Serendipity

         [Writer’s note: This “slice of life” piece — or maybe more accurately “several slices of life all wadded up like a pile of dirty towels” piece — is a fun little exercise in layering and imagination. It may be seen as a bit of a departure from my usual style, but I’m at a place now where I can experiment and stretch and try things. So come on along with me for a little ride. The language is a tad racy in places, as is the content, so beware. It may not be your cup of tea, but hey — you can always spit it out. Then again, maybe it’ll suit you. Have a look and see…]

The seat belt was locked again. Anna pushed it away from her chest, but it didn’t move. She fought the urge to shout about it, knowing an outburst would make her parents even more uptight. They were in the front seat arguing about where to turn. That was always the worst, the two of them fighting over directions. Even at 9 years old, Anna could see the futility in their exchange.

            “Did you mean right or left? You can’t just say ‘that way’ and shrug one shoulder and goddamned expect me to understand, Pam!” her dad said in an ugly voice.

            “Christ! I thought you understood that we were at least trying to go east, Adam!” her mom shouted. “Now we have to go around the damn block again! If we miss this appointment I’m going to lose my shit!”

            “We have 20 more minutes — calm the hell down!”

            They did that all the time. They never seemed to learn. Anna wondered at that because they were smart otherwise, and generally kind to each other. But not when directions were involved. She sighed, pushing against the seat belt that seemed to be holding her with some kind of malevolent delight now.  The air conditioning unit had gone awry, so the car windows were all down. The air wasn’t cool, but it sure was dancing around. Her hair flew except for at the back of her neck, where it stuck in sweat.

            While Pam and Adam bickered, Anna watched the city sidewalks. The car stopped at a light, and she spotted a man out there. His legs bowed like he was perpetually straddling a pipe, and his hair was a white mess. He wore a striped polo shirt that was once blue, and cargo shorts with a torn pocket. In his hand was a Styrofoam cup. A large one. Anna watched as the man appeared to talk to the cup. He held it with both hands and earnestly mouthed words she could not make out. His eyebrows were high on his forehead as he implored the cup. Anna sat up more to see and the seat belt bit her shoulder. Staring at her parents, she stealthily unclasped the buckle, loosened the belt, and reconnected it, all undetected. Victorious and relieved, she leaned up to reset her gaze on the white-haired man. He seemed to be finished talking, but was still staring into the cup with such angst that Anna felt it. He had stopped his bow-legged pacing and was simply holding the cup, still with both hands. Then he set it down against the trunk of a small tree that was one of three lining the street. He didn’t straighten back up, as if he were not sure he should leave it there. Slowly he stood back. He walked three unsteady steps away and then turned back to his cup. He put his hands on his hips and was still.

            “Oh my god, why is this light taking so long?” Anna’s mother spat. “I’m burning up in this damn car!”

            “I don’t know why the air conditioning blew,” Adam said, fiddling with the AC button. “Just another stinking thing to fix. I am supposed to go left here, right?”

            “Yes. Left. Left. Left!” 

            “All right!”

            The light stayed red, though, so Anna could still see the man. He hesitated. He said one more thing to the cup, and then threw both arms up in apparent defeat. He turned then and walked away on those bowed legs. He rubbed his head vigorously and glanced back once at his abandoned item. Then he went on.

            The light changed at last and Adam stamped on the gas. The air whipped about the car again, like a windy oven. Anna twisted her head around as far as her neck would allow to watch the bow-legged man continue on his hesitant way. At her last glimpse, she saw a biker pass him. Did they speak? A woman with sacks of groceries passed him, too. Did she ask him anything?

            Anna slumped back in her seat. What was in the cup, she wondered. Why did he have a fight with it and leave it?  She rolled the questions around in her brain as the city street slipped by.

            “Is the next apartment somewhere close?” she asked.

            “Yes, I think so,” her mother said, and fiddled with her phone to review the directions once more. “We just have a few more turns.”

            “So this is where we will live, right here on these streets?” Anna asked as she scanned the line of parked cars and apartment building doorways.

            “Yep,” her dad answered. “That’s the plan anyway. It all depends on if we can find a place to live. Easier said than done so far.”

            “Turn right at this next light,” Pam said.

            “It’s weird to think this will be home now,” Anna said. Her mom looked back at her. Anna watched as she pushed aside a piece of blond hair that had fluttered across her eyes. Anna loved that face. She reached out to her mom with a sweaty hand. Her mom squeezed it and smiled.

            “It’s going to be fine, honey,” she said.

            “Okay,” Anna replied.

*

           Fran stepped outside and was hit with heat. The Piggly Wiggly was air-conditioned too much, really. The women at the registers all wore sweaters and their fingers were icy. Fran opted not to bring her sweatshirt this time because it just seemed so ludicrous to need it anywhere today. But the drastic difference was not good for her, she was sure. At 55, her whole body was changed. She didn’t even know it anymore. Since the eighth grade she had been close friends with it. She argued over the size of her thighs of course, and wondered why she was beset with so much errant hair on her chin, but in general, the friendship had been a good one. Now all was in flux. Before this past year, she had been aware each month when an egg was produced in her Fallopian tubes. She could feel it.

            “That’s ridiculous,” her doctor scoffed. “I really don’t think it’s possible for you to feel that or know it.”

            “Well, you aren’t a woman, either, are you?” she said. He rolled his eyes.

            Of course she knew when it happened. It was a regular and constant thing, and she was comforted each month a little, assured that she was still a viable human. The system worked for her, too, resulting in two offspring ­— the joys of her life. She had dedicated her whole being to them, and they were well for it. Both were on their own now, living with at least some happiness. But as with her body, her life seemed lost now, too. Purpose was allusive. There was no more cycle in her belly. All was static. The months went by and she didn’t even know it. Adding to her state of listlessness was the demise of her marriage. After years of co-parenting with her best friend, the partnership petered out. It ended quietly and agreeably; yet for Fran, the change was steeped in sadness and defeat.

            The five plastic grocery bags were a little heavy, and would be way heavier by the time she got back to the apartment. But driving had seemed dumb, since it was only a few blocks. She glanced up the sidewalk and saw a man in her path. Her self-preservation alarms sounded, built up from birth. Women are prey. Always. And if a woman doesn’t heed that fact, she is responsible for any harm that may befall her. Fran’s new reaction to such alarms was indignation. She was angry to be forced on guard at all times, especially now that she was alone. She was tired of being a bug, fearful of spider webs and brooms. Or a skittish mouse perpetually on the lookout for the next predator. The hell with them all. If this wobbling man was intent on any wickedness, so be it. She readied herself for a fight and strode on, keeping him in her sights, full of silent fury.

            But the man seemed to be involved in something else. He was speaking, unintelligibly, and holding a cup with both hands. He would have to drop that cup to come after Fran, she knew.

            “Go ahead and drop it,” she thought, seething. “Come after me. Do me in, in fact. Go ahead, you drooling fool.”  She kept walking, upright and with purpose. 

*

            Martin glided his bicycle to a stop at a red light. It was really too hot to be biking today, but he could not afford any more gas this week. He had budgeted one tank for two weeks, and with his jaunt to Ella’s house over the weekend, the car was already fussing for more. He had learned enough about himself over this past year of grad school that he could either stick to his budget or fail miserably. Being late for the rent or utilities would not do. After living at his parents’ house for too long and blithely opting to go to school 700 miles away, Martin was thrust into adulthood more harshly than he would’ve guessed.

            “You really can’t come over to see me?” Ella had asked with such childlike disappointment in her tone. “But I want you to.” She lived a half-hour away, this new woman in his life. Martin thought of the gas gauge that was already hovering close to E. So he could either be annoyed by her adorable wretchedness, or he could acquiesce. Of course he had acquiesced. With some annoyance.

            “All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll drive over.” And not that he regretted it. But now it was to be the bike and only the bike for the next week.

            He put his foot down to balance, stopped at that long red light on his path to the library. He unhooked his water bottle and popped it open. As he was taking a drink, he saw a man walking strangely along the road. In his hands was a large Styrofoam cup. The man was talking out loud, seemingly to no one. Martin knew he would be biking right next to this guy when the light changed. He strained to hear what the words were, but he could not decipher anything above the noise of the city street. He swallowed the warmish water and thought again that he needed a better bottle — one that would actually keep his drink cold.  He glanced at the traffic beside him as he swiped the sweat off his forehead. For a brief moment, he made eye contact with a woman in a car with the windows down. She was sweaty and sad, he thought. Or maybe mad. He took another drink. Looking between the edge of the lid and the rim of his helmet, he watched as the limping man set the cup down against a tree trunk. He seemed to eye the arrangement with some concern and then express exasperation, and he limped away.

            “Strange,” Martin thought. “What the heck is in the cup?”

            The light changed and he pushed down on the pedal. Balanced and settled back on the seat, Martin pushed a few more times and coasted along the bike path. He saw the cup coming into view and considered stopping to look. But how silly would that be? He had work to do, and for all he knew, there was vomit in it, or something worse. And there was a woman nearby, too, loaded with grocery bags. He didn’t want to cause any alarm or embarrassment. So he glided past the tree with the cup, and in a moment, went by the white-haired man, too. He nodded kindly at the woman as he passed. Martin always tried to be polite. She did not nod back, but only looked straight ahead and kept walking.

            *

            Jewel opened her eyes. The sun was out, bright and burning through the curtain. She watched the dust dance in the beam and knew she was breathing it in. All the time. So much dust. She pulled the quilt up over her shoulder and pushed on her pillow to make a good spot. The sheets should be changed by now. She had grown up with a mom who did laundry every Monday. Every single Monday she stripped all those beds and did all that laundry. Jewel was perplexed by that. She hadn’t washed these sheets in probably two months. But she liked it, this nest. And she didn’t know where to find the motivation to break out of it anyway.

            She stretched and looked at the clock. Almost noon.

            “Buddy?” she said. “Are you here?” No answer. He must’ve gone out. Today was the day. The day of decisions. What would he choose, Jewel wondered.

            “You have to stop,” she had said, over and over.

            “I know, baby,” he said. “I will. I swear to god I will.”

            But each day he failed. In Jewel the futility grew and the hope waned. Why couldn’t he win? Just for once?

            Her phone vibrated and she fumbled to grab it. Seeing it was her sister, she nearly didn’t answer. But she had to.

            Ella didn’t even say good morning.

            “This is it, right? This is the day?” she said.

            “Hello to you, too,” Jewel replied. Her voice was rough.

            “Are you not even up yet?” Ella asked.

            “Oh my god, Ella. How many times do I have to tell you? I tend bar. I stay up late,” Jewel said. She searched for her vape pen in the quilt folds. “I don’t get to bed until 3 a.m.”

            “Well, it’s almost noon. That’s what… nine hours! God, I wish I could get nine hours!”

            “Then you should tend bar,” Jewel said with weariness. She breathed in the vape and savored the almond nicotine. She blew out a cloud of white that hung heavy around her for a moment.

            “Uh, no thanks,” Ella scoffed. “I’m happy with my work right now. In fact, I’m going to get a raise next quarter, they say. All the state employees are supposed to.”

            “Nice,” Jewel said.

            “So is Buddy there?” Ella asked. Jewel sighed.

            “No, not right now,” she answered, braced.

            “Oh my god, Jewel! Then it’s done. He’s not going to stop. You said today was the day!”

            “Ella! Shut up! I know what I said! It’s only noon, damn it! Now lay off!” Jewel’s outburst made her cough. Ella waited.

            “Are you okay?” she asked in a changed voice.

            “Yes, I’m fine. I just don’t like to be attacked the second I open my eyes for the day, you know?” Jewel cleared her throat hard.

            “I’m sorry,” Ella said. “I’m just worried. This has gone on long enough. You have to hold to it. You have to be strong, Jewel.”

            “I know, I know, I know. I got it.”

            “I want you to be able to come see me. Just you, you know?” Ella said. “I want you to meet Martin, too.”
            “He’s that grad student guy you’ve been seeing?” Jewel asked.

            “Yep. He’s great. I really like him a lot. He was here on Sunday for the whole day. He’s nice, Jewel. I mean, really nice.”

            “Ah, that’s good, Ella. I’m glad for you. You deserve someone nice,” Jewel said. “And yeah, I would like to meet him sometime.” She pushed the covers off and put her feet on the floor. “But right now I need to get up and move.”

            “Okay,” her sister said. “But….”

            “I know, Ella. Today is the day,” Jewel said.

            “Yes,” Ella replied. “This is it. Let me know.”

            “Yeah. I will. Bye,” Jewel said, barely listening for Ella’s reply before disconnecting. She peeled off her nightshirt and sleep pants. Even taking a shower took more energy than it should. She sat on the edge of the bed, nude, thumbing through messages on her phone. She tossed it aside and heaved herself up. Maybe Buddy would be back by the time she was finished in the shower. Maybe he would poke his white head in the bathroom and say hi. So young to have all that white hair. Just 41. And he had been white since he was in his early 30s.

            “At least I never get carded,” he would say with a smirk.

*

            Anna was hungry. Her stomach felt absolutely empty. As she followed her mother into the restaurant, the aroma from the kitchen caused noise in her belly.

            “Is this a sit-down place where we have to wait and stuff?” she asked Pam.

            “Well, it’s a regular restaurant, yes,” her mother answered.

            “Ugh. I don’t want to have to wait,” she fussed. “I’m so hungry right now. I wish we could just go to McDonald’s. They’re faster.”

            “Well, sorry, honey, but we’re meeting with my new boss here,” Pam said. “She’s taking us to lunch, so that’s nice. Maybe they can bring you some crackers or something.”

            The idea of a stupid cracker wasn’t very satisfying to Anna. She was hot and sticky from the car ride, and the last apartment visit was another failure. The hallway to that place was dark and the stench of cigarette smoke made Anna sick. The exit sign was yellow and crooked. It looked like a botched jack-o’-lantern and she didn’t like it. A young woman in shorts and a university T-shirt showed them around the place. By going up in tone every time she said anything, she seemed to speak in all questions.

            “This refrigerator is on the blink? But it will be fixed before you move in, if you take the place?” she said with a smile that looked just like the grin on Anna’s old Barbie doll. “The rent is due on the first of the month, but there’s a week grace period? The garbage comes on Tuesdays? There’s a burn hole in the carpet but it’s at the edge? The last people put their couch over it.”

            Anna knew they were not going to be living in this place simply by looking at her mother’s mouth. It was a flat, thin line, and her eyes were half closed. Adam saw that, too. There was no way Pam would sentence them to live in this dump. And now they weren’t going to see another place until after lunch with a woman none of them knew. Pam had brushed Anna’s hair too roughly, and then wiped her face with a cloth from the cooler. That part felt good. Then she made Adam change his shirt because she said he smelled. Anna felt bad for him, because that would’ve hurt her feelings. But he just sniffed his armpit and said, “Wow. You’re right.” And he dug in his suitcase to find another one.

            The restaurant was crowded and loud. Anna slipped her hand into her mother’s. A woman at a table in the back stood up and waved.

            “There she is,” Pam said, tugging Anna in that direction. Adam followed. The woman’s name was Rebecca, Anna knew, and she was a newspaper editor. She had hired Pam as a reporter for the city government. Just the thought of that made Anna want to sleep, which she could probably do right there at the table if she weren’t so hungry.

            “Hello, hello,” the Rebecca lady said, “and welcome to our pretty city!”

            Anna watched her mother come to life, with a wide smile and sweeping gestures. She didn’t even seem like herself, and Anna squirmed a little. Introductions were made. Adam reached out with his big hand and shook the lady’s, and Anna was directed to do the same. Both parents seemed off-kilter and nervous. Anna wanted to leave. Just when she was sure she would have to bolt out the door, the waitress came and saved the day by asking her what she’d like to eat.

            There was just nothing quite like the satisfaction of a grilled cheese with a pile of pickles, Anna knew for sure. With just a few bites into it, her spirit lifted. The adults kept talking, but Anna paid little attention, at least until she got most of the sandwich down. When she did refocus, she saw that her mother was much more familiar now, calm and sure. She and the lady were talking easily, like they knew each other. By the time Anna started listening again, they had passed from the newspaper office onto their own lives. Rebecca’s face was serious.

            “Yes, my parents split after 27 years, if you can believe it,” she said. “My dad seems fine with it, mostly. He has been dating again already, which is weird.”

            “I’m sure it is,” Pam replied.

            “But my mom is not great. She let him keep the house and she moved into a little apartment. My brother and I tried to get her to buy a house or something, but she wouldn’t do it,” Rebecca said. “It’s just hard to see her there. And she walks everywhere because she is right in the city. We worry about her doing that.” 

            Pam nodded. “Maybe she just needs some time,” she said. She had finished her salad and was folding her napkin into a fan with careful, even creases. She looked up at Rebecca. “She has to heal, I would think.”

            “Yeah, I think that’s true. She is just so angry. Really, really mad, you know?” Rebecca looked so sad.  Anna could see it. Pam reached out and put her hand on Rebecca’s arm.

            “She’ll get better. You’ll just have to wait a while.” Anna recognized that voice of peace. She wanted to go curl up in her mother’s arms and rest against her and smell her smell. She loved her so.

            Adam cleared his throat and pointed to his phone.

            “I hate to interrupt you all, but we have another place to look at in about 20 minutes,” he said.

            “Oh, yes, yes, of course,” Rebecca said, smiling again. “Well, I am just so thrilled that you’ll be joining us, Pam. I think we will work well together.”

            “I do, too, Rebecca. Thank you so much,” Pam said. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

*

            Jewel wrapped her wet hair in a towel and put another one up against her front to leave the bathroom. Not that it would matter if Buddy had returned, but sometimes he brought people with him. That was part of the problem. Since he had moved in, too many people had been in and out for reasons unknown. Jewel was tired of it.

            “Today is the day,” she said to the mirror. In it she saw her thin face with little pouches beneath each eye. The night life did its damage for sure. But she preferred it over any daytime job. Ella talked of her days in a closed office, wearing dressy clothes, fighting traffic to get there and fighting it again to leave, and catering to all the grad students. Jewel could not imagine it. She knew her being a bartender embarrassed Ella. But Jewel chalked it up to chronic immaturity. Ella was much younger, and her childhood was a world apart. They were half-sisters, and their mother had chosen a much better man when she opted for Ella’s dad. Jewel’s father left when she was 2. He came back a handful of times, and then tried to hold up a grocery store. He was serving time now, and would be for the next several years. Ella’s dad was an insurance salesman who played the bagpipes. His only fault was a rabid need to collect salt and pepper shakers. He had thousands, and they littered her mother’s house. Other than that, he was a gem.

            Jewel pulled on the same jeans she had on two nights ago. Letting her jeans rest for a day helped to air out the bar smell. A small pile of neatly folded clothes was on the chair. Buddy did that. A pang went through her. Buddy was nice. He did the laundry and folded her clothes more carefully than she. He slept in the spare room, but sometimes would creep over to her room. It was funny when he tried to tiptoe. His legs were so bowed that he looked like a rodeo clown. He would tap on her door and then come crawl in bed with her. She liked that. She loved it.

            Jewel put on a T-shirt and combed her wet hair. She fluffed it with her hands and the strands rolled into natural curls. A box of chocolate covered cherries was on the coffee table. Buddy had brought those to her, too. She dug one out and bit, cracking the chocolate and letting the sugary goo roll onto her tongue. Cherries were her favorite. And almond flavoring in anything. And bourbon, of course. And sex. Crazy hard, vigorous sex.

            The door opened. Buddy crept in quietly, not looking up. Jewel watched him and waited. He turned and was startled.

            “Oh! Hi! I thought you were still sleeping,” he said. He walked to her. He was going to kiss her, but she leaned back.

            “Where have you been?” she asked. His expression changed ever so subtly. But she saw it.

            “Just out for a little bit,” he said.

            “No,” she replied. “No. You went, didn’t you? You put it out there. Again. Even though I told you it has to stop.”

            Buddy went to the kitchen and got a glass. He filled it with water and picked up a small towel from the sink to wipe the back of his neck.

            “You really need to answer me, Buddy,” Jewel said. She folded her arms. Buddy looked at her and the guilt was all over him.

            “Why? Why do you care what I do out there? Why does it matter to you?” he asked. “I just don’t know why you hate it so much. It makes me happy, it helps me.”

            “No, it keeps you. It keeps you in debt and in its clutches. It ruins everything!” she said.

            “But I tried, Jewel! I tried so hard to keep it, to not put it down,” he said. “I really fought it, but I lost.”

            “Today is the day, Buddy!” Jewel yelled. “I told you! If you don’t stop, you have to leave.” Her voice wavered.

            He turned to her and took three steps to be standing inches from her. He grasped her shoulders.

            “Aren’t I enough for you, Jewel? Just like I am? I’m good to you, aren’t I?” He refused to let her go. “And we’re good, together, here in this place, and in that bed!” He nodded toward her room.

            “Yes, you are good, Buddy, yes, and we are good sometimes,” she said. “But you just can’t keep doing it. I’m good, too, you know. I take care of you. I let you come here and stay! I’m good.”

            He let go of her and stood back. He buried his hands in the pockets of his shorts and looked at the floor.

            “Yes. You are good. That’s true. Good to me, and to everyone. I really don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for you.”

            There was silence. Buddy rolled the change in his pocket. Jewel leaned on the back of the sofa.

            “Then you have to quit,” she said finally. “Go get it back before they pick it up, Buddy. Go now. They’ll pick it up soon, so you have to go. This is it.”

            Buddy stared at nothing and swayed a little.

            “Okay,” he said.

*

            Anna stretched hard, straining against the bedeviling seat belt and lengthening every muscle with delight. The air was deliciously cold again. Her dad turned the AC back on, and by some miracle it was healed.

            “By damn, that gas station guy was right,” Adam said as he put up all the windows in the car. “I guess we’re low on refrigerant. He said the coil freezes up when the refrigerant is low, and then the airflow is blocked. Makes sense that it thaws when we turn it off.”

            “Yep, I figure he was right,” Anna’s mom said. “Thank goodness!”

            The aura in the car had turned a full 180.  Anna basked in the cold air and the warm reconciliation.

            “So what do you think, Anna Banana? You okay with our new place?” her dad asked her. He was using the voice saved for the best of times.

            “Yes, I think it’s great,” Anna replied. “I’m glad we’ll have a little yard.”

            “Yeah, me, too,” Adam said.

            “And your room has a nice big closet,” her mom said.

            “Oh, yeah, it does! It’s almost as big as my room now.”

            “It really is,” her mom agreed, laughing a little.

            The relief was real, Anna knew. Finding a new place to live was exhausting. This was the third time in her short memory.

            “I hope we can stay here a while,” she said. Her mom glanced back at her.

            “I think we will, honey.”

            Anna breathed in the chilled air and settled back. She looked out as her dad slowed to a stop. This street, she thought. What is it about this street…. She gasped.

            “Oh my gosh!” Anna shouted. Her parents started.

            “What?” Adam asked, annoyed that she made him jump.

            Anna looked toward the tree to see if the cup might still be there, and not only was the cup there, but the bow-legged man was, too.  He was hobbling toward the tree as they sat at the long red light. Anna watched him anxiously, wondering if he would do what she thought he might. Her parents were still waiting for an answer.

            “I just…” she began. “I saw that man earlier.” She pointed at him. “Like two hours ago, before lunch and before we got to our new place. He was right here, when we were. He… he put down a cup. And there was a biker and a lady there, too.” She trained her eyes on the white-haired figure.

            “He put down a cup?” her mother asked.

            “Yeah….” Anna didn’t know how to explain. She watched as he slowed his gait. He stopped at the tree and looked down. “Go ahead,” Anna said aloud.

            “Go ahead and what?” her dad asked.

            “Just wait a second….” Anna’s voice trailed off. 

            “I do remember this damn light,” Adam said. “It takes so long.”

            Anna wanted it to take long. She wanted to see what would happen. As she watched, the man stooped. He picked up the cup and seemed to speak into it. He stood still for a moment, and put his other hand on the cup, too, and put it against his chest. Then he walked on.

            “He did it! He picked it up! I wanted him to pick it up!” Anna said.

            “What? Why?” Adam asked.

            “I saw him put it down, and he was sad to put it down. So I wanted him to pick it back up. And he did. And I got to see it,” she said. Her parents were quiet.

            “Well, okay, honey,” her mom said.

            “It was way long ago today, and I saw him do it, and then I got to see him again, just now,” Anna searched for a way to explain.

            “Ah,” her mom said. “Serendipity.” Anna didn’t know what that word meant.

            “It was probably drugs,” her dad said. That had not occurred to her.

            “No, Dad. No, it wasn’t. It was something important. I know.”

            “Well, okay, Bananny. Whatever you want,” Adam said, which annoyed her.

            She refocused on the bow-legged man and watched him go on, cup to chest.

            “I wanted him to pick it up, and he did,” she said again. “And it makes me glad.”

            The man turned the corner and left Anna’s sight.

Addie’s Dance

By Mary Sincell McEwen

Mark opened his eyes and tried to focus, scrabbling to recall where he was. He trained his eyes on the wheel of Addie’s bed, and sensed the ever-present odor of rubbing alcohol, and in a short moment remembered he was lying on a cot next to his wife in her hospital room. He looked up with a fleeting hope that she might be awake, but her face was unchanged. The oxygen tube was still on her face, and her eyes were still shut. He sighed and sat up. Maybe today he would see her eyes. Maybe today she would come back.

A stroke was not something anyone expects, especially when the one is just 46. A stroke is what old people have, and it’s often merciful, ending their struggles, getting them out of here after a long and tiring life. It doesn’t happen to a woman who is watching Jeopardy and eating spaghetti with her husband and 17-year-old daughter. A woman who has stuff to do, who is involved and engaged, who has a dental appointment the next day and a literacy board meeting to attend. And the store, of course. Addie was the proprietor of a little coffee shop, a dream she had kept alive while toiling for ages as a hotel manager. Mark was proud of her, to have planned so well, and to have finally opened the doors of the little shop a few years ago. And her circle of friends was so wide that the place was often crowded. Not necessarily because all those folks wanted coffee. But because they liked her. Everyone liked Addie.

Mark felt the familiar guilt rise up, looking at his still wife. Of course they had strife. They had been married for 22 years. All couples have strife. If not, then there are most surely repressed frustrations, which can manifest into something terrible over the years. Mark told himself for the millionth time that they had done the best they could in keeping things together, in trying to keep loving each other, in working together to rear Michelle and Clay. And they were almost through that part. Clay was already off to college, and Michelle was about to follow. Now both were stopped in their tracks, too, and terrified. Addie was the glue. And now she someplace far away, and no one could find her. And once again, against his wishes, anger tried to find its way into Mark’s brain. Why did she push herself so hard? What was she trying to prove? Always busy, always involved, jumping into things and taking on everyone else’s issues. And now, here she lay, not even opening her eyes. Why did she sacrifice everything? Mark got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, forcing the anger down. But it lurked, and he knew it.

“Good morning,” said Sarah, the morning nurse. She walked with purpose to Addie’s bed, adjusted the oxygen, and checked the IV and all the other tubes and connections running in and out of the smallish form lying there. Then she smoothed Addie’s hair back from her face with a most gentle stroke. An unexpected surge of emotion rose in Mark’s chest. Sarah turned to him.

“I’ll bring you some coffee, Mark, ” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. He was shocked to feel his throat tighten. She was so kind. “Today might be the day, you know,” she said, her hand still on his arm. Her smock had little angels all over, and the fragrance she wore was so familiar, some pleasant scent he remembered from long ago. “You just have to be patient. The prognosis is good. She’s responding to things. Her vitals are good, she’s breathing on her own, and there are other good signs. I’ve seen way worse.” And her hand slid off. The warmth on his arm remained for a moment.

“Thanks, Sarah,” was all he could muster, even though he wanted to tell her that she was a wonderful nurse, and he wished he could reach out and hug her. She went out in her silent white shoes and in a few minutes reappeared with a tray. There was coffee and a plate with eggs, ham, and toast. “Now you eat some breakfast. You didn’t have much at all yesterday, you know.” He smiled.

“I’ll try,” he said. It was true, though. He had no appetite. After years of battling a middle-age spread, having trouble turning down any food, he now nearly gagged at the idea of putting that egg into his mouth. He was sure it would be like ashes. But he would try to please Sarah. She would be happy if he ate. So he forced it. And it wasn’t terrible.

The clock seemed to stand still at 7:45 a.m. Mark needed to call the office to check in, but no one would answer until 8:30. The ease and familiarity of work seemed a distant and suddenly enviable thing. To have coffee with Brad and talk about the basketball game, to check e-mail and the day’s agenda, to stop by Madeline’s office to see what she’s wearing, and to flirt with her a little. All so foreign now, in the span of four days. He had always heard of these things, of course — world-changing events in people’s lives that leave them reeling. But Mark had not experienced many in his 47 years. This was surely the most jarring and time-stopping thing that had ever happened to him. And he was treading water with his nose just breaking the surface. He didn’t want to know that Sarah had seen worse. He didn’t want to even be in a situation where he would be categorized like that. He would have preferred, most sincerely, that it had happened to someone else.

“Good morning!” came an overly cheerful voice from the doorway. Mark looked up to see Amelia Stone’s face. He almost said “ugh.” Instead he returned her good morning, but with far less fervor.

“And how are we doing this morning?” she asked like a kindergarten teacher, swooping toward the bed.

“We’re pretty much the same,” Mark said dryly.

“Oh, now, Mark,” Amelia said, already with the condescension. “Sarah just this minute told me that she is doing all right. You have to think positively! She’ll be back on her feet in no time. You know Addie!”

Mark wanted to say a lot. Amelia would be surprised at how often she was the topic of heated discussions in his household. Many a time Addie would come stomping into the house and slamming her notebook down. All he had to say was, “Amelia?” and Addie would be off on a stream of complaints. She was the president of the literacy board and Addie was the secretary. Mark knew, better than anyone, how Addie kept the board afloat while Amelia did next to nothing, yet managed to claim most of the accolades. Amelia had no outside job and had no children, but somehow was always far busier than Addie, unable to prepare things like agendas or luncheons, unable to return calls or follow up on anything, always texting Addie to remind her to handle it all. So many times Mark pleaded with Addie to resign, but she felt the board did good things, which it did, and didn’t want to give up “quite yet.” It had been “not quite yet” for years now. So Mark gave up the argument, but refused to engage Addie anymore when she was furious with Amelia, and that often caused chilly stand-offs between the couple. Seeing her now, perfumed and neat in a form-fitting jacket and pants, perfectly coiffed, smiling down at the motionless and pale Addie, made Mark want to throw up.

“She won’t be kept down by anything,” Amelia said, her shiny red lips breaking into a smile, uncovering her great enameled teeth. “And anyway, I need her! She can’t stay away from me!” And then she laughed. Her noise echoed in the room, shrill and wrong. When she reached her manicured hand out to touch his wife, Mark couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t!” he said, louder than he meant. She jumped back.

“Don’t what?” Amelia asked, stricken, her hand coiled back to her body like he had slapped it. He took a breath.

“Just don’t touch her, okay, Amelia? I don’t want you to touch her,” he said. She stared at him.

“Why in the world not?” she asked, her tone chilled.

“I just don’t. She’s asleep. She’s resting. I don’t want you to bother her. Anymore.”

There was silence. Amelia was lost for a moment, almost as if she had been exposed. At least that’s what Mark saw. Her eyes flitted around the room as she searched for words. Mark knew she was squirming, and before a few days ago, he would have come to her rescue. But not today. He let her squirm. And he liked it. After several silent moments, she finally made an effort.

“Well, I don’t want to ‘bother’ Addie, that’s for sure,” she said, not looking at Mark. “I’ll come back when she’s awake.” She stopped and waited. “If that’s all right with you.”

“We’ll see, Amelia. I don’t want anything to stress her, not here and not when we go home. I want things to be calmer. Less to do. Less to worry about. Do you know what I mean?” he stared at her.

“Well, sure, Mark. I can understand that,” she said.

“Good. I hope you can.”

Again there was silence, and then Amelia snapped back to herself.

“Well, I have to run. Always so much to do!” she said with the voice she usually used. She gathered herself and made for the door, her heels clicking, and she blew Mark a kiss. With enormous effort, he resisted the urge to duck. Mark felt a slight sense of victory. If Addie did get better, he wasn’t going to let that woman back into their lives, end of story.

Hours passed. There was little change in Addie. Mark called the kids to give them an update, bleak and hollow as it was. He read the newspaper to the motionless patient, and turned the TV up for one of her favorite shows. Sitting next to her bed, he put his head down next to her hand, and fell asleep.

He opened his eyes and jumped. Navigating the nap fog as fast as he could, he registered the fact that his neighbor, Bud, was sitting in the other chair. Mark sat up, swiping his hand across his face.

“Hey, Mark,” Bud said.

“Hi, Bud,” Mark answered. To be in the same room with Bud was odd. He was a recluse mostly, and only spoke with the family in passing. He was always nice, but not the kind of neighbor who shows up at cook-outs or calls to chat. He was in his 60s and a widower. A contracted worker who mostly tended his garden and talked to his dog. Not so much to anyone else.

“So I heard about Addie and thought I’d stop by,” he said.

“That’s nice, Bud. Thanks,” Mark replied.

In a halting, rather new-at-it manner, Bud made small talk, telling Mark about his dog Minnie and her antics, about the birds visiting the back yard this month, and other small things, all the while glancing at Addie. Mark nodded a lot and began to wish he would wrap it up. He just didn’t have the energy to keep a light breezy chat going with a neighbor he didn’t know well. When Bud began to show signs of leaving, Mark relaxed. Bud stood up and began to wring his hands. Mark could see he had more to say, but this seemed different.

“Mark, I wanted to tell you something, too,” he said. “I sometimes watch Addie…” Mark’s face must have changed, as Bud caught himself. “No, no! Not creepy or anything!” he said, waving his hand madly. “I watch her sometimes when she does the laundry.”

Mark wondered where this was going. There was clothesline in the back yard. Addie always said hanging clothes was a chore she liked.

“You know, Mark,” Bud began, earnestly, “She’s really good at that. Do you know she hangs up sheets so that they are already almost folded when they’re still wet?” No, Mark didn’t really know that.

“She folds them, you know, over on themselves,” Bud said, demonstrating with his hands in the air. “She puts them up folded over, and doesn’t put the over the line — she attaches them to the line, folded. Then when they’re dry, she does this thing… She unpins the one end, brings it around,” he said, still demonstrating, “and puts the ends together, and then unpins the middle. And they come off folded. It’s so perfect how she does that. It’s like a dance, Mark. It is.”

Mark had no words. But he had seen her do it. Now that Bud mentioned it.

“And you know, Mark, after my wife died, I was really sad for a long time. But somehow watching Addie, doing that thing with the sheets and clothes… Somehow it made me feel better.” He paused and Mark nodded, but not because he really understood.

“And watching her, I knew…” he continued, “I knew she did that for you, and for your kids. She did that thing so perfectly, like a dance, because she wanted you to have those sheets all warm and creased just right, and so your kids would put their heads down on pillowcases that smelled like summer. And just that… just that made me feel better. I don’t know why. But it did. Still does.”

Mark, overwhelmed, could only nod. Bud went to the bedside and looked down at Addie. He touched her arm. Mark did not stop him. He awkwardly shook Mark’s hand. “I really hope she gets better,” he said, and left.

Mark sat back down next to Addie and put his head down again, mulling over Bud’s words. Laundry. So simple. But something to Bud. And now to Mark. How odd, he thought.

And then he felt it. Her hand, touching his hair. He jerked his head up, and there she was. Her eyes were open. Just slivers of blue showed, but she was looking straight at him. He gasped.

“Addie!” he said. She attempted to speak, but couldn’t do it.

“Don’t worry,” Mark said. “It’ll come back. They said it would.” He worked to keep from shouting, and buzzed the nurses’ station. He didn’t know what to say or do. He stroked Addie’s face. She smiled, although her mouth was not quite right. He told himself it would get better, too. She pulled at his hand.

“What?” he asked. “What is it?”

Unable to speak, she simply pulled on her sheet, lifting one corner and folding it over. In a moment, Mark realized what she was doing.

“You heard Bud!”

She smiled slightly again, and nodded. And she put her hand on his, over the fold.