THURSDAY
Originally written: 12/4/96 ---Updated: 8/19/15
Gage was wiping down the bar, ridding it of spilled beer, pretzel crumbs and tips that were strewn over its polished surface. Daphne stood at the other end of the bar pouring businessmen their “power” drinks, laughing at every lame joke they told. The buzzer in the back sounded to announce yet another arrival and Gage glanced up to see his next patron.
The woman who walked in wasn’t anything like the usual Thursday night clientele and Gage felt his jaw go slack at the sight of her. She was the most beautiful brunette he’d ever seen and the way she was dressed announced to all onlookers that she was quite aware of her beauty. Gage hurriedly dropped the cleaning cloth in the sink beneath the bar. He dried his hands as she hesitated at the door.
She looked, Gage thought, like she’d just stepped out of a 1930's movie. She wore black strap pumps and black seamed hose that led up to an equally black silk skirt with a modest slit on the side. Over her white tuxedo blouse the black suit jacket emphasized her curves yet modestly concealed her. She had tiny hands and well-manicured red nails. Her rich coffee colored hair was pulled back in a black bowed snood.
Gage assumed a woman like that wouldn’t come into a bar unless she was “with” someone. Daphne looked over and noted the woman’s arrival. She pushed away from where she leaned against the bar and went up behind Gage. The woman took a seat in the padded semi-circular booths that faced the bar on the opposite side of the club. Daphne nudged Gage.
“Hey, you awake big guy? Or did you want me to take her order?”
He and Daphne had a system. She took the men’s orders and he usually took the women’s orders. The tips were usually better because of it. Men liked Daphne’s blonde hair and merry blue eyes. Women, or usually girls, giggled in groups and practiced their flirting skills as Gage solemnly filled their orders.
Gage looked down at Daphne and shook his head. “No, I’ll get it. She’s probably meeting someone, so I thought I’d give her a few minutes.”
Daphne looked over at the woman and nodded, “You’re probably right. She’s just your type, isn’t she Gage?”
“Huh?” Gage blinked, “What do you mean?”
“The taken type.” Daphne nudged him and went back to refill the pretzel dishes.
Gage felt himself blush and shook his head. Daphne had a point. Usually the only women he found that were “his type” were married or had already had someone, male or female. Gage wasn’t the type to horn-in on somebody else’s girlfriend.
He glanced over at the woman again and felt his stomach do somersaults. She was still alone. Gage couldn’t imagine that she’d be stood up, not her. He collected his cork-lined tray, a glass of water with a sprig of mint and lemon, his order pad, and bucked up his courage. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about approaching her, yet he didn’t have long to consider it before one of the guys at the bar slid down to whisper to Gage.
“Hey fellah . . . buy the lady a drink, on me, then let me know what she’s having, huh?”
Gage looked at the man, dressed in his expensive, three-piece suit, his smart phone at the ready, and did a slow burn. The man appeared as smooth and polished as the bar itself and somewhat oily. Gage nodded mutely, gathered up his tray and walked over to where the woman sat.
“Excuse me, Ma’am? The gentleman at the bar would like to buy you a drink?” Gage felt his mouth go dry as she glanced up at him. “What can I get for you?”
She smiled as if slightly amused and looked over to the bar. Gage glanced over in time to see the man lift his glass of whiskey in salute to the woman. She spoke so quietly that Gage almost didn’t hear her.
“Tell the gentlemen that I appreciate his offer, however I respectfully decline.”
Gage nearly laughed, he was glad she wasn’t here to pick up men. He felt himself grin and asked.
“I’ll do that. Since I’m here, what can I get for you?”
“A Rum and Coke,” She said and pulled out a cigarette from her black beaded bag. “And hold the rum. Also, please bring me a lot of napkins too?”
Gage’s hand dived into his red apron pocket for the lighter he kept there and lighted her cigarette quickly.
“Thank you.” She nodded to him with a slight smile. “And you can remove this water. I won’t need it.”
“You’re welcome, Ma’am. You want a Coke, no complimentary water, and a lot of napkins.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
He almost tripped over his own feet as he went back to the bar. The “oily” guy was still there.
“The lady said, thanks but no thanks.” Gage told him and tried not to grin.
The man turned to look at the woman and grumbled to himself. He pushed away from the bar and went back to join his buddies at the other end of the bar. Daphne came out with some clean glasses and nudged Gage.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is she taken?”
“She’s not wearing a ring.” Gage shrugged, “but that doesn’t always mean anything.”
“Go for it then.”
“Daphne,” Gage turned around so that no one would over hear their conversation. “Cut it out.”
“Aw, c’mon Gage . . . You keep staring at her. Just go up and introduce yourself.”
Gage glanced back at the woman, who was studying something she’d taken out of her purse and smoking idly. He shook his head.
“No way . . . she’s got to be with somebody.” Gage insisted.
“And what if she’s not?” Daphne urged him. “Go on Gage . . . Ask . . . Say something. . .”
Gage stubbornly refused and Daphne shook her head.
“You’re too shy, Gage. How will you ever know if you’re too afraid to talk to her? You’ve never had any problems talking to the other women that come in here. So what gives?”
“That’s different . . . They’re just young girls who have just reached drinking age. She’s obviously not like that.”
“No, I’d say she’s about your age. What are you now, forty?”
“I’m 38.” Gage nudged her back. “Cut it out, I have to get her order.”
“If you’re too chicken, I can take it to her.” Daphne teased him.
Gage shrugged, muttered under his breath and poured a Coke over ice. He remembered the extra napkins and put a handful on his tray. He was glad he had something to do with his hands so that she wouldn’t see them shake as he put down her soda.
“Would you care for an appetizer, or anything else with that?” Gage managed to fumble his usual spiel out of his lips.
She paused as if to consider this. “Maybe later . . . I’m just here for a Coke and some atmosphere.”
Atmosphere? Gage was bewildered, perhaps she was a pick-up artist after all. He wasn’t sure why this disappointed him so much. He stood there with his order pad and tray tucked under his arm. He gave a single nod when words finally returned to him.
“If you need anything else, Ma’am, a refill, or you change your mind about the food, my name’s Gage. I’ll be your server this evening, so if you want anything else, just give me a holler.”
Her lips gave a slight twitch of a smile and she flicked ashes into the ashtray.
“I rarely holler . . . Gage.”
He blushed crimson at her words. Her voice was like velvet being brushed over polished marble. Gage couldn’t imagine it ever being raised in shrewish indignation. The way she said his name made him feel just like she’d run those beautiful nails lightly over his broad back.
“I just meant. . .” He started and she looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.
“I understand. Thank you. Keep my glass full, please, and I’ll be quite satisfied.”
“Sure.” Gage shrugged and nearly drifted back to the bar.
The rest of the night passed much too quickly for Gage. They got the usual amount of the younger crowd who filled the place with noisy revelry. Yet every time he looked her way, Gage noticed that she remained quietly alone, writing something on the stack of cocktail napkins.
Daphne had to give him orders twice sometimes and Gage found it hard to keep his mind on his work. All night he just kept hearing her voice in his head, repeating his name. Every time he refilled her glass she thanked him. Finally it was nearly 1 a.m. and Daphne rang the steel triangle that hung over the bar as she announced “last call.”
There were the usual amount of patrons who’d had one drink too many and Gage phoned up taxi’s for them. One by one, he walked them outside and insisted they could pick their keys up the next day. Although he was sure he’d kept a close eye on the door, when he next looked to her table, he found she’d gone.
Gage went over to wipe down the table where she’d sat and could still smell her perfume as it wafted among the cigarette smoke. He spread his large, freckled hand over the damp cloth as he swiped it across the table top and picked up the twenty-dollar bill she’d left there. A more than generous tip for a night of tee-totaling, Gage thought with a broad smile.
Next to her empty glass there was a napkin with writing on it. Gage grabbed it up and shoved it in his pocket with the bill. Later, after they’d closed the bar, balanced the cash and deposited it in the safe along with the car keys of those patrons too drunk to drive, Gage slipped his tips out of his apron pocket. He hadn’t made very much tonight, except for what “she’d” given him.
Daphne was gloating over her tips and called out to Gage. “Hey, anytime you want to get all dreamy about some other customer, you’ll let me know, huh? I think I picked up all your tips tonight.”
“Sorry Daphne. . .” Gage apologized, “Guess I just wasn’t too with it, tonight.”
“I know exactly where you were. . .” Daphne came up and hugged his arm. “Mooning over Lady Dracula over there.”
“Aw c’mon Daphne, she wasn’t so bad.”
“No.” Daphne smiled at him. “She wasn’t. But who can tell? She sure kept to herself. Funny thing though, she looks familiar to me. I just can’t remember where I’ve seen her.”
“How could you forget?” Gage wondered but kept the thought to himself.
He walked Daphne out to her car. He made sure she got in safely then got in his own car. Once inside, he unfolded the napkin and his pulse raced as he read the feminine handwriting.
“Thank you, Gage. Until next Thursday.”
Gage fumbled with his keys getting into his apartment. He was in a euphoric fog. She’d remembered his name and had practically committed to another visit next Thursday. Gage found it hard to fall asleep that night, as he did every successive night, until Thursday came around again. Gage combed his red hair back into its usual ponytail, shaved with extra care, used the expensive after-shave his sister had sent him last Christmas and picked up his regulation uniform from the dry cleaners.
Black pants, white tuxedo shirt, red bow tie, and red apron. Usually he just threw it in the washer/dryer along with the rest of his clothes, but he wanted to look especially good. It was Thursday after all.
As promised and as Gage had fervently prayed, she arrived at 8 p.m. This time she wore a similar outfit of grey suit dress, black hose, and black pumps. However, his time she’d let her hair fall loosely about her shoulders and Gage thought she looked even prettier than the first time. He walked right up to her table with a Coke and a handful of extra napkins.
“Good evening, Ma’am.” Gage said with a brilliant smile. “Your usual tonight?”
“Good evening, Gage.” She replied and smiled back at him. “Yes, thank you. . .”
Again he lighted her cigarette for her. Again she pretty much kept to herself and wrote on her napkins.
“Hey, she’s back.” Daphne nudged him as she prepped the snack bowls for her shift. “You must have impressed her . . . and don’t you look handsome tonight. My, my, Gage, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you knew she was going to be here.”
“Well,” Gage grinned, “It is Thursday.”
And so it was.
Gage thought it was the most wonderful evening of his life. As he did every Thursday for the next six weeks. Each Thursday she would arrive, Gage would have her Coke and extra cocktail napkins ready for her. He’d spend the entire night keeping a discreet eye on her.
Men would offer to buy her drinks, which she always refused, and no one ever met her there. Sometimes she would even allow Gage some small talk. Never too much, he didn’t want to burden Daphne with all the work, but every Thursday night she’d leave him an excellent tip and a note that read, “Thank you Gage, until next Thursday.”
It became a routine of sorts, between them.
Gage looked forward to Thursdays the way most people looked forward to Fridays or Saturdays. Even Daphne teased him about it. One night, Gage had to break up a quarrel that started in one corner of the club and when he returned to the bar he was horrified to see Daphne waiting her table.
Daphne laughed and tossed her blonde hair around like some giggly teenager while “She” smiled and seemed to chat quite easily with the waitress. Gage did a slow burn. He didn’t like Daphne’s intrusion and realized rather tardily that he’d become quite possessive of his mysterious customer. Daphne came back to the bar and Gage confronted her in a low whisper.
“What are you doing?”
“What?” Daphne’s eyes rounded with bewilderment, “What do you mean?”
“What were you two laughing about?” Gage gestured with a head nod toward “her” table.
“Oh that!” Daphne winked at him. “I was telling her all about you. How you’ve got this hopeless crush on her and how. . .”
“Daphne!” Gage nearly yelled, mortified. “You didn’t!”
Patrons looked up from their drinks. Daphne grabbed Gage’s arm to pull him into the kitchen. “Keep your voice down!”
“Daphne, I can’t believe you’d do something so stupid. . .”
“Of course I didn’t! Sheesh! Can’t you take a joke?” Daphne glared at him for a few seconds before she gave him a sly grin. “But it’s true isn’t it?”
Gage felt ridiculous. Big, freckled and ridiculous. He stammered.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh for crying out loud, you like her, admit it.”
“How can I like someone I don’t even know?” Gage glared at Daphne.
“Good point. How about you let me help you out a little? You remember I told you she looked familiar to me? I just remembered where I'd seen her.” Daphne pulled a paperback from the pocket of her apron and shoved it into his hands. “I've read her. She’s a writer, I doubt you’ve ever heard of her. Her name is Una Valkyrie. She’s a very popular author among the bodice-ripper crowd.”
Gage gave Daphne a blank stare.
“Romance novels, Gage.” Daphne tapped the book he held. “I’ve read her stuff, pretty steamy some of it. Seems she has a type too. All of her leading male characters are red-heads.”
“A writer?” Gage turned the book over in his hands and nearly fell over.
There on the cover was a red-haired man who clutched a wild-maned brunette to his bare chest. They looked as though they were frozen just before a moment of animal passion. Behind them a blackboard, a desk with books and papers strewn across it. Gage turned the book over in his hands and read the back. It was all about a woman who fell in love with the professor of her Monday night college class.
Daphne grabbed the book from his hands, “Here, look at this.”
She opened it to the back jacket where a picture of “his” mystery customer stared back at her readers. Her ebony eyes seemed to stare right through him. Eagerly, Gage read the small biographical blurb that accompanied. She was single, lived with her dog on the South side of town and this particular novel was the first in a series.
“She’s done several other series too.” Daphne informed him. “This is a new one. I’m going to have to get the rest of these. I think there are maybe three so far. . .”
Gage handed her back her book. “Thanks Daphne . . . I’m sorry if I yelled at you.”
“No problem. . .” Daphne shrugged, “Just doing what I can for a poor guy in love.”
Gage blushed again and laughed. “Yeah . . . well. . .”
“Hey, what are friends for?” Daphne hugged him briefly, “Now you know her name at least. Go talk to her, she really seems nice. I’m sorry for calling her Lady Dracula, okay?”
Gage nodded and they both returned to attend their customers. Gage noticed that it had gotten very crowded in the last few minutes and he had trouble keeping watch over “her” table. Finally, when most of the rush died down, he was able to go back over to refill her drink.
“How are you this evening, Gage?” She asked and stopped writing to gaze up at him.
Gage felt stupid and wordless as she stared into his eyes. They were as deep and black as midnight. He couldn’t even talk so he nodded.
“That’s good. . .” She replied, “Gage, may I ask a favor of you?”
“Sure Ma’am.”
“Would you please quit calling me Ma’am? It makes me feel old.” She gestured with her pen, “Just call me Una. Everyone else does.”
“Sure . . . Una . . . thank you.” He felt silly, being so tongue-tied around her.
“And tonight, I think I’d like something to eat. I didn’t get a chance earlier and I’m a bit hungry. . .”
“What would you like?”
“Something light . . . not too heavy. A salad perhaps?”
Gage wanted to do cartwheels all the way back to the bar. He managed a nod. He rushed her order through and made it with extra everything. When he returned it to her table she thanked him, as usual, and went back to writing on her napkins. Gage managed a peek at one of them and noticed “. . . a handsome auburn haired waiter. . .” written in her feminine script.
Gage was thrilled. He hoped she meant him but was far too modest to ask. He merely waited her table, watched her turn down drinks men offered her, and wished. He bought a copy of the romance series that started with “Monday’s Mentor.” He didn’t like the genre yet when he read it he could easily picture himself in the lead role and Una as his beautiful lover.
He began to build up quite a fantasy about the two of them. Enough that he got jealous whenever the heroine called her lover, pet names, or made references to “Professor Drake.” He chided himself through a few more chapters as the feeling and the fantasy grew. He skipped through most of the plot, hungrily reading the scintillating text that described their “flames of passion.”
Gage never knew there were so many euphemisms for sex.
Laboriously, Thursday by Thursday, Gage gleaned tidbits of information from her. He no longer charged her for her salads or her drinks. He took it out of his own tips, which nose-dived on Thursdays. He was too preoccupied with keeping an eye on Una. Daphne never complained but her teasing took on new vigor.
One late Thursday night, Gage noticed a distinguished man in the table next to hers. He eyed Una, as did most of the men when they first saw her. Daphne went over to take his order. The man ordered the most expensive surf-n-turf they had, he gestured toward Una.
“. . . And please ask that pretty little lady over there, if I can join her for dinner? What’s she having? A salad? Great, trying to watch her weight. She’s easy on the tab as well as the eyes. Bring us a bottle of your best wine.”
Daphne smiled and shook her head.
“I’m sorry sir, she doesn’t drink.”
“Oh? You know her?” The man seemed intrigued.
“Yes sir.” Daphne answered.
“Then by all means, introduce me.”
Gage looked up from the bar and saw Daphne approach Una’s regular table. He filled up another Coke and took it over to see what was going on.
“Good evening, Una.”
“Good evening, Gage. Hello Daphne.”
“Miss Valkyrie . . .” Daphne hesitated, “The man over there wanted to send over a bottle of wine but I told him you didn’t drink.”
Una looked up at her and sighed. “Thank you, Daphne.”
“He wants to know if he can join you for dinner.”
Daphne felt traitorous even mentioning it, but the way the man persisted she knew if she didn’t say something the guy would probably get up and take matters into his own hands. Gage looked over Daphne’s shoulder and hated the man immediately. He was all the things Gage wasn’t. Black haired, blue-eyed, debonair, and moneyed. He had the suave, handsome looks of James Bond.
“Oh really, Daphne, you know I don’t invite the company of strange men.”
“Yes well. . .” Daphne demurred, “He seems pretty stubborn.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I just told him you didn’t drink but I thought I’d better ask you about the dinner. He’s having the steak-n-lobster.”
Daphne gave Gage a helpless look. She felt awful even mentioning it in Gage’s presence. She knew he was crushing on the writer and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She glanced back over at the man who eyed them with all the smug, self-confidence of impending victory.
“Thank you Daphne,” Una smiled at the waitress. “Don’t worry, you did the right thing.”
“What do you want me to tell him?” Daphne hoped it would be no.
“Gage?” Una looked up at the tall waiter/barkeep.
“Yes Una?”
“Go over and discourage him, please?” Una exhaled cigarette smoke. “I’m really too busy to be disturbed just now.”
“Discourage him?” Gage chuckled, “What would you like me to say?”
Una shrugged and never blinked an eye as she replied. “Oh, I don’t care. You’re clever, I’m sure you’ll think of something. . .”
“But he doesn’t look like he’s used to being turned down.” Daphne insisted.
“Don’t be silly. Gage will handle it. Just tell him I’m not available for dinner.” Una seemed mildly annoyed.
“Don’t worry Una, I’ll take care of it.”
Gage walked briskly over to the man and politely rebuffed his offer to join Una for dinner. The man however was not so easily put off. He thanked Gage and dismissed him back to the bar. Daphne returned to prepare the man’s order then gasped. Gage looked up to see that the man had established himself at Una’s table without invitation. Gage quickly went over to them.
“I was certain I recognized you. My name’s Stephen. Stephen Howards,” The man was saying. “Perhaps you’re familiar with my name? I do own a sizeable chunk of the computer gaming world. The latest technology. . .”
Una looked up to Gage for assistance. She seemed disappointed in him, which made him feel all the worse. He leaned over to the man and cleared his throat.
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, however the lady doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Look, I’m just being sociable.” He smiled, showed a set of pearly white teeth. “Don’t you have customers or something?”
Gage couldn’t think yet Una had said, believed, he was clever. This man irritated the Hell out of him and was being a nuisance to Una. He frowned and drew up to his most imposing posture.
“Sir, if you don’t leave this table immediately, I’ll have to refuse you service. The lady doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“The Hell you will,” The man spoke with a condescension that annoyed Gage. “I’ll have your ass demoted back to busboy, Galahad.”
“Excuse me.” Una interrupted them as the threat between them grew more palpable. “Mr. Howards, I’m sure you misunderstood. Gage is merely doing his job. Whereas I’m sure we didn’t mean to offend you, Gage cannot allow his personal issues to enter into his duties here. We’d both appreciate it if you’d leave my table.”
“Oh?” The man eyed the waiter, “So, it’s personal between you two huh?”
Una smiled, “We knew you’d understand.”
“Well,” The man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. “Keep my card - whenever you’re tired of slumming - give me a call.”
Gage was embarrassed that Una had to settle the matter herself. He watched as she politely took the card. Mr. Howards stood, adjusted his suit coat, and left the club without waiting for his dinner, or paying for his drinks. Gage stood there, annoyed that he hadn’t punched the guy, even if it would’ve gotten him fired.
“I’m sorry,” He began and Una interrupted him.
“Don’t worry about it, Gage.” She smiled, “I’m sorry to use you as a tactical weapon, but he was the type who wouldn’t listen.”
“I don’t mind.” Gage assured her. “In fact, I kind of like the way that sounded.”
“Really?” Una toyed with the business card in her hands. “Me, too.”
She tore the card into precise pieces and deposited it into her ashtray. Una clicked her pen and gave Gage an endearing smile.
“Would you please bring me a clean ashtray? This one seems to be full of disgusting stuff . . . Gage.”
“Right away, Una.”
After having gotten her a clean ashtray, he had to go tend the bar. A few minutes later, he cornered Daphne in the kitchen. He told her everything Una had said and she almost shrieked with delight.
“That’s wonderful Gage!” She hugged his arm, “Sounds like she’s interested in you too. Why not ask her for a date?”
Gage considered it. When the crowd thinned out he brought Una another Coke.
“Una?”
“Yes, Gage?”
“I know you’re busy writing and I don’t want to interrupt you, but I was wondering . . . .”
“About?” Una stopped writing on the napkin and fixed her attention on him.
“If . . . Well, if you wanted to have dinner sometime?”
“I just ate dinner, Gage. It was a delicious salad, by the way.”
“Yes, thank you, I meant . . .” He paused, “. . . I meant, some other night. When I’m off duty. We wouldn’t have to go to dinner necessarily . . . Just out somewhere. I mean, if that would be okay?”
Una stared at him and Gage got that same strange tingly feeling all over again. He felt silly at his own shyness.
“Are you asking me for a date, Gage?”
“Yes.” He nodded, “Yes, I am.”
Una gave him a slight smile, “I’m sorry Gage but . . .”
“Oh.” Gage felt heartsick even though he'd expected the brush-off. So much so he'd interrupted her. “I see. Well, that's okay, I didn’t know there was someone . . . I mean . . . never mind then. It’s cool.”
Una laughed and it both devastated and delighted him. “Gage, please, don’t misunderstand. I would be happy to go out with you. It’s just that Thursday’s are my only free nights right now.”
Gage felt hopeful and looked over to see Daphne gesturing encouragement from behind the bar.
“Well that’s okay. I mean, if you don’t mind waiting until we close?” Gage suggested, “I don’t know what’s open that late.”
Una reached over and put her tiny hand on top of his. She traced the freckles along the back of his hand with a scarlet, manicured nail.
“There’s a large city out there Gage, I’m sure we can find something to do.”
Gage nodded happily, “Great! That would be great. . .”
For the rest of the night he was in high spirits. He and Daphne exchanged a “high five” in the kitchen when he told her Una had accepted his offer of a date after work. Gage plunged into his duties with a renewed spirit and every time he looked over to Una’s table he noticed her looking back at him.
The following evening Daphne was all ears and wanted to know how their evening went. Gage hesitated only a moment before he told her it was the best evening he’d had in years. He told her how they’d gone back to Una’s place, got her aged dog and walked him around the park. That they’d hit it off, Daphne didn’t bother to ask, the silly grin on Gage’s face told her all she needed to know.
For the next twenty-four Thursdays, Una would arrive, sit at her table and write as she waited for Gage to get off work. They would then drive somewhere, go for walks, or go to her place to watch television. Gage loved her apartment, it was also done in 1930's style art and design. It didn’t take Gage long to realize that he was in love with Una and that Thursday nights were the best night of his week.
Gage had hinted that perhaps Una shouldn’t dress so “uptown” for the visits to the bar. He said it might discourage men from hitting on her. He confessed that he wasn’t sure what he might do if one of them got too friendly. Una complied, yet to Gage, she looked even better than ever in blue jeans.
He began to put money aside for the future. He loved to talk or just be near her. Una seemed to feel the same way about him. She especially commented on his hair and how she loved the color. She took to calling him, “My Man, Thursday.”
Gage didn’t think his life could get any more wonderful, unless of course, Una was more involved in it. He started dropping not-too-subtle suggestions that she come to the bar on other nights. She refused. She explained that she had a class on Mondays, a part-time job on Tuesdays, a writer’s workshop on Wednesdays, and a charity group on Fridays. Saturdays were business days where she met with her agent or accountant and went over finances and got her mani-pedi. Sundays, she spent at the library doing research or took care of domestic errands.
Gage tried to be patient but little by little he began to grow anxious about her time away from him. He tried to meet with her on his own nights off. He tried lurking around the library or around her apartment building only to find her gone. Gage even grew desperate enough to ask Daphne for help. Daphne suggested that perhaps there was another man in Una's life.
Gage didn’t want to consider that. A tiny bit of him worried that Daphne might be correct. At last, he resolved to put his fears to rest. He decided to ask Una about it, point-blank. They’d been seeing each other every Thursday for the last six months and he had saved money aside to buy her a ring. He assumed that a formal engagement would help dissuade his doubts and assure him of a proper place in her life.
He fixed it with Daphne so he could take off work the next Thursday. If Una was surprised to see him at her apartment door that Thursday afternoon, her expression didn't betray her. She smiled and said she'd be thrilled to have extra time to spend with him. He'd been jubilant and their day together passed all too quickly. He'd been elated but nervous when they were finally alone in her apartment. After an early evening dinner, he pressed her for information.
“Una, is there someone else in your life? Romantically, I mean?”
“Oh Gage,” Una ruffled his hair, “Are you worried?”
“Yes, I am.” He admitted, the weight of the ring in his pocket grew heavier with each passing smile.
“I see.” Una’s face grew solemn, “So, I suppose you’re no longer content with our Thursdays?”
“It’s not that I don’t like our Thursdays, I love them . . . but. . .”
“But you want more?” Una eyed him warily.
“Is there something wrong with that?” Gage defended himself, “I’m crazy about you Una. You know that, don’t you?”
Una sighed softly and studied her ruby-red nails. “I know.”
“Well? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Yes, of course it does . . . you’re my man, Thursday.”
“I want more than Thursday nights, Una.” Gage said and steeled himself for possible rejection. “I want to be your man every night.”
Una gave him a light laugh, “My goodness, it sounds like you’ve been reading one of my novels. You know, I’m almost finished with that series. I’m thinking of starting a new one. A series with a book for every month of the year.”
“That’s great.” Gage said, less than encouraged, “But that’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about us.”
“Let's enjoy our time together without all this fuss. You knew I had a heavy schedule when we started going out together.”
“I want something permanent, Una.” Gage felt for the tiny velvet box in his pocket.
“Sounds like it.” Una exhaled, “I don’t know what to say Gage . . .”
“Say you’ll marry me.” Gage blurted out suddenly. He yanked the ring box from his pocket, actually got down on one knee and opened it for her. “I love you Una. I want us to be together forever.”
Una stared down at the ring box and tears filled her eyes. “Oh Gage, I didn’t realize you were ready to make such a commitment. . .”
“I am Una, I love you. I don’t care about anything else. Only that we’re together.”
Una stood up slowly and smiled, “There’s something I have to show you first.”
Gage followed her into her modest study. There were bookshelves filled with books, an odd assortment of candles and bric-a-brac. She handed him a book. Gage flipped it over and glanced at the cover art. It was the usual beautiful brunette captivated by an adoring, yet faceless auburn haired man that held her.
“It’s the mock-up. It’s not quite finished yet, what do you think?”
“That’s nice Una, but I really don’t see what this has to do with our getting married.”
“I want to make you the hero, the leading man of my latest novel. With your permission of course. It’s about this guy named Gage who works in a bar. He meets this woman and falls madly in love with her.”
“And I thought you only wrote fiction. . .” Gage laughingly tossed the book aside, “Una, quit stalling. . .”
“I’m not stalling. . .” Una went over and snuggled into his arms. “Will you be my hero, Gage?”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Una.”
The next few hours were filled with pleasure that Gage hadn’t dreamed possible. Making love with Una was better than anything he’d ever read in one of her books. He felt supremely happy when he woke up later in her bed among the rumpled sheets. Gage slid his hand out in search of her but found she wasn’t in bed with him. He quickly got out of bed, pulled on his pants and went looking for her.
The dog was fast asleep on the rug in the hall, so Gage assumed she had to still be in the apartment. He found her on the balcony surrounded by candles. She was humming and burning a stack of cocktail napkins. He grimaced. The smoke from those napkins stunk to high Heaven. He called out to her. She turned around clasping the paperback to her breast. She smiled sweetly at him.
“Una? What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About us...”
Gage looked around at the balcony, it looked as though it had rained while he slept. The city lights on the horizon twinkled like neon stars. He was filled with a sleepy sentimental love for her. She stood there looking very much like one of the models on her book covers. Her long umber hair stirred with the slight breezes of the night air. Her sheer black nightgown fluttered about her body to entice his eyes.
“You don’t mind then? My making you the romantic hero of my book?” She asked him then.
“No, as long as I get to be the romantic lead of your life too.” Gage kissed her.
“I’m so glad. . .” Una sighed, “But we’ll have to hurry, it’s nearly midnight.”
“Oh? What happens at midnight?” Gage asked but Una didn’t answer. “Do I turn into a pumpkin?”
“No silly, it becomes Friday.” Una laughed and lifted her arms toward him.
In her hands she held out an open paperback book. Gage had only the briefest glimpse at the blank pages inside before the candles guttered. A cold breeze stirred Una’s hair and clothes to make her look almost like one of the heroine’s on her book covers. A distant clock began to chime the midnight hour when a sudden, gale force wind raged around him.
Gage’s first thought was of Una. He raced to her, clasped her to his chest, afraid she’d be swept over the balcony by the freakish maelstrom. His ears filled with the deafening noise, a clicking sound, like someone at a keyboard. His skin burned. He glanced down and saw his flesh dotted with typeface. He looked up in a panic, glimpsed Una’s smiling face before everything went black and still.
Daphne found the brown paper parcel addressed and delivered to her at the bar the next afternoon. She tore into it and laughed with delight. It was the latest edition of Una Valkyrie’s romantic series. Inside was a note in which Una thanked Daphne for all of her help.
She wrote that she hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to find a replacement for Gage since she’d be taking him on a European book-signing tour with her. She wished Daphne the best of luck and had included a signed copy of her newest novel for her as a thank you. Daphne stared at the cover art of the book.
“Awesome! It looks like Gage! My Man, Thursday.” Daphne flipped through the pages. “Aww, it’s their story too, word for word. Right down to the jerk with the surf-n-turf! Hey, I’m in here too! This is so cool!”
Daphne ran to the phone to call her Mom and tell her the great news.
Across the city, Una held the master copy of her newest novel in her hands and stroked the cover. She smiled to herself and lay the book on the seat beside her. A man approached her car. He smiled and waved to her before he opened the passenger side door.
“Una!” He leaned in and kissed her. “I thought you might not be able to make it.”
“Don’t be silly, Edwin.” Una combed his fiery orange bangs from his blue eyes. “Haven’t I always told you that you’re mine on Fridays?”
Edwin reached down and picked up the paperback. He gave it a dismissive glance before he tossed it into the back seat and climbed into her car. A tiny sound arrested Edwin’s attention.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Una blinked her jet-black eyes innocently.
“I dunno. . . Sounded kind of far away . . . like someone screamed.”
Una glanced back at the paperback in the back seat with loving smile.
The woman who walked in wasn’t anything like the usual Thursday night clientele and Gage felt his jaw go slack at the sight of her. She was the most beautiful brunette he’d ever seen and the way she was dressed announced to all onlookers that she was quite aware of her beauty. Gage hurriedly dropped the cleaning cloth in the sink beneath the bar. He dried his hands as she hesitated at the door.
She looked, Gage thought, like she’d just stepped out of a 1930's movie. She wore black strap pumps and black seamed hose that led up to an equally black silk skirt with a modest slit on the side. Over her white tuxedo blouse the black suit jacket emphasized her curves yet modestly concealed her. She had tiny hands and well-manicured red nails. Her rich coffee colored hair was pulled back in a black bowed snood.
Gage assumed a woman like that wouldn’t come into a bar unless she was “with” someone. Daphne looked over and noted the woman’s arrival. She pushed away from where she leaned against the bar and went up behind Gage. The woman took a seat in the padded semi-circular booths that faced the bar on the opposite side of the club. Daphne nudged Gage.
“Hey, you awake big guy? Or did you want me to take her order?”
He and Daphne had a system. She took the men’s orders and he usually took the women’s orders. The tips were usually better because of it. Men liked Daphne’s blonde hair and merry blue eyes. Women, or usually girls, giggled in groups and practiced their flirting skills as Gage solemnly filled their orders.
Gage looked down at Daphne and shook his head. “No, I’ll get it. She’s probably meeting someone, so I thought I’d give her a few minutes.”
Daphne looked over at the woman and nodded, “You’re probably right. She’s just your type, isn’t she Gage?”
“Huh?” Gage blinked, “What do you mean?”
“The taken type.” Daphne nudged him and went back to refill the pretzel dishes.
Gage felt himself blush and shook his head. Daphne had a point. Usually the only women he found that were “his type” were married or had already had someone, male or female. Gage wasn’t the type to horn-in on somebody else’s girlfriend.
He glanced over at the woman again and felt his stomach do somersaults. She was still alone. Gage couldn’t imagine that she’d be stood up, not her. He collected his cork-lined tray, a glass of water with a sprig of mint and lemon, his order pad, and bucked up his courage. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about approaching her, yet he didn’t have long to consider it before one of the guys at the bar slid down to whisper to Gage.
“Hey fellah . . . buy the lady a drink, on me, then let me know what she’s having, huh?”
Gage looked at the man, dressed in his expensive, three-piece suit, his smart phone at the ready, and did a slow burn. The man appeared as smooth and polished as the bar itself and somewhat oily. Gage nodded mutely, gathered up his tray and walked over to where the woman sat.
“Excuse me, Ma’am? The gentleman at the bar would like to buy you a drink?” Gage felt his mouth go dry as she glanced up at him. “What can I get for you?”
She smiled as if slightly amused and looked over to the bar. Gage glanced over in time to see the man lift his glass of whiskey in salute to the woman. She spoke so quietly that Gage almost didn’t hear her.
“Tell the gentlemen that I appreciate his offer, however I respectfully decline.”
Gage nearly laughed, he was glad she wasn’t here to pick up men. He felt himself grin and asked.
“I’ll do that. Since I’m here, what can I get for you?”
“A Rum and Coke,” She said and pulled out a cigarette from her black beaded bag. “And hold the rum. Also, please bring me a lot of napkins too?”
Gage’s hand dived into his red apron pocket for the lighter he kept there and lighted her cigarette quickly.
“Thank you.” She nodded to him with a slight smile. “And you can remove this water. I won’t need it.”
“You’re welcome, Ma’am. You want a Coke, no complimentary water, and a lot of napkins.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
He almost tripped over his own feet as he went back to the bar. The “oily” guy was still there.
“The lady said, thanks but no thanks.” Gage told him and tried not to grin.
The man turned to look at the woman and grumbled to himself. He pushed away from the bar and went back to join his buddies at the other end of the bar. Daphne came out with some clean glasses and nudged Gage.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is she taken?”
“She’s not wearing a ring.” Gage shrugged, “but that doesn’t always mean anything.”
“Go for it then.”
“Daphne,” Gage turned around so that no one would over hear their conversation. “Cut it out.”
“Aw, c’mon Gage . . . You keep staring at her. Just go up and introduce yourself.”
Gage glanced back at the woman, who was studying something she’d taken out of her purse and smoking idly. He shook his head.
“No way . . . she’s got to be with somebody.” Gage insisted.
“And what if she’s not?” Daphne urged him. “Go on Gage . . . Ask . . . Say something. . .”
Gage stubbornly refused and Daphne shook her head.
“You’re too shy, Gage. How will you ever know if you’re too afraid to talk to her? You’ve never had any problems talking to the other women that come in here. So what gives?”
“That’s different . . . They’re just young girls who have just reached drinking age. She’s obviously not like that.”
“No, I’d say she’s about your age. What are you now, forty?”
“I’m 38.” Gage nudged her back. “Cut it out, I have to get her order.”
“If you’re too chicken, I can take it to her.” Daphne teased him.
Gage shrugged, muttered under his breath and poured a Coke over ice. He remembered the extra napkins and put a handful on his tray. He was glad he had something to do with his hands so that she wouldn’t see them shake as he put down her soda.
“Would you care for an appetizer, or anything else with that?” Gage managed to fumble his usual spiel out of his lips.
She paused as if to consider this. “Maybe later . . . I’m just here for a Coke and some atmosphere.”
Atmosphere? Gage was bewildered, perhaps she was a pick-up artist after all. He wasn’t sure why this disappointed him so much. He stood there with his order pad and tray tucked under his arm. He gave a single nod when words finally returned to him.
“If you need anything else, Ma’am, a refill, or you change your mind about the food, my name’s Gage. I’ll be your server this evening, so if you want anything else, just give me a holler.”
Her lips gave a slight twitch of a smile and she flicked ashes into the ashtray.
“I rarely holler . . . Gage.”
He blushed crimson at her words. Her voice was like velvet being brushed over polished marble. Gage couldn’t imagine it ever being raised in shrewish indignation. The way she said his name made him feel just like she’d run those beautiful nails lightly over his broad back.
“I just meant. . .” He started and she looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.
“I understand. Thank you. Keep my glass full, please, and I’ll be quite satisfied.”
“Sure.” Gage shrugged and nearly drifted back to the bar.
The rest of the night passed much too quickly for Gage. They got the usual amount of the younger crowd who filled the place with noisy revelry. Yet every time he looked her way, Gage noticed that she remained quietly alone, writing something on the stack of cocktail napkins.
Daphne had to give him orders twice sometimes and Gage found it hard to keep his mind on his work. All night he just kept hearing her voice in his head, repeating his name. Every time he refilled her glass she thanked him. Finally it was nearly 1 a.m. and Daphne rang the steel triangle that hung over the bar as she announced “last call.”
There were the usual amount of patrons who’d had one drink too many and Gage phoned up taxi’s for them. One by one, he walked them outside and insisted they could pick their keys up the next day. Although he was sure he’d kept a close eye on the door, when he next looked to her table, he found she’d gone.
Gage went over to wipe down the table where she’d sat and could still smell her perfume as it wafted among the cigarette smoke. He spread his large, freckled hand over the damp cloth as he swiped it across the table top and picked up the twenty-dollar bill she’d left there. A more than generous tip for a night of tee-totaling, Gage thought with a broad smile.
Next to her empty glass there was a napkin with writing on it. Gage grabbed it up and shoved it in his pocket with the bill. Later, after they’d closed the bar, balanced the cash and deposited it in the safe along with the car keys of those patrons too drunk to drive, Gage slipped his tips out of his apron pocket. He hadn’t made very much tonight, except for what “she’d” given him.
Daphne was gloating over her tips and called out to Gage. “Hey, anytime you want to get all dreamy about some other customer, you’ll let me know, huh? I think I picked up all your tips tonight.”
“Sorry Daphne. . .” Gage apologized, “Guess I just wasn’t too with it, tonight.”
“I know exactly where you were. . .” Daphne came up and hugged his arm. “Mooning over Lady Dracula over there.”
“Aw c’mon Daphne, she wasn’t so bad.”
“No.” Daphne smiled at him. “She wasn’t. But who can tell? She sure kept to herself. Funny thing though, she looks familiar to me. I just can’t remember where I’ve seen her.”
“How could you forget?” Gage wondered but kept the thought to himself.
He walked Daphne out to her car. He made sure she got in safely then got in his own car. Once inside, he unfolded the napkin and his pulse raced as he read the feminine handwriting.
“Thank you, Gage. Until next Thursday.”
Gage fumbled with his keys getting into his apartment. He was in a euphoric fog. She’d remembered his name and had practically committed to another visit next Thursday. Gage found it hard to fall asleep that night, as he did every successive night, until Thursday came around again. Gage combed his red hair back into its usual ponytail, shaved with extra care, used the expensive after-shave his sister had sent him last Christmas and picked up his regulation uniform from the dry cleaners.
Black pants, white tuxedo shirt, red bow tie, and red apron. Usually he just threw it in the washer/dryer along with the rest of his clothes, but he wanted to look especially good. It was Thursday after all.
As promised and as Gage had fervently prayed, she arrived at 8 p.m. This time she wore a similar outfit of grey suit dress, black hose, and black pumps. However, his time she’d let her hair fall loosely about her shoulders and Gage thought she looked even prettier than the first time. He walked right up to her table with a Coke and a handful of extra napkins.
“Good evening, Ma’am.” Gage said with a brilliant smile. “Your usual tonight?”
“Good evening, Gage.” She replied and smiled back at him. “Yes, thank you. . .”
Again he lighted her cigarette for her. Again she pretty much kept to herself and wrote on her napkins.
“Hey, she’s back.” Daphne nudged him as she prepped the snack bowls for her shift. “You must have impressed her . . . and don’t you look handsome tonight. My, my, Gage, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you knew she was going to be here.”
“Well,” Gage grinned, “It is Thursday.”
And so it was.
Gage thought it was the most wonderful evening of his life. As he did every Thursday for the next six weeks. Each Thursday she would arrive, Gage would have her Coke and extra cocktail napkins ready for her. He’d spend the entire night keeping a discreet eye on her.
Men would offer to buy her drinks, which she always refused, and no one ever met her there. Sometimes she would even allow Gage some small talk. Never too much, he didn’t want to burden Daphne with all the work, but every Thursday night she’d leave him an excellent tip and a note that read, “Thank you Gage, until next Thursday.”
It became a routine of sorts, between them.
Gage looked forward to Thursdays the way most people looked forward to Fridays or Saturdays. Even Daphne teased him about it. One night, Gage had to break up a quarrel that started in one corner of the club and when he returned to the bar he was horrified to see Daphne waiting her table.
Daphne laughed and tossed her blonde hair around like some giggly teenager while “She” smiled and seemed to chat quite easily with the waitress. Gage did a slow burn. He didn’t like Daphne’s intrusion and realized rather tardily that he’d become quite possessive of his mysterious customer. Daphne came back to the bar and Gage confronted her in a low whisper.
“What are you doing?”
“What?” Daphne’s eyes rounded with bewilderment, “What do you mean?”
“What were you two laughing about?” Gage gestured with a head nod toward “her” table.
“Oh that!” Daphne winked at him. “I was telling her all about you. How you’ve got this hopeless crush on her and how. . .”
“Daphne!” Gage nearly yelled, mortified. “You didn’t!”
Patrons looked up from their drinks. Daphne grabbed Gage’s arm to pull him into the kitchen. “Keep your voice down!”
“Daphne, I can’t believe you’d do something so stupid. . .”
“Of course I didn’t! Sheesh! Can’t you take a joke?” Daphne glared at him for a few seconds before she gave him a sly grin. “But it’s true isn’t it?”
Gage felt ridiculous. Big, freckled and ridiculous. He stammered.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh for crying out loud, you like her, admit it.”
“How can I like someone I don’t even know?” Gage glared at Daphne.
“Good point. How about you let me help you out a little? You remember I told you she looked familiar to me? I just remembered where I'd seen her.” Daphne pulled a paperback from the pocket of her apron and shoved it into his hands. “I've read her. She’s a writer, I doubt you’ve ever heard of her. Her name is Una Valkyrie. She’s a very popular author among the bodice-ripper crowd.”
Gage gave Daphne a blank stare.
“Romance novels, Gage.” Daphne tapped the book he held. “I’ve read her stuff, pretty steamy some of it. Seems she has a type too. All of her leading male characters are red-heads.”
“A writer?” Gage turned the book over in his hands and nearly fell over.
There on the cover was a red-haired man who clutched a wild-maned brunette to his bare chest. They looked as though they were frozen just before a moment of animal passion. Behind them a blackboard, a desk with books and papers strewn across it. Gage turned the book over in his hands and read the back. It was all about a woman who fell in love with the professor of her Monday night college class.
Daphne grabbed the book from his hands, “Here, look at this.”
She opened it to the back jacket where a picture of “his” mystery customer stared back at her readers. Her ebony eyes seemed to stare right through him. Eagerly, Gage read the small biographical blurb that accompanied. She was single, lived with her dog on the South side of town and this particular novel was the first in a series.
“She’s done several other series too.” Daphne informed him. “This is a new one. I’m going to have to get the rest of these. I think there are maybe three so far. . .”
Gage handed her back her book. “Thanks Daphne . . . I’m sorry if I yelled at you.”
“No problem. . .” Daphne shrugged, “Just doing what I can for a poor guy in love.”
Gage blushed again and laughed. “Yeah . . . well. . .”
“Hey, what are friends for?” Daphne hugged him briefly, “Now you know her name at least. Go talk to her, she really seems nice. I’m sorry for calling her Lady Dracula, okay?”
Gage nodded and they both returned to attend their customers. Gage noticed that it had gotten very crowded in the last few minutes and he had trouble keeping watch over “her” table. Finally, when most of the rush died down, he was able to go back over to refill her drink.
“How are you this evening, Gage?” She asked and stopped writing to gaze up at him.
Gage felt stupid and wordless as she stared into his eyes. They were as deep and black as midnight. He couldn’t even talk so he nodded.
“That’s good. . .” She replied, “Gage, may I ask a favor of you?”
“Sure Ma’am.”
“Would you please quit calling me Ma’am? It makes me feel old.” She gestured with her pen, “Just call me Una. Everyone else does.”
“Sure . . . Una . . . thank you.” He felt silly, being so tongue-tied around her.
“And tonight, I think I’d like something to eat. I didn’t get a chance earlier and I’m a bit hungry. . .”
“What would you like?”
“Something light . . . not too heavy. A salad perhaps?”
Gage wanted to do cartwheels all the way back to the bar. He managed a nod. He rushed her order through and made it with extra everything. When he returned it to her table she thanked him, as usual, and went back to writing on her napkins. Gage managed a peek at one of them and noticed “. . . a handsome auburn haired waiter. . .” written in her feminine script.
Gage was thrilled. He hoped she meant him but was far too modest to ask. He merely waited her table, watched her turn down drinks men offered her, and wished. He bought a copy of the romance series that started with “Monday’s Mentor.” He didn’t like the genre yet when he read it he could easily picture himself in the lead role and Una as his beautiful lover.
He began to build up quite a fantasy about the two of them. Enough that he got jealous whenever the heroine called her lover, pet names, or made references to “Professor Drake.” He chided himself through a few more chapters as the feeling and the fantasy grew. He skipped through most of the plot, hungrily reading the scintillating text that described their “flames of passion.”
Gage never knew there were so many euphemisms for sex.
Laboriously, Thursday by Thursday, Gage gleaned tidbits of information from her. He no longer charged her for her salads or her drinks. He took it out of his own tips, which nose-dived on Thursdays. He was too preoccupied with keeping an eye on Una. Daphne never complained but her teasing took on new vigor.
One late Thursday night, Gage noticed a distinguished man in the table next to hers. He eyed Una, as did most of the men when they first saw her. Daphne went over to take his order. The man ordered the most expensive surf-n-turf they had, he gestured toward Una.
“. . . And please ask that pretty little lady over there, if I can join her for dinner? What’s she having? A salad? Great, trying to watch her weight. She’s easy on the tab as well as the eyes. Bring us a bottle of your best wine.”
Daphne smiled and shook her head.
“I’m sorry sir, she doesn’t drink.”
“Oh? You know her?” The man seemed intrigued.
“Yes sir.” Daphne answered.
“Then by all means, introduce me.”
Gage looked up from the bar and saw Daphne approach Una’s regular table. He filled up another Coke and took it over to see what was going on.
“Good evening, Una.”
“Good evening, Gage. Hello Daphne.”
“Miss Valkyrie . . .” Daphne hesitated, “The man over there wanted to send over a bottle of wine but I told him you didn’t drink.”
Una looked up at her and sighed. “Thank you, Daphne.”
“He wants to know if he can join you for dinner.”
Daphne felt traitorous even mentioning it, but the way the man persisted she knew if she didn’t say something the guy would probably get up and take matters into his own hands. Gage looked over Daphne’s shoulder and hated the man immediately. He was all the things Gage wasn’t. Black haired, blue-eyed, debonair, and moneyed. He had the suave, handsome looks of James Bond.
“Oh really, Daphne, you know I don’t invite the company of strange men.”
“Yes well. . .” Daphne demurred, “He seems pretty stubborn.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I just told him you didn’t drink but I thought I’d better ask you about the dinner. He’s having the steak-n-lobster.”
Daphne gave Gage a helpless look. She felt awful even mentioning it in Gage’s presence. She knew he was crushing on the writer and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She glanced back over at the man who eyed them with all the smug, self-confidence of impending victory.
“Thank you Daphne,” Una smiled at the waitress. “Don’t worry, you did the right thing.”
“What do you want me to tell him?” Daphne hoped it would be no.
“Gage?” Una looked up at the tall waiter/barkeep.
“Yes Una?”
“Go over and discourage him, please?” Una exhaled cigarette smoke. “I’m really too busy to be disturbed just now.”
“Discourage him?” Gage chuckled, “What would you like me to say?”
Una shrugged and never blinked an eye as she replied. “Oh, I don’t care. You’re clever, I’m sure you’ll think of something. . .”
“But he doesn’t look like he’s used to being turned down.” Daphne insisted.
“Don’t be silly. Gage will handle it. Just tell him I’m not available for dinner.” Una seemed mildly annoyed.
“Don’t worry Una, I’ll take care of it.”
Gage walked briskly over to the man and politely rebuffed his offer to join Una for dinner. The man however was not so easily put off. He thanked Gage and dismissed him back to the bar. Daphne returned to prepare the man’s order then gasped. Gage looked up to see that the man had established himself at Una’s table without invitation. Gage quickly went over to them.
“I was certain I recognized you. My name’s Stephen. Stephen Howards,” The man was saying. “Perhaps you’re familiar with my name? I do own a sizeable chunk of the computer gaming world. The latest technology. . .”
Una looked up to Gage for assistance. She seemed disappointed in him, which made him feel all the worse. He leaned over to the man and cleared his throat.
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, however the lady doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Look, I’m just being sociable.” He smiled, showed a set of pearly white teeth. “Don’t you have customers or something?”
Gage couldn’t think yet Una had said, believed, he was clever. This man irritated the Hell out of him and was being a nuisance to Una. He frowned and drew up to his most imposing posture.
“Sir, if you don’t leave this table immediately, I’ll have to refuse you service. The lady doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“The Hell you will,” The man spoke with a condescension that annoyed Gage. “I’ll have your ass demoted back to busboy, Galahad.”
“Excuse me.” Una interrupted them as the threat between them grew more palpable. “Mr. Howards, I’m sure you misunderstood. Gage is merely doing his job. Whereas I’m sure we didn’t mean to offend you, Gage cannot allow his personal issues to enter into his duties here. We’d both appreciate it if you’d leave my table.”
“Oh?” The man eyed the waiter, “So, it’s personal between you two huh?”
Una smiled, “We knew you’d understand.”
“Well,” The man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. “Keep my card - whenever you’re tired of slumming - give me a call.”
Gage was embarrassed that Una had to settle the matter herself. He watched as she politely took the card. Mr. Howards stood, adjusted his suit coat, and left the club without waiting for his dinner, or paying for his drinks. Gage stood there, annoyed that he hadn’t punched the guy, even if it would’ve gotten him fired.
“I’m sorry,” He began and Una interrupted him.
“Don’t worry about it, Gage.” She smiled, “I’m sorry to use you as a tactical weapon, but he was the type who wouldn’t listen.”
“I don’t mind.” Gage assured her. “In fact, I kind of like the way that sounded.”
“Really?” Una toyed with the business card in her hands. “Me, too.”
She tore the card into precise pieces and deposited it into her ashtray. Una clicked her pen and gave Gage an endearing smile.
“Would you please bring me a clean ashtray? This one seems to be full of disgusting stuff . . . Gage.”
“Right away, Una.”
After having gotten her a clean ashtray, he had to go tend the bar. A few minutes later, he cornered Daphne in the kitchen. He told her everything Una had said and she almost shrieked with delight.
“That’s wonderful Gage!” She hugged his arm, “Sounds like she’s interested in you too. Why not ask her for a date?”
Gage considered it. When the crowd thinned out he brought Una another Coke.
“Una?”
“Yes, Gage?”
“I know you’re busy writing and I don’t want to interrupt you, but I was wondering . . . .”
“About?” Una stopped writing on the napkin and fixed her attention on him.
“If . . . Well, if you wanted to have dinner sometime?”
“I just ate dinner, Gage. It was a delicious salad, by the way.”
“Yes, thank you, I meant . . .” He paused, “. . . I meant, some other night. When I’m off duty. We wouldn’t have to go to dinner necessarily . . . Just out somewhere. I mean, if that would be okay?”
Una stared at him and Gage got that same strange tingly feeling all over again. He felt silly at his own shyness.
“Are you asking me for a date, Gage?”
“Yes.” He nodded, “Yes, I am.”
Una gave him a slight smile, “I’m sorry Gage but . . .”
“Oh.” Gage felt heartsick even though he'd expected the brush-off. So much so he'd interrupted her. “I see. Well, that's okay, I didn’t know there was someone . . . I mean . . . never mind then. It’s cool.”
Una laughed and it both devastated and delighted him. “Gage, please, don’t misunderstand. I would be happy to go out with you. It’s just that Thursday’s are my only free nights right now.”
Gage felt hopeful and looked over to see Daphne gesturing encouragement from behind the bar.
“Well that’s okay. I mean, if you don’t mind waiting until we close?” Gage suggested, “I don’t know what’s open that late.”
Una reached over and put her tiny hand on top of his. She traced the freckles along the back of his hand with a scarlet, manicured nail.
“There’s a large city out there Gage, I’m sure we can find something to do.”
Gage nodded happily, “Great! That would be great. . .”
For the rest of the night he was in high spirits. He and Daphne exchanged a “high five” in the kitchen when he told her Una had accepted his offer of a date after work. Gage plunged into his duties with a renewed spirit and every time he looked over to Una’s table he noticed her looking back at him.
The following evening Daphne was all ears and wanted to know how their evening went. Gage hesitated only a moment before he told her it was the best evening he’d had in years. He told her how they’d gone back to Una’s place, got her aged dog and walked him around the park. That they’d hit it off, Daphne didn’t bother to ask, the silly grin on Gage’s face told her all she needed to know.
For the next twenty-four Thursdays, Una would arrive, sit at her table and write as she waited for Gage to get off work. They would then drive somewhere, go for walks, or go to her place to watch television. Gage loved her apartment, it was also done in 1930's style art and design. It didn’t take Gage long to realize that he was in love with Una and that Thursday nights were the best night of his week.
Gage had hinted that perhaps Una shouldn’t dress so “uptown” for the visits to the bar. He said it might discourage men from hitting on her. He confessed that he wasn’t sure what he might do if one of them got too friendly. Una complied, yet to Gage, she looked even better than ever in blue jeans.
He began to put money aside for the future. He loved to talk or just be near her. Una seemed to feel the same way about him. She especially commented on his hair and how she loved the color. She took to calling him, “My Man, Thursday.”
Gage didn’t think his life could get any more wonderful, unless of course, Una was more involved in it. He started dropping not-too-subtle suggestions that she come to the bar on other nights. She refused. She explained that she had a class on Mondays, a part-time job on Tuesdays, a writer’s workshop on Wednesdays, and a charity group on Fridays. Saturdays were business days where she met with her agent or accountant and went over finances and got her mani-pedi. Sundays, she spent at the library doing research or took care of domestic errands.
Gage tried to be patient but little by little he began to grow anxious about her time away from him. He tried to meet with her on his own nights off. He tried lurking around the library or around her apartment building only to find her gone. Gage even grew desperate enough to ask Daphne for help. Daphne suggested that perhaps there was another man in Una's life.
Gage didn’t want to consider that. A tiny bit of him worried that Daphne might be correct. At last, he resolved to put his fears to rest. He decided to ask Una about it, point-blank. They’d been seeing each other every Thursday for the last six months and he had saved money aside to buy her a ring. He assumed that a formal engagement would help dissuade his doubts and assure him of a proper place in her life.
He fixed it with Daphne so he could take off work the next Thursday. If Una was surprised to see him at her apartment door that Thursday afternoon, her expression didn't betray her. She smiled and said she'd be thrilled to have extra time to spend with him. He'd been jubilant and their day together passed all too quickly. He'd been elated but nervous when they were finally alone in her apartment. After an early evening dinner, he pressed her for information.
“Una, is there someone else in your life? Romantically, I mean?”
“Oh Gage,” Una ruffled his hair, “Are you worried?”
“Yes, I am.” He admitted, the weight of the ring in his pocket grew heavier with each passing smile.
“I see.” Una’s face grew solemn, “So, I suppose you’re no longer content with our Thursdays?”
“It’s not that I don’t like our Thursdays, I love them . . . but. . .”
“But you want more?” Una eyed him warily.
“Is there something wrong with that?” Gage defended himself, “I’m crazy about you Una. You know that, don’t you?”
Una sighed softly and studied her ruby-red nails. “I know.”
“Well? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Yes, of course it does . . . you’re my man, Thursday.”
“I want more than Thursday nights, Una.” Gage said and steeled himself for possible rejection. “I want to be your man every night.”
Una gave him a light laugh, “My goodness, it sounds like you’ve been reading one of my novels. You know, I’m almost finished with that series. I’m thinking of starting a new one. A series with a book for every month of the year.”
“That’s great.” Gage said, less than encouraged, “But that’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about us.”
“Let's enjoy our time together without all this fuss. You knew I had a heavy schedule when we started going out together.”
“I want something permanent, Una.” Gage felt for the tiny velvet box in his pocket.
“Sounds like it.” Una exhaled, “I don’t know what to say Gage . . .”
“Say you’ll marry me.” Gage blurted out suddenly. He yanked the ring box from his pocket, actually got down on one knee and opened it for her. “I love you Una. I want us to be together forever.”
Una stared down at the ring box and tears filled her eyes. “Oh Gage, I didn’t realize you were ready to make such a commitment. . .”
“I am Una, I love you. I don’t care about anything else. Only that we’re together.”
Una stood up slowly and smiled, “There’s something I have to show you first.”
Gage followed her into her modest study. There were bookshelves filled with books, an odd assortment of candles and bric-a-brac. She handed him a book. Gage flipped it over and glanced at the cover art. It was the usual beautiful brunette captivated by an adoring, yet faceless auburn haired man that held her.
“It’s the mock-up. It’s not quite finished yet, what do you think?”
“That’s nice Una, but I really don’t see what this has to do with our getting married.”
“I want to make you the hero, the leading man of my latest novel. With your permission of course. It’s about this guy named Gage who works in a bar. He meets this woman and falls madly in love with her.”
“And I thought you only wrote fiction. . .” Gage laughingly tossed the book aside, “Una, quit stalling. . .”
“I’m not stalling. . .” Una went over and snuggled into his arms. “Will you be my hero, Gage?”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Una.”
The next few hours were filled with pleasure that Gage hadn’t dreamed possible. Making love with Una was better than anything he’d ever read in one of her books. He felt supremely happy when he woke up later in her bed among the rumpled sheets. Gage slid his hand out in search of her but found she wasn’t in bed with him. He quickly got out of bed, pulled on his pants and went looking for her.
The dog was fast asleep on the rug in the hall, so Gage assumed she had to still be in the apartment. He found her on the balcony surrounded by candles. She was humming and burning a stack of cocktail napkins. He grimaced. The smoke from those napkins stunk to high Heaven. He called out to her. She turned around clasping the paperback to her breast. She smiled sweetly at him.
“Una? What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About us...”
Gage looked around at the balcony, it looked as though it had rained while he slept. The city lights on the horizon twinkled like neon stars. He was filled with a sleepy sentimental love for her. She stood there looking very much like one of the models on her book covers. Her long umber hair stirred with the slight breezes of the night air. Her sheer black nightgown fluttered about her body to entice his eyes.
“You don’t mind then? My making you the romantic hero of my book?” She asked him then.
“No, as long as I get to be the romantic lead of your life too.” Gage kissed her.
“I’m so glad. . .” Una sighed, “But we’ll have to hurry, it’s nearly midnight.”
“Oh? What happens at midnight?” Gage asked but Una didn’t answer. “Do I turn into a pumpkin?”
“No silly, it becomes Friday.” Una laughed and lifted her arms toward him.
In her hands she held out an open paperback book. Gage had only the briefest glimpse at the blank pages inside before the candles guttered. A cold breeze stirred Una’s hair and clothes to make her look almost like one of the heroine’s on her book covers. A distant clock began to chime the midnight hour when a sudden, gale force wind raged around him.
Gage’s first thought was of Una. He raced to her, clasped her to his chest, afraid she’d be swept over the balcony by the freakish maelstrom. His ears filled with the deafening noise, a clicking sound, like someone at a keyboard. His skin burned. He glanced down and saw his flesh dotted with typeface. He looked up in a panic, glimpsed Una’s smiling face before everything went black and still.
Daphne found the brown paper parcel addressed and delivered to her at the bar the next afternoon. She tore into it and laughed with delight. It was the latest edition of Una Valkyrie’s romantic series. Inside was a note in which Una thanked Daphne for all of her help.
She wrote that she hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to find a replacement for Gage since she’d be taking him on a European book-signing tour with her. She wished Daphne the best of luck and had included a signed copy of her newest novel for her as a thank you. Daphne stared at the cover art of the book.
“Awesome! It looks like Gage! My Man, Thursday.” Daphne flipped through the pages. “Aww, it’s their story too, word for word. Right down to the jerk with the surf-n-turf! Hey, I’m in here too! This is so cool!”
Daphne ran to the phone to call her Mom and tell her the great news.
Across the city, Una held the master copy of her newest novel in her hands and stroked the cover. She smiled to herself and lay the book on the seat beside her. A man approached her car. He smiled and waved to her before he opened the passenger side door.
“Una!” He leaned in and kissed her. “I thought you might not be able to make it.”
“Don’t be silly, Edwin.” Una combed his fiery orange bangs from his blue eyes. “Haven’t I always told you that you’re mine on Fridays?”
Edwin reached down and picked up the paperback. He gave it a dismissive glance before he tossed it into the back seat and climbed into her car. A tiny sound arrested Edwin’s attention.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Una blinked her jet-black eyes innocently.
“I dunno. . . Sounded kind of far away . . . like someone screamed.”
Una glanced back at the paperback in the back seat with loving smile.
Remembering Melody
Originally written: 9/28/92 ---Updated: 8/20/15
I found the weathered, L-shaped house quite by accident. Just an ordinary house on ordinary day, or so I thought. After a natural disaster had blown through my life and taken all of my material possessions with it, I'd been left homeless, broke, and almost too weary to begin life anew. I’d been looking forward to ordinary.
My dog, Calvin, and I had to rebuild our lives. I'd made a little money and tried to encourage myself to find a reason to get back on the "horse" of life. I’d come home, to the Midwest, to invade my parents' house and privacy. They were loving, welcoming, and worried.
Family, love, and the temporary change of residence was part of the healing process. I’d taken to walking my dog through the back woods a few blocks behind my parent's home. These long walks restored my faith in nature as a healer instead of a destroyer. Upon a rutted, weed-covered path that once served bicycles and hikers in the days of my childhood, I wandered idly along.
Calvin loped along the path near the shallow creek exerting his independence while I pretended he enjoyed being close to me. He’d bound off happily, when I gave give him the word, to disappear into the woods. I’d whistle occasionally, just enough to keep Calvin in reality.
He’d eventually return, in his rocking horse gait, to whiffle the leaves with his pointed muzzle. I stopped, waited for his return, and stared up at the nearly denuded branches of the trees. Oaks, yews, hedge apple, crabapple, and dogwood. Americana on a postcard. The bucolic ideal; open fields, working farms, and quiet suburbs with four seasons. This was a good place to heal.
Blue jays screamed overhead, argued with starlings over territorial space. I ignored their chatter and examined a few leaf banks that formed with the progression of the season. Glorious autumn in yellows, reds, pied greens, and browns. The season mottled the dead chloroflesh, giving the mounds of leaves a cornucopia of color.
The sun speared ineffectual beams through the skeletal branches overhead to provide light without much warmth. Biding my time to give Calvin a break from being indoors during my working hours, I kicked at a pile of the dead leaves as Calvin trotted into sight. He’d nuzzle my hand to check on his human before he’d turn and race ahead of me along our aimless path.
I trotted after him for a moment but had soon slowed to a halt. My lungs labored with effort from the fuel of chilled oxygen. As pretty as it was, I’d not yet adapted to the climate. After my breath slowly returned to a regular flow, I heard an odd singular cry.
I lost sight of my dog, in the denser underbrush that flanked the path, as he raced off to investigate. I whistled for him again and heard him bark a reply, when the odd cry repeated. I hurried toward the sound and whistled again for Calvin. He came back, cocklebur accents dotting his short fur.
I moved closer to him, as the sound repeated and he whined toward the dense woods. His ears and eyes lifted to peer off into the trees. I told myself it was probably a bird or some other woodland creature. I threw a stick and tried to encourage Calvin away from scents I couldn’t imagine. The old distraction techniques of ‘human-throws-stick-and-retrieves-it,’ failed to inspire Calvin into play.
I grumbled to myself as I went to fetch the stick myself. That's when I first saw the house. It appeared sturdily built, a squat, ground floor structure, bent like an elbow around a wooden deck. I listened cautiously for signs of life and called out. No sound had answered mine.
I hooked my finger around Calvin's collar, intending to pull him away, but he’d insisted on some exploration first. I knew he just wanted to hike his leg on the corner post to mark that he'd been there. While Calvin took care of business, I studied the house. It wasn’t as close as it'd first appeared.
The foundation was a slight rise between the beige and yellow waist-high grass that surrounded and almost concealed it. It looked vacant, except for the curtains on the filmy windows. It wasn’t until I heard my boot heels echo against the wood plank ramp that led up to the porch that I even realized I’d gotten that close.
"Hello?" I called. "Anybody there?"
No reply, not even the churlish squirrels or noisy jays broke the stillness of the woods. I'd no idea who lived there and didn’t remember there having been a house near these woods. I shrugged it off. A lot had changed since the last time I’d been back in my hometown, least of all me.
Awful creaks and groans emitted from the gray, weathered, wood of a wheelchair ramp as if my approach pained it. Calvin was braver than me. He cantered past me to the front door and snuffled at the sill. I put my hands in my pockets and squinted against the sun while I looked around at the front exterior and porch of the odd house.
The faded eaves still wore Christmas lights. They sagged in places as if they’d had been left up for years. For all I knew, they had, but Calvin’s bold approach had given me a reason to push my cautious nature aside in favor of my curiosity. I assumed an elderly person lived there. Someone who was no longer able to bother putting the lights up and down on a seasonal basis.
Even on that cool autumn day, in the middle of the afternoon, the place had held an aura of age, sadness, and neglect. In spite of its aged aura, it seemed solid, hidden under many layers of paint. I noted at least two color changes between the chipped blotches. Once Calvin had marked a few more boundaries I had no excuse to remain yet I felt compelled to stay.
That’s when we heard it again, that same cry. Being on the front porch of the house, I whirled around - every hair on the back of my neck rose in alarm. I stepped closer to the door where Calvin joined me. He scratched at the doorsill with his black claws.
"Hello? Is somebody there?" I called out and waited, "Do you need help?"
I hadn’t carried my phone with me, for fear of dropping it in a field or the creek. Neither had I known any neighbors close enough so I could’ve run to their house to dial 911. When the plaintive, childlike wail sounded again, I had to investigate. I shakily tried the doorknob and to my surprise it turned easily in my hesitant grip.
"Hello?"
I pushed open the door and silence hung to the interior like the faded wallpaper. Filled with apprehension, I stepped inside, and found myself in an aged kitchen. Gas stove, cracked linoleum floor, white and blue tiled counters that dated the design as early 1950's. The kind of kitchen which, in its heyday, would’ve made June Cleaver comfortable as she scrambled eggs for Ward, Wally, and the Beaver.
Calvin didn’t worry over conventions and social cues, he strolled ahead of me. The open arch of the kitchen's interior access revealed a modest living room, old but functional. A stone fireplace dominated the far end of the room. A gaudy, overstuffed plaid couch sat in wounded repose before the cold hearth, absent of firewood.
A dented, scarred wooden coffee table waited between hearth and sofa. An equally used Lazy-Boy recliner tilted off-balance near the end of the sofa. A brass floor lamp stood with its dust-covered shade, between the two. In spite of its vacant appearance, it didn't smell of mold or mildew, only dust. A couple of art prints in cheap frames decorated the paneled walls.
That's when I noticed two wooden doors on the other side of the room. One was closed, the other open. Open enough to reveal the young woman on the floor. I was shocked to see her there and even further surprised to see her looking at me. She lay, quite calmly, on her side in a faded flannel gown that twisted around two white, thin legs. A slight smile formed on her lips.
Calvin approached her with his hackles raised. A low growl formed in his throat yet his tail began to wag. I pushed him back as I hurried over to kneel beside her.
"Omigosh!" I exclaimed, "Are you okay?"
"Do you know many folks who lay around on the floor?"
"Well, no. What happened?"
"I fell, duh." She said, "Help me up, okay? Don't worry about my legs though, they don't work."
I helped hoist her up. She grabbed my jacket with a strong pull and held on fast. The medical contraption of her bed was elevated at one end. A huge padded triangle suspended over it, held in place by a thick chain fastened securely into the ceiling beam. I exhaled with relief once she was safely back in bed again.
"Thanks." She sighed as she used her arms to settle herself in the depressed hollow of the mattress.
"You’re welcome." I shrugged, annoyed that I hadn’t brought my phone with me. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Only my feelings." She chuckled as she smoothed the covers over her thin body. "I am kind of thirsty though."
"Let me get you something."
She smiled. Her auburn red hair was wildly tousled and she combed uselessly through it with her fingers as she spoke.
"There's soda in the refrigerator. Help yourself to something, too. Just don't drink the beer, that's Eric's."
I retrieved two cans of Diet Dr. Pepper, opened them, and took them into what I assumed was her bedroom. Calvin returned with a suspicious snort. I hooked his collar with my finger and tugged him over to me. I didn’t want him to decide to mark his territory inside of this house, where we weren’t invited.
"Seriously, if you're hurt anywhere, I should call a doctor."
"No, it would only piss Eric off. He can't really afford it." She casually dismissed my concern and eyed Calvin warily. "Cool dog, does he bite?"
"Not usually." I patted Calvin's head to calm him, "This is Calvin. He's the one who heard you."
She nodded, "I couldn't decide whether or not to yell again when I heard your footsteps. Thought I might as well give it a try. I'm just glad you were a woman."
"You shouldn't leave your door unlocked." I cautioned her. "Anybody could just walk right in."
"Have to." She sighed, "If there was a fire I can fall out of bed and crawl out. That’s why there are rags tied to all of the handles, I can reach those and pull, but I couldn’t reach the lock on my own.”
The idea made me immensely uncomfortable, but I knew it wasn't really any of my business. I shrugged and sipped at the soda before I offered her a smile.
"I guess I better be going."
"Do you have to go?" She asked anxiously.
"I should."
"Can't you stay and finish your pop, at least?"
She held out her pale hand in a friendly introduction, "I'm Melody."
For the next two hours, I sat in the creaky rocker at her bedside and talked to her. I learned that Melody was a 14-year old invalid who lived there with her brother, Eric. She explained that Eric worked construction and was gone most of the time. I also learned that Eric had a girlfriend that used to stay with Melody but had eventually left them both. Before the girlfriend, some of Eric’s friends had helped him look after her. After the girlfriend, there’d been a series of hired nurses, they’d also left.
"Do you have a phone I can use?" I asked.
“The battery on my cell is dead but we have a land-line too.” She nodded in gesture. "In the kitchen, didn't you see it when you came in?"
"I wasn't looking for it at the time."
"On the wall,” she yelled to direct me. "By the door you came in.”
I called my parents and spoke to my Mother. I told her what had happened and she sounded slightly confused.
"Where?"
"Out in the woods. Past Drexler's fields."
"Clear out there?"
"Yeah. Anyway, I'm going to stay here until I'm sure somebody comes home to take care of this kid, okay?"
"All right, but be careful. I don't know the family. It could be dangerous."
"It's okay, I've got Calvin with me."
"All right, Honey. I'll leave the porch light on for you."
"Look, I'll call back if I need a ride or something, or if my plans change. I just didn't want you to worry."
I stood there with the receiver in my hand and wondered whether I should call the police, social services, or someone in authority. I figured there was some kind of law about leaving children, especially invalid children, alone in a house. As much as I knew it was what I should do, I didn't.
I went back into Melody's bedroom.
We talked some more, mostly about her. She was friendly, yet something about her seemed “off”, as if she was scared of something. I reminded myself that falling out of bed and being alone probably had shaken up her confidence. It’d be enough to scare anyone, so I dismissed it.
I told her my life story in the briefest of paraphrases. She was particularly interested in the natural disaster but I didn't elaborate. Afternoon wore into evening and she began to yawn. I told her I ought to get home before it got so dark that I wouldn’t lose my way in the woods.
She detained me with the sincere insistence that Eric could drive me home in his truck when he returned from work. I allowed her to keep me there as I wondered if there was a law against trespassing in aid of a fallen person. It was pitch dark outside when a rattled roar and bright lights suggested the arrival of a vehicle on the weed-choked driveway.
Immediately nervous, I was afraid Eric - who sounded like he didn't like much of anything - would be angry when he found me in his house with his sister. Calvin, who’d curled up for a nap at my feet, jumped to his paws and growled a warning. There came the sound of heavy boot heels on the arthritic wooden deck, the rustle of paper, and a man’s voice called out.
"Melody? I'm home."
"In here." She called out and rubbed her eyes. She glanced over at me with a grin, a finger to her lips. "Sssh, don't say anything. I want to surprise him."
I started to protest, but my objection was cut short by the appearance of Eric in the bedroom doorway. I held Calvin's collar as he barked at the man. Eric didn’t look anything like I’d envisioned from Melody's description. His brown hair hung down past his shoulders in a ponytail.
He was tall and lean, with the hardened build of a guy who ate too little and worked too hard. His clothes were filthy and I could see plaster and cement splotches on his work boots. His eyes were soft, brown spots in a gaunt, weather-worn face. As he stared at me, his black eyebrows pulled into a frown.
"Hi." I waved meekly as Melody introduced me and Calvin.
"Hello." He nodded uncertainly.
"She's my new friend." Melody explained cheerfully.
"Pleased to meet you."
His words were incongruent to the expression on his face.
"Look, uh, Eric, I'm sorry. I know this probably seems very strange but I . . ."
"No!" Melody wailed, "I want to tell him."
I yielded to her exuberance.
"I fell out of bed today, Eric. I must've had a spasm or something. Anyway, I heard someone outside, I couldn't get up so I yelled and yelled for help. Calvin heard me and led her in here."
Eric's eyes remained fixed on me. I wanted to shrink under his gaze, which I felt was less than appreciative.
"Anyway, I told her to stay since I knew you'd want to thank her. I knew you probably wouldn't believe me when I told you, if she wasn’t here to prove it. She needs you to take her home in the truck, can you?"
He blinked as though he'd been slapped. He gave me a hesitant nod, "Sure."
"Great!" Melody smiled triumphantly, "See? I told you."
"Let me change out of these clothes first and I'll take you home."
"Fine, thank you." I nodded agreeably.
Melody seemed quite pleased with herself. Since she hadn't any leverage, she merely beat on her mattress with her hands to emphasize her words.
"Great! This is great! He likes you. I can tell."
I waited and in a few moments, Eric returned to Melody's room. Calvin's tail thumped in recognition against the floor. Eric brought a glass of water and a pill bottle.
"Melody," he started gruffly. "It's raining outside and I can't fit all of us in the cab. You'll have to stay."
"Hey, look," I interjected, "Never mind the ride. I can walk back. I got here on my own two feet."
"No, Melody's right. It's too dark for that to be any good. Besides it's raining, you'll get soaked." He turned his attention to his sister. "Here, take two of these and get some sleep. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"I really don't feel right about leaving her here alone." I insisted but Eric shook his head.
"She'll be fine. Come on."
We walked out to his battered, early model Ford pickup. Eric dropped the tailgate and Calvin stared at it with indifference.
"I had to wire the passenger door shut."
"Why?" I asked as I halted on my step up, the sound of this made me nervous.
"So Melody won't fall out. Don't worry, I'm not dangerous." He only grinned, very handsomely. “I think your dog here is a good chaperone. He won’t let me get too close.”
I followed Eric's instructions of getting in on the driver's side and Calvin rounded the truck and hopped into the cab beside me. Calvin growled, almost on cue, yet when Eric climbed into the cab he got his face washed with a pink canine tongue for his chauffeur services.
I had a million-and-one questions for Eric, which he answered in a placid, unhurried tone. He told me that he and Melody were alone in the world, except for an absent father who wrote sporadically. Their mother, I learned, had died in the car accident which had left Melody paralyzed at the tender age of six.
He followed my directions as I pointed out familiar streets. The rain slowed and stopped by the time we reached my parent’s hose. Eric parked in front of their house, got out and held open the door. Calvin hopped out and I followed. He walked me halfway up the yard and we stopped. I bravely asked why he left Melody alone during the day.
"It's against the law, y'know?"
He shrugged, "My insurance doesn't cover live-in help. I tried to make it for a while, worked night jobs, and had friends who came by to help."
"Like your girlfriend?"
"Melody told you, huh?"
"Yeah."
He nodded silently before he cleared his throat.
"Are you going to turn me in?"
"Not if you're willing to make a deal with me."
Calvin trotted about the familiar yard to diligently reclaim his territory. This gave me something else to focus on as I bravely offered Eric my 'deal'.
"Let me stop by before I go to my job in the afternoons. Today was my afternoon off but on work days, I can sit with her for a while. At least I can check on her, how about that?"
"No. I'm sorry. That's impossible." His expression grew sullen.
"Then I guess I'll have to call someone, won't I?"
"Please, you don't understand."
"I understand you can't leave her alone like that. What if I hadn't happened along today? What if it wasn't me but some creep or something?" I sighed with frustration, "Look, you seem like an okay guy. Give yourself a break. Even caregivers need time off now and then. This way you'll know she's not alone all day and I'll know she's okay."
His silence, I assumed, was surrender.
"Ask Melody," I suggested, "I'm sure she'd like the company."
I pointed to the house numbers illuminated by the front porch light. "You know my name, you know where I live. Tell Melody I'd be happy to stop by. If I don't hear from you by the end of the week, I'll be on the phone to social services."
"Yeah, I'm sure she'll be really happy about it."
"Great, then I'll talk to you later?"
He merely stared at the front porch of my parent's house and shrugged. He waved as he silently turned, got into his aged truck and drove away. I whistled for Calvin and together we went inside.
I did talk to Eric later. Each of my working days, in fact, for the next eight months. I would go by their house and sit with Melody before I drove on into the city to go to my part-time job. I’d make sure she had everything she needed within reach, her urine bag changed, her drinks refilled, something to eat, snacks, and her cell phone charged. Eric rearranged his shift by an hour or so to make sure he was there by the time I had to leave.
I got written up for being late once too often as I’d linger to discuss our day with Eric. After that, we decided that if I moved in with them, I could stay with Melody full-time. I did need to move out of my parent’s place and they were suspicious, but a few meetings with him and they agreed. I argued that it was important for me to move out to restore my sense of independence.
My Mom knew better but she kept her suspicions out of my Dad’s hearing. Not that I was fooling either of them. I liked Eric and his sister, I was needed, and it was easier to get ready for work and supervise Melody in the same location. Mom made me promise to call her weekly to check-in and I did.
Eric seemed different out of Melody's presence. Sometimes I wondered if he even cared about the girl. He seemed happier to ignore her. It seemed to my naïve mind that he merely provided physical comforts for the girl and not much else. It was a bit awkward at first, but after two weeks, my disruption of their lives seemed to level out.
The "L" shaped house, which had at first seemed cubed and diminished, hid a couple of extra rooms. Eric warned me to always give Melody her medications on time, and to stay away from the root cellar as it was a haven to black widow spiders and mice. He joked that he wasn’t affluent enough to provide for two invalids should I fall through the rickety stairs in the cellar as I searched for family skeletons.
Otherwise, I was free to come and go as I pleased but being a full-time caregiver meant that wasn’t really true. I spent my days with Melody, talking, reading, cooking, and watching T.V. Sometimes, she would get into moods, as though fighting to hold something inside herself.
I could set my watch by these moods and knew it was time for her medications. She'd start to talk about other people and places, or call herself other names. Childish role-playing, I told myself, it was easy to forget she was only fourteen. During these times, she’d often cling to my hand.
Sometimes she’d bring out "her treasure box." It was an old cigar box filled with odds and ends of jewelry. A single earring, a charm bracelet, a few hair clips, a locket with nothing in it, a class ring, a couple of necklaces and a watch that didn't work. When I asked her where she'd gotten these things she’d shrug and tell me they were her 'collection'.
Some were from friends of her mother's, gifted to her when she was little more than a toddler. I couldn’t help several trinkets from her former nurses and a bracelet from Eric's ex-girlfriend. She’d touch all of her ‘treasures’ and after a few minutes she’d ask me to put the box away. She’d always cry, too. I'd check and sure enough, it’d be time for her next round of pills.
I tried my best to be patient with her but we had good days and not-so-great ones. Especially if she was in her ‘moody’ phase. I helped her dress in the mornings and spent long minutes fixing her hair. I even helped her try a little makeup. On our good days, I’d take her from room-to-room with me. The drawback was, I had to carry her.
I asked Eric about a wheelchair after we'd dined on the big meal I'd made to celebrate his new raise. He said she'd nearly killed herself in the last one trying to do wheelies on the deck. The next night, he arrived home with a new model wheelchair in the back of his old truck. He’d gotten it from a durable medical equipment charity that loaned them out to the needy.
It eased my daily burden and provided Melody with more freedom. I continued to give Melody her pills and helped her to dress every morning. Eric continually cautioned me to keep an emotional distance from Melody. He explained that he didn't want her to become too attached to me. Already, I felt emotional attachments to both of them. When I told him this, he stormed out the door, got in his truck and left.
I spent the night wondering what I'd said that was so wrong. In spite of his warning, Melody and I became very close. The medications kept her from her moods, so I applied for aid to the homebound and got it. We were able to get books, schoolwork, and teen-magazines. It also allowed me to quit my part-time job and stay home with Melody full time.
I encouraged Eric to get out more, but he refused. At first, Eric acted angry about my being there, about getting financial aid, and trying to better Melody academically. After the first few weeks, he began to accept it. Melody told me that having dinner ready for Eric when he got home helped a lot.
We developed a routine, the three of us. Eric and I spent our evenings together after Melody went to sleep. By Thanksgiving, he began to relax in my company and we’d talk at length. We had ample time for that. Every once in a while, a couple of my friends would come over to visit. Eric and Melody never invited anyone into the house.
That Christmas, they got a single card in the mail. It was from their father and it contained a sizeable check. Hush money, Eric laughingly called it. A year went by and times improved. I'd not actually noticed how close we'd become, almost like family, the three of us. Content with my life and my routine, Melody surprised me one afternoon with her question.
"Are you in love with Eric?"
I shrugged as I thought about it. "I don't know."
"He's in love with you." She teased me. "I can tell."
"Really?" I teased in response, "I just thought he hated everybody equally."
"He's too scared to tell you."
"Is he?"
"Yeah." She grinned.
I wasn’t sure what to say but she blinked and seemed to detach herself from the conversation. "He doesn’t like me."
"Of course he does, he loves you." I assured her. "He's just not very good at expressing his emotions, that's all."
"You don't know!"
She burst into tears and I hugged her. That’s when she asked me the oddest thing.
"You'll stay won't you? I mean, you won't ever go away and forget about me will you?"
"I promise I'll stay as long as I can. Even then, I hardly think I'll forget about you."
"You swear?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die." I promised, making the sign of an 'x' with my finger over my heart.
It was another three months before Eric admitted to the feelings Melody claimed he held for me. When I asked him why it'd taken him so long to confess, he revealed an absolute anxiety about Melody's reaction were she to find out. After another couple of beers, he decided that if we were married perhaps it would be okay.
He suggested that Melody might not feel so threatened and we could really be a family together. I agreed, but felt we should ask Melody how she felt about it. Eric made me swear not to breathe a word about it to Melody, he said he wanted to be the first to approach her with the news
One afternoon, another letter from their father arrived. I asked Eric about it, but he merely handed me the envelope. Inside, a short, curt letter stating that he'd moved, again, and wanted to know if there was any improvement in Melody's condition. He also enclosed a check for three thousand dollars. Puzzled, I resolved to wait until Melody was asleep before I asked Eric about the letter.
"He pays me to keep her out of his life." Eric confessed as we lay in bed listening to the rain.
"Why?"
"Guilt, I guess. The scandal."
"From the accident? But why?"
"It wasn't an accident. I wasn’t there, I was in school, but I think she meant to drive off that bridge.” Eric shrugged, “They said it was suicide. She'd been through a bad time, a lot of her friends died that year."
"Why did she have Melody in the car if she meant to kill herself?"
"She wanted to kill them both."
“Why?” I sat up in bed and stared incredulously at him. "Was it depression?”
"I’m sure that had a lot to do with it. Our parents were very prominent people and Melody was a problem child, even before the accident. By the time she learned to walk, she started taking things that weren't hers. Even when they found her at the scene of the accident she had one of our mother’s earrings clutched in her hand.”
"So? That’s normal. Little kids take things that interest them. Car keys, change, shiny things. That's no reason to try --" I lay back down beside him.
I couldn’t say it aloud, I had a loving mother, but obviously they hadn’t. I couldn’t wrap my head around such a horrendous deed.
“Maybe she got distracted and accidentally drove off the bridge.” I suggested.
“Distracted? Yes, I guess you could say that.” Eric let out a weak laugh, "It doesn’t matter. She only succeeded in crippling Melody and killing herself. My father never really recovered."
"Does he ever come see her?"
"Never." Eric yawned and rolled away from me.
The thought disturbed and nagged at me. I plagued over it until I finally decided to write their father and introduce myself. I figured he should be informed of 'our' family announcement. Being in love, I felt everyone would want to share in our happiness. I described Melody to him. How she'd matured into a fine, loving, kind, and beautiful young lady. I confessed that I hoped one day, that he would visit.
I never got an answer. We made our arrangements in secret. We decided to elope in order to save money but Eric insisted we shouldn't tell Melody until after we'd gotten married. We argued about it, outside of Melody’s hearing, of course. Finally he said he wanted something, for once, that didn't include Melody.
My friend, Kim, agreed to stay with Melody and Calvin for a long weekend so we could take a brief honeymoon. No matter how many times I pleaded, Eric stubbornly refused to let me tell Melody. The date approached and I was sick at heart. I wanted to share this 'big sisterly' moment with Melody but knew I had to keep my promise to Eric.
It was on a Wednesday, I remember that much. Kim was going to come over that night and we’d already rehearsed our 'script'. It rained that day and I was anxious. Just that morning, in a fit of sentiment, I let Melody wear the simple ring Eric had given me as a "birthday" present. We knew it was an engagement ring but we didn’t tell Melody.
My Mom called. She was in on our plan and wanted to talk to me before I became “an old married lady.” It was sweet and I talked to her too long on the phone. I went and prepared Melody's bath, as usual, but when I went to retrieve her I found her sitting stiffly in her chair.
She stared out the window in a nearly catatonic daze. When I touched her, she was ice-cold. I almost panicked when I realized that with all the plans, and phone calls, I'd forgotten Melody and missed a dosage of her medication. Quickly, I ran to fetch it and some water. When I took it to her, I had to force it down her throat.
"Oh Melody, Melody, Honey, I'm so sorry.” I cried, afraid I'd harmed her somehow.
She only muttered softly, in a strange voice. Words I barely heard. Words I didn’t understand and ignored in my fearful haste to get her medications down her.
"Let me out. The box. Help me. The box."
I assured her that she was going to be okay and of course I’d help her. At that moment my only concern was to get her into bed. I had a tight time schedule that night and I kept thinking, why tonight of all nights?
She grabbed me with those powerful hands of hers. She nearly pulled me onto her lap as she hissed in that alien voice.
"You mustn’t ever forget Melody."
She muttered incoherently after that, strange things, in different voices. I almost wore a hole in the already ragged rug in the kitchen as I waited for Eric to get home. I don't remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up when I heard the sound of a man's screams.
Immediately, my eyes flew open and I jerked awake. I saw Eric standing in the doorway. He just stood there in his dirty work clothes. I had no idea what was wrong. I opened my mouth to ask when he suddenly strode forward and grabbed me up, and slapped me, hard, across the face.
I shrieked as he broke into sobs. He hugged me close to him.
"I'm so sorry, oh God, why you? Not you! She promised she wouldn't anymore."
I struggled to move. Outside, I heard Calvin howl mournfully. I didn't know what was wrong, what did Eric mean? What had happened? Why couldn't I move?
I struggled in Eric's grasp and managed to work myself loose a bit. Why was I on the bed? What was that thing on the floor? As I stared at the limp figure on the floor, horrified that I’d let Melody fall out of bed yet it didn’t look exactly like Melody. It looked too familiar, with its dark brown hair and closed eyes.
That’s me! That was my body!
The thought pierced my brain like a crazy knife. If that corpse on the floor was my body, where was I? I stared down at the bedspread. Melody's bed. Fearfully, I lifted the covers as Eric pushed slowly rose and stepped away from bed. I screamed when I saw the twin, withered limbs, pale and white. I screamed and screamed, yet there wasn’t any sound.
"Don't worry." Eric's voice trembled, "I'll take care of it. I can’t put it in the root cellar with the others. I’ll have to put it in the truck and push it over a cliff. Your parents will need some kind of closure. Jesus, I tried, Sweetheart ‑ I tried to tell you. I shouldn’t have let myself -."
He never finished his sentence. Helplessly, I watched Eric lift my former body from the floor. He cradled it in his arms and kissed the cheek I always thought was too full. I tried to speak, to say something to him, but words wouldn't come. He carried it away and for the first time, I noticed the cigar box at the foot of Melody's bed.
A girl’s hand reached for it and took off the ring. My ring. The ring I'd let Melody wear. The hand gently dropped it into the old cigar box and closed the lid. In my ears I heard Melody giggle.
Eric returned and stood silently in the doorway of Melody's bedroom as tears streamed down his face. He began to pound on the wood of the door, muttering curses, until at last he managed to get control of himself. When he did, he slowly turned and walked away. Fingers combed auburn-red hair around my face and I sobbed, unheard.
As long as I can remember what happened, I can retain that part of me that loved and lived. I refuse to give up, but every day I have to struggle to recall. It's easier to remember when Eric's here. He tries to help me remember. I think he can even see me, sometimes, in here where I'm trapped. The worst times are when I hear Melody's voice answer him. Calvin whines and backs away.
We left the house in the woods after Eric poured a new floor in the root cellar. I didn’t ask him about it, I couldn’t, but I thought I knew. We moved away, another town, and another job for Eric. The memories come but sometimes they're not mine.We still get an annual letter from their father but he's never visited.
I overheard the lady, next door, tell her husband what a nice man Eric is, to dote on his sister like he does. They don't understand and I can't tell them. The days are lonely, but Eric still comes home. He wheels us in to watch T.V. with him while he drinks his beer.
Sometimes, I think I can hear him crying late at night in the bedroom we should’ve shared. My heart breaks for him. I know it's hard for him. It’s hard for us too, but a promise is a promise, and someone has to remember to take care of Melody.
My dog, Calvin, and I had to rebuild our lives. I'd made a little money and tried to encourage myself to find a reason to get back on the "horse" of life. I’d come home, to the Midwest, to invade my parents' house and privacy. They were loving, welcoming, and worried.
Family, love, and the temporary change of residence was part of the healing process. I’d taken to walking my dog through the back woods a few blocks behind my parent's home. These long walks restored my faith in nature as a healer instead of a destroyer. Upon a rutted, weed-covered path that once served bicycles and hikers in the days of my childhood, I wandered idly along.
Calvin loped along the path near the shallow creek exerting his independence while I pretended he enjoyed being close to me. He’d bound off happily, when I gave give him the word, to disappear into the woods. I’d whistle occasionally, just enough to keep Calvin in reality.
He’d eventually return, in his rocking horse gait, to whiffle the leaves with his pointed muzzle. I stopped, waited for his return, and stared up at the nearly denuded branches of the trees. Oaks, yews, hedge apple, crabapple, and dogwood. Americana on a postcard. The bucolic ideal; open fields, working farms, and quiet suburbs with four seasons. This was a good place to heal.
Blue jays screamed overhead, argued with starlings over territorial space. I ignored their chatter and examined a few leaf banks that formed with the progression of the season. Glorious autumn in yellows, reds, pied greens, and browns. The season mottled the dead chloroflesh, giving the mounds of leaves a cornucopia of color.
The sun speared ineffectual beams through the skeletal branches overhead to provide light without much warmth. Biding my time to give Calvin a break from being indoors during my working hours, I kicked at a pile of the dead leaves as Calvin trotted into sight. He’d nuzzle my hand to check on his human before he’d turn and race ahead of me along our aimless path.
I trotted after him for a moment but had soon slowed to a halt. My lungs labored with effort from the fuel of chilled oxygen. As pretty as it was, I’d not yet adapted to the climate. After my breath slowly returned to a regular flow, I heard an odd singular cry.
I lost sight of my dog, in the denser underbrush that flanked the path, as he raced off to investigate. I whistled for him again and heard him bark a reply, when the odd cry repeated. I hurried toward the sound and whistled again for Calvin. He came back, cocklebur accents dotting his short fur.
I moved closer to him, as the sound repeated and he whined toward the dense woods. His ears and eyes lifted to peer off into the trees. I told myself it was probably a bird or some other woodland creature. I threw a stick and tried to encourage Calvin away from scents I couldn’t imagine. The old distraction techniques of ‘human-throws-stick-and-retrieves-it,’ failed to inspire Calvin into play.
I grumbled to myself as I went to fetch the stick myself. That's when I first saw the house. It appeared sturdily built, a squat, ground floor structure, bent like an elbow around a wooden deck. I listened cautiously for signs of life and called out. No sound had answered mine.
I hooked my finger around Calvin's collar, intending to pull him away, but he’d insisted on some exploration first. I knew he just wanted to hike his leg on the corner post to mark that he'd been there. While Calvin took care of business, I studied the house. It wasn’t as close as it'd first appeared.
The foundation was a slight rise between the beige and yellow waist-high grass that surrounded and almost concealed it. It looked vacant, except for the curtains on the filmy windows. It wasn’t until I heard my boot heels echo against the wood plank ramp that led up to the porch that I even realized I’d gotten that close.
"Hello?" I called. "Anybody there?"
No reply, not even the churlish squirrels or noisy jays broke the stillness of the woods. I'd no idea who lived there and didn’t remember there having been a house near these woods. I shrugged it off. A lot had changed since the last time I’d been back in my hometown, least of all me.
Awful creaks and groans emitted from the gray, weathered, wood of a wheelchair ramp as if my approach pained it. Calvin was braver than me. He cantered past me to the front door and snuffled at the sill. I put my hands in my pockets and squinted against the sun while I looked around at the front exterior and porch of the odd house.
The faded eaves still wore Christmas lights. They sagged in places as if they’d had been left up for years. For all I knew, they had, but Calvin’s bold approach had given me a reason to push my cautious nature aside in favor of my curiosity. I assumed an elderly person lived there. Someone who was no longer able to bother putting the lights up and down on a seasonal basