducted 10 feet above ground. The old roadways, highways, and freeways we now know as ribbons were redesigned and imbedded with large microchips to facilitate the Onstar-Virgin Enterprises navigation systems with which all cars are now provisioned for navigation.
The next hundred years of research took man to the stars in larger numbers and to greater distances. Finally, man was no longer earth or moon bound. They were disappointed to find no habitable alternatives to earth, though. The only positive thing that came from their celestial travels was the discovery of a new planet, Terra Sigillata, or T. S., a water planet. Mudd was found in the depths of its seas. They also discovered the Mudd there yielded greater distance travel and the symbiosis was more aggressive though it took far longer to become apparent.
So back to the inevitable final stage of symbiosis for which I am biding my time. The early Mudders discovered after forty years in the fields they began to lose pigmentation. After seventy-five years they were completely albino and hairless. In one hundred years of work in the fields they were completely symbiotic. Mudd, being a symbiont substance, bonds with the host on the cellular level and eventually usurps the components of blood and skin that lends skin its color. Though it doesn’t prohibit the function of the human physiological systems, it alters them. The human host experiences no illness and can actually breathe water for short periods of time at first then longer periods as the years pass. They are no longer restricted by the containment units used in the depths to provide artificial environments. The other alteration is sterility, though all human reproductive drives remain but are more demanding. The final stage of symbiosis is paralysis. The Mudd coursing through a Mudder’s veins hardens once the symbiont also becomes sterile and unable to reproduce some 150 years after taking a human host. The time frames I mentioned will vary according to the age of the host at the time of the onset of symbiosis.
The benefits of Mudd are obvious. But, moreover unlike in the petroleum age when one country could bring another country to an economic crises by restricting petroleum production and export or hoarding its own stores; we have the global governance of the United Nations to thank. Now nations are united and on equal footing. Regulation of Mudd harvesting prohibited any monopolistic or proprietary interests in the industry. A great politician of the times said, “He who controls petroleum controls the world.” Fortunately such doom saying has not been realized. Now, there are no third-world nations. There are no gas lines and dry pumps. Mudd is the cheap fuel that was sought after at the end of the 1900’s. Research has begun in the field of a synthetic alternative to Mudd so in the far future when supplies dwindle, societies are not dependent on only one fuel source.
And, finally, when I stood looking in the mirror today, I noticed just a slight pallor in skin tone.
Declan turned the iJector off before turning to the group of wide-eyed students in front of him.
“Any questions,” he asked?
“Is it true there are no female Mudders? And, if so, why not?” A dark-haired girl in the rear raised her hand as she was speaking.
“That is one of the remaining questions which they are trying hard to answer. Typically, when women are exposed to an environment high in Mudd-derived symbiont, they spend the next few days experiencing symptoms from severe nausea and vomiting to faux pregnancy and something akin to postpartum depression. After a period of time away from an environment heavy in symbiont particles, the symptoms dissipate. An interesting fact, however, is the symbiont won’t enter a womans body if she’s had previous exposure to environments with high concentrations of symbiont particles.”
He paused for a moment to see if there was any understanding evident on the girl’s face.
“Does that answer your question for now? I will say this is one of the hot topics of study now considering the pressure from women’s interest groups.”
She nodded understanding as another hand went up in the front to his left.
“What causes the sterility mentioned in the interview?” A redheaded young man asked.
“It seems the symbiont attacks sperm cells and immobilizes them. They then attack the production function of the testes causing a cessation of sperm production. Oddly enough, the symbiont also enhances the pheromone produced in males making them irresistible and all but intoxicating to females within 12” to 24” inches of them.”
“What is the relationship between sickle cell and successful symbiosis?”
Declan turned to the dark skinned male in the center of the class who had spoken out.
“That’s an easy one. Sickle-cell trait is found in peoples with ancestors from any of the following regions: Spanish-speaking regions such as South America, Cuba, Central America; Saudi Arabia, India, and Mediterranean; countries such as Turkey, Greece, and Italy; and sub-Saharan Africa. With the blurring of ethnic purity lines as experienced in the last 100 years, more and more peoples have the trait in their DNA from one predecessor or another. So, you sir with the red hair and fair skin back there could just as easily experience a successful symbiosis as the gentleman here asking the question. In a very small percentage, less than one percent of applicants for a Mudding career, there is no sickle-cell trait in their DNA anywhere and they do not make it through the symbiosis onset process.”
Murmurs and giggles rippled through the class as the implication of this information was realized. Declan picked up his iJector and flipped it shut, then slipped it into his breast pocket. Once calm had returned to the group, he looked around expectantly for more questions. After a moment longer he spoke again.
“Usually at least one of the members of the audience will ask how to become a Mudder. I can’t believe the question hasn’t crossed any minds here.”
A few heads shook while a few more people quickly slipped their school things into their carry-alls.
“Hmmm. Interesting. No takers, eh? Well, in the interest of unsolicited information, I’ll fill in the blank. Requirements today are a bit more stringent. Of course one is expected to be scuba certified at the professional level. One also must have completed the basic Mudders’ course offered at several community colleges. The course includes basic meteorology, oceanography, and marine biology. Starting with the beginning of the year, a requirement must be completed for basic microwave technology for Mudders.”
He looked around and then back at Dr. D’Arbervilles who was just rising from his seat.
“Well, Jean, can you think of anything else? This class is a cakewalk compared to some of the classes you’ve asked me to lecture. Is there anything else you need from me?”
“No, not that I can think of. Thanks for coming in.” As Declan left the class Jean turned back to his students. “What? I thought you all wanted to become Mudders. What happened?”
“Well, for me, being a woman, I’ll wait until they get the symbiosis thing figured out. I don’t know about the guys.” The dark-haired girl spoke up again.
“I’m not sure I wanna give up my hair and skin color. It’s what the gillies get really hot for. Besides, I want them interested in me not enthralled by my pheromones.” A dark haired young man spoke up. However his comment drew paper wads launched in his direction and a few boos and hisses.
“I see your point, Joaquin, but what about a longer life and apparent agelessness? Isn’t the trade off worth it? Besides, some women like the symbiotic Mudder male.” Professor D’Arbervilles walked around behind his desk. “Okay, make that three essays tomorrow and I’ll give you the questions for the third essay. To you, what are the pros and cons of living the Mudder life style? What would it take to interest you in becoming a Mudder? Okay, class dismissed and don’t forget the test starts when you walk through the door tomorrow.”
"Where to, Mister?" A bored voice spoke from the eyes reflected in the rear-view mirror.
A few seconds passed before I could answer. The knot in my throat was dry and threatened to erupt into a torrent of unshed tears. Tears that I'd shed through the recounted lives of patients just as troubled as She was all those many years ago.
"The brownstone on the corner with the creeping ivy covering the windows." I half whispered from miles away.
"I beg your pardon, Sir? Did you want a ride somewhere?"
"Oh," I said coming back to the here and now from the there and then. "7246 Revenue, St. Louis."
"Sir, that's 150 miles away or more. I'm gonna need a deposit for at least half the ride." He opened the radio and called into the depot.
"I'll pay up front for the ride. You just take the shortest way there."
Not that I really wanted him to get there any faster. After all, I've put this trip off for 25 years.
I dosed for most of the way; in and out of snips of memory-laced dreams. We drove through old neighborhoods from time to time. With the window open slightly, I could hear voices of children playing and cars honking. I'd nod awake at times half expecting to see familiar faces on the children that played in the streets and on the sidewalks oblivious to cars passing and the starkness of the concrete and asphalt that comprised their playground. No tow heads with freckles sprayed across upturned noses. No dark-skinned imps with eyes that sparkle from half a block away. None turned to the red cab that rolled through their neighborhood. None waved to the brown-haired man looking blankly from the backseat.
"Mister, I gotta stop for gas again. We're about a half hour out. I bet you could use a bit of a stretch, too."
"Okay." I replied.
I considered getting out and walking around a bit, but allowed the numbness of sleep to over take me once again. I didn't lose a wink when the car resumed the drive to Home. Home, was that place that had been wrapped in barbed wire in my heart and carefully tucked away so as not to prick those vital organs surrounding it.
We were just 10 miles outside of town when I roused again. My eyes fluttered open and I saw an old ramshackle barn through an opening in the trees. A mile down the road I recalled a lazy summer day 37 years ago when me and Dillwyn and Sean had ridden our bikes out to the old Hazel farm one Sunday morning after church. That's where we'd first learned that something happens between men and women that they don't talk about around us kids. We were up in the loft playing in the hay when Suzy Hazel and Ty Campbell had come running in, he chasing her. We quickly ceased our play and hid in the hay while we spied the two below. They left again a couple hours later and we were three much wiser lads. By the time I arrived home that evening it was sunset and the shadows on the streets were long. I crept past my mother's room and paused only as I recognized sounds coming from her room that were no different than those we'd heard Suzy and Ty making down on the barn floor in the empty horse stall.
"Stanley, is that you?" A soft, sweet voice called out from the room.
I padded past her room and quietly closed the door of mine behind me. Soon after the sounds resumed and I was far less ignorant than I had been that morning. It only made the taste of bile in my mouth stronger and the knot of anger in my stomach tighter. It was only a few minutes after her door opened late that night that and the door downstairs closed and was bolted that she came to my room to tuck me in. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol announced her presence and I lay there pretending to be deeply asleep while she pulled the blankets up around my shoulders and brushed the stray lock of hair from over my eye. She sounded sad somehow.
"I love you honey," she whispered.
A year later I had been a regular guest at my friends’ homes for at least one meal a day for six months or more. They never once seemed to notice I wasn’t one of their own and I was never made to feel unwelcome. It was a year later I arrived home to find police and an ambulance there to greet me. The stretcher was just being loaded into the back of the truck. A short, chubby woman with twinkling blue eyes and a smile that was all love seemed to be waiting for me. As I started to run towards the front door she called my name.
"Stanley? Stanley Fredricks?"
Not certain whether to slow down and stop or run faster to the front door, I slowed down. Having lost momentum and become confused I decided to stop a few feet away from her.
"Yes? Where's my mom?"
She moved closer and put her arm around my shoulder.
"Your mom has taken ill. She's going to be in the hospital for a while. She said it was okay for you to come with me until we can find another family member to come get you. I'm Maddie from child protective services."
"I don't have any other family. My mom's all I got." I could hear the ambulance pull away from the curb just before the sirens started blaring. I started to turn but her arm was surprisingly strong and prevented me.
"Well, don't worry you can stay at the home for boys over on the west side."
"I want to stay here. I live here."
"We can't let you do that son. You see, you're not 18 and that house is in no condition for anyone to live in."
I didn't acknowledge that she was right, but I knew it was true. You see, my mother hadn't cleaned house for over a year or done laundry or anything. She only stayed in her room except to visit the bathroom or maybe go downstairs for another bottle. After he had left two years ago, she had become someone else. Someone who wasn't there somehow though she took up space and was a fixture about the house. If it wasn't for my friends I'd not have had a meal at least once a day. I soon learned to get my clothes cleaned at the Laundromat and would steal money from my mom's money jar. All I had to do was wait until she was passed out and I could take enough for laundry from the top when it was full and she never noticed. The only clean place in the house was my room and the bathroom across from it. I didn't learn of what had really happened that day before I came home until I graduated from high school seven years later.
"You come with me and everything will be okay. If your mother is well enough in a week or two, you'll be able to go see her."
"But, I don't want to go with you. I want to stay here. I can stay with my friends."
Slowly she was guiding me to a black Ford Escort parked only a few feet in front of where the ambulance had been. I tried to resist, but I was confused and only knew I wanted the day to be over. Two weeks came and went and I didn't get to see my mother. No one would tell me where she was. It was eight years later before I ever heard from her again. I was finishing my last year of college when I'd arrived home to find a letter waiting for me in the box on the wall next to my dorm room. It was from my mom. I felt nothing as I read through the letter from her scanned the words written in the wiry scrawl that was barely recognizable for her writing. We corresponded over the distance for the next seven years of my residency and beginning of a successful practice. The distance pulled at the expanse of pain which kept us apart and strangers to one another for over 13 years. It's the last letter I received 6 months ago that spurred my resolve to return Home. Every step taken to make that happen was one step closer to that destination. I closed my practice, divested myself of any unnecessary possessions and put those that remained in storage. But, can you really go home?
The taxi pulled up in front of a quaint brownstone house with green ivy climbing up the walls and wild flowers blooming in the garden which surrounded an emerald green lawn divided in equal halves by a brick-lined walkway that lead up to the door. Having unloaded its passenger, the red coach to the destination, my destination, of 37 years sped off down the road. I turned and picked up my luggage and slowly made my way up that walkway. As I drew nearer a curtain moved. I could barely make out a woman standing in the window with a crown of white hair and a light pink sweater pulled closely around her. Forget what they say. You really can go back home.
“Bye son.” Margot hugged the tall, red-haired man close.
”Are you sure you don’t want to stay for pizza? You and your friends?”
“No Ma. Holly and I have plans tonight and she’ll banish me to the couch if I’m too full for dinner.” His hug was as tight as hers. “Ma. You sure you’ll be okay?”
“Of course. You’ll have to promise me you and your friends will come back to dinner in a couple weeks, so I can thank you proper for helping me move. You can all bring guests.”
“It’s a deal. You know Eric and Tim will be there if there’s free food. Tim’s got a girl now, so I’m sure he’ll want to prove to her he has decent friends. Mark’s been wanting for you to meet his fiancée. They’ve got almost all of the wedding planned and arranged.” He paused, and then sighed. “I just wish. Well, it’s so final.”
“Yes it is dear. And, there’s no going back. Some things can’t be forgiven.”
“Okay. I’m just hoping there’s some spark in your heart that can subdue your anger and hurt. We’ve talked about this already, and I suppose I need to give it a rest. Gotta go Ma. Looks like we got the last load just in time before it poured. Let me know when you’re gonna lay out the spread.” The sound of the closing door was underscored by the angry rumbling of the sky above.
Margot moseyed into the kitchen and grabbed a soda, then located the phone. She was about to press the speed dial when the phone rang. Stopping short of picking up the receiver, she withdrew her hand and listened to the incoming message.
“Margot. I wish we could talk.” A deep voice slurred over the speaker. “I know what I’ve done is abominable. She’s younger than our youngest boy. I know. I should be ashamed of myself. At least I had enough sense not to do a minor. But, Honey, we’ve been together for so long and have so much history. We’ve got three wonderful kids, all like their mother, and fortunately all have their mother’s good sense.”
There was a pause for a few seconds. Margot sat down in the only chair that wasn’t full of some one or another of her recently relocated belongings. Curled up with her chin resting on her knees she sipped quietly while looking out of the rain-beaded window. The grey black of the sky mirrored the apprehension and anger with which she listened to the voice on the answering machine.
“You know Hon, you’re right. You’ve given me chances, six chances over the last thirty-five years together. I have no right to expect another; especially, when it’s your best friend’s daughter. But, I just couldn’t cope. I couldn’t handle being passed up yet again for promotion. I, I felt so picked over, left over. I just wanted to feel that feeling of promise and the whole world before me like I did when we first got married. You know they have never meant anything to me. They’ve all been the last shot of whiskey to finish off the bottle, or that last beer before I pass out. For me, it’s the fling, hoping I’d get caught and needing to know you’d take me back. I need to know I’m not really a failure. For others it’s the bottle. And even others work through it by punching on their wives. I know this now and realize it, even if I don’t understand it.”
Margot listened intently as the sky rumbled in the distance and barely noticed the windows were no longer beaded with water. She set the soda down on the only clear spot she could find. The voice began speaking again as she stood up and walked over to the sliding glass doors and leaned against them.
“Margot, Hon. I know I have no right to expect you to believe I’ve finally come around and will be faithful to you for the rest of our married lives. I know it sounds like more of the same to you. But, here’s what’s different. I started therapy last week. I know what’s important in this life and more so to me. I know I want you to go through the rest of life with me. I start with three sessions a week. Then when I and the doctor decide I’m ready, we’ll have fewer meetings. It’s good you are not here with me to catch me. It’s good I don’t have you to make me feel like it’s alright and I don’t need help. But, I want you still in my life. I want to have, I guess, visitation rights. Maybe we can go to dinner a few times a week. Maybe we can date and get to know each other all over again. Maybe you’ll find there’s really someone inside me that is worth giving it a go with.”
For the last few sentences his voice wavered and cracked. She thought she heard quiet sniffling. Pushing gracefully off the glass doors against which she’d been leaning, she walked back over to the answering machine and resisted the urge to pick up the receiver. Resisted the urge to tell him to come over and make passionate love to her amidst the boxes and what not that filled the room. Stroking the answering machine absently she listened to the click on the other end.
“Maybe you’ll find the person inside I’ve been in love with all these years of marriage. This time I’ll let you find your own way and dig yourself out. And, yes, maybe we can do dinner sometime. I’ll call you soon.” She whispered to herself and turned to the window in time to see the rainbow fill the sky in the bright sunlight.
In through the large, glass, double doors of Bates and Crane stumbles a woman with a frazzled blond do wearing a disheveled, dark-grey business jacket and skirt stained with dark brown spots and buttons missing from her ruffle-front white blouse. The heel is missing from one shoe and the toes extend an inch over the end of the other through holey stockings. That’s Mary, a devoted, sexy and loving wife, a highly successful corporate executive of an up and coming company, caring and attentive mommy to three fine children, and the girl next door every man wants to marry and have babies with. How can a woman with all these qualities possibly come to present herself in such a state over an hour late for a high-scale business meeting? I’m Rodman Edward, I present to you her tale as a warning and a lesson.
“Bye, Dear.” Mary leaned over to hug her loving husband who did double duty as a successful neurosurgeon, Bruce Wilson. “I’ll see you at Chez Louis tonight for dinner. Annie’s coming over at 4 pm to watch the children.”
With a mouth full of toast and eggs, he hugged his wife back and nodded.
“Oh. And, good luck with the presentation today. Mum’s got the kids and will get them from school later. Donnie has a powder puff match and so they won’t be back until after six tonight.”
“Mmmmm hmmmmm.” Still munching toast and eggs, he waved her out the door.
Mary tossed her briefcase into the passenger seat, set her coffee in the cup holder and slid into the leather seat of her Mazda CX-12. She checked her makeup and well-coiffed blond hair in the rear-view mirror then inserted the key in the ignition. Pressing the button of the garage door control, she turned on the rear-view camera. Backing down the drive she reached for coffee as she slowed near the end of the drive. The sound of squealing tires and sirens increasing in volume and coming down the otherwise quiet little lane on which she lived with her family caused her to slam on the brakes, thus upsetting her coffee over her suit.
“Damn!”
Now normally Mary doesn’t swear. She’s practiced a refined and controlled façade over the 15 years of her career and rarely slips. But, today was a special day. She was meeting with a potential new client which would mean a significant increase in profits for her company and a substantial bonus for her should she close the deal. This client was so important she was given the account to curry and bring to fruition over those executives junior to her.
“Bates and Crane, Rhonda speaking.” A professional sounding voice answered on the other end of the line.
“Hi Rhonda. Weldon please. This is Mary.”
“Oh, yes, Ms. Bonstein. I’ll get him on the line right away.”
“Mary Bonstein’s office, Weldon speaking.”
“Weldon, Mary. Can you pick up my dry cleaning for me? I’ll need it when I get into the office. I’m on my way and should be there in 45 minutes to an hour.”
“Yes, Ms. Bonstein. It’ll be waiting when you get in. Oh, and your meeting today will be moved up by one hour. Your client had a change in travel plans. I’ll have the presentation set up for review in the conference room.”
“Ah, yes. That’ll be fine. And thank you.”
Mary merged onto the already traffic-laden La Cienega Freeway. Then, she remembered today was a holiday for many.
“Oh, nice,” she thought as she reached for the air conditioner control, “A lovely beach day or shopping day or whatever with me in the thick of it.”
She paused in her recriminations and tried the air again. Warm air issued from the vents.
“Holy shit,” she swore out loud as she was reaching for the window controls. “Not a day for no air.”
Mary’s normal trip was two hours earlier of a day, but she’d decided to go into work later so as to be more mentally prepared and relaxed for her big meeting. Her normal trip included controlled air from the vents, windows up to block out external sounds, alternative music playing on the dvd player, and far fewer cars on the highway.
The air coming in through the windows was no less warm than that from the vents. The noise of honking horns, braking cars, industrial sounds, and mingled music assaulted her ears. Mary’s temperature rose with each car that merged in front of her or braked suddenly or rode her bumper too closely. She yelled obscenities when she attempted to merge into another lane several times and someone cut her off.
Dim red break lights ahead flashed then stayed on. The pink 1960’s era Cadillac ahead of her stopped. She swerved to the right then to the left then came to a complete stop in her lane. Cars to the left and cars to the right in either lane forced her to stop rather than go around the cotton-candy colored monstrosity in front of her. She mashed the break pedal hard, her toe slid off, and the heel of one shoe popped off. Horns blared behind her as cars went around her on either side. A glance at the rear-view camera display showed cars attempting to bypass her by merging into one or the other lanes beside them.
Turning back to the problem before her, she saw a freakishly tall person in a skin-tight bright red mini skirt and matching jacket, bleach-blonde waist-length wig, and huge winged sun glasses got out of their car and walked around to lift the hood. The legs on that person were thick and well muscled, mannishly so. Coming back around the car she hailed her with the rapid wave of a well manicured hand.
“Oh, no!” Mary rolled all the windows up as she saw what she’d feared materialize beside her. A smiling, uh, female stood beside her door and knocked on the window. Not knowing what else to do, she cracked it just a little.
“Hi Sugg, I’m Desdemona” the big, dark-skinned lady flashed a big, bright smile then drawled in a deep voice. “As you see I’m broke down and can’t go nowheres. You got a cell phone I can borry?”
“Uh, yes, sure.” Reluctantly Mary passed her phone out the window to the woman, and sighed when Desdemona walked back towards her car. She waited patiently for a few minutes watching as Desdemona’s conversation became more animated, shifted the gears, then turned the key in the ignition and removed the keys. She quickly pressed the button to close the window and then opened the door and stepped out. Hobbling over to the driver-in-distress, she stopped to one side of her.
“Ma’am, will you be much longer?” She asked as she sidled up to the person on her phone. Desdemona just walked around to the other side of the pink Cadillac which was now billowing steam from the engine, and continued her conversation, ignoring Mary. Mary waited another minute or two then stood in front of Desdemona with her hands on her hips as the conversation continued.
“Now Pooh Bear, you know I’m good for it, I just need someone to come get me and Sweetie. We’re stopped dead in the middle of LC Freeway and need a tow. Okay, I’ll do your next party at no charge, okay? Just send the tow truck for me. Okay, I’ve got some woman’s phone and she wants it back, I gotta go.” She ended the call and Mary reached for her phone seeing no one in the car that may have been Sweetie.
“Oh, no Honey. I gotta make another call. You don’t mind do you?” Punching keys with the thumb nail on one hand and waving Mary away with the other red-clawed hand, she started her next conversation.
Starting to heat up, Mary reached out to grab her phone. She was late, she had a meeting, and what did this person think they were doing? In reaching for her phone she lost her balance and tore the stocking at the toe of one foot as she all but fell, breaking her fall with the palm of one hand coming in contact hard with Desdemona’s car. Further examination revealed the side of the shoe on the same foot had torn.
“Marco, Darling. I’m coming. I won’t miss your bar mitzva for anything. I swear. I just got a thing or two I have to do before I get there.” Desdemona was holding the phone close to her face and tilting her head so the phone was further out of reach of Mary. “Hey! Hands off Sweetie!”
She paused as Mary adjusted her clothes and stood up.
“Oh, that’s some crazy lady I stopped to help now I regret it. Oops! Okay, I gotta go. Bye.”
She turned just as Mary leapt for the phone, missed and scratched her in the face. A deep gash opened up and Desdemona lifted her glasses, eyes flashing in anger. She reached one large paw out and grabbed a fistful of Mary’s hair, holding her at bay. In what was now a deep baritone she yelled at Mary.
“Are you mental? I’ll snap you like a twig. What’s your problem?” Arms flailed as Mary made an attempt to gain possession of her phone. Sirens sounded somewhere and soon they were joined by two CHiPs.
“Ladies. Can we help you here.?” Desdemona stepped away from Mary and turned to the cop.
“She stole my phone and won’t give it back.” Mary screamed at the top of her lungs.
“No officer. This lady is mental. She ran from her car and came over to help and offered her phone so I could call for help and then attacked me. See?” She showed him the gash on her face.
“She’s lying.” Mary screamed even louder, if you can imagine that. The officer took one look at Mary’s disheveled appearance and crazed look and pulled her off to the side.
“Look Ma’am. Everyone has their own problems. I even start my day with a couple swigs of the good stuff sometimes meownself, but you have got to pull yourself together. If this woman presses charges, you could be fined or even worse end up in jail. Look at yourself. I don’t know what’s wrong with people today. Being unwilling to help out anyone but themselves; what’s the world coming to?” Mary’s eyes glazed over.
“But, but,” she spluttered, “I haven’t had anything to drink. I’m a company executive, not some drunken housewife you ninny! I had to stop! I was stuck behind her! She’s the one that came over to my car for help! Get my phone back and let me go. I’m late for an important meeting.” The officer looked her up and down then shrugged with a look of disbelief on his face, walked over to Desdemona a few feet away and spoke to her in low tones. She handed him the phone and then walked over to the front end of her pink bomb.
Remember that refined and controlled demeanor I told you about? It didn’t take much to slip, did it? Her careful coiffure and neatly applied makeup were now a mess. She looked like she’d just left a war zone. The officer in front of her could only respond to her as the trashy, ill-kempt, and perhaps sherry-nipping woman she appeared to be; whereas, poor Desdemona appeared the victim w/her battle wounds and apparent state of distress. A word to the wise, when you have carefully ordered your world, stick to your daily schedule. Any minor change in routine can ruin your whole day.
Bogga Fat Cat here. I’m just a big ol’ ball of Felinus Domesticus fur. Startin’ on my ninth life, I am. My ninth chance to do it up right. I’m just layin’ here on the porch contemplatin’ my life. Well actually watchin’ the field mice dodge back and forth thinkin’ they’re bein’ sly and all. Jus’ tryin’ to get up the urge to go get me a little Meece Tartare.
I’m thinkin’ it’s time to settle down. Ye know, pull up a nice fat pillow and kick back. Time to stop chasin’ them cute lil balls of fluff caterwaulin’ down at the Cat Nip N Cheese. I have to say that last one I got my claws into yowled up a storm. I still have a bruise in the ol’ noggin where the bottle came flyin’ out the window and hit me in the head. I saw stars. All I can remember before passin’ out is the high-pitched squallin’ Willow Wild Cat was doin’ as I dug my claws in deeper in surprise. When I came to, I was paws up behind a trash barrel.
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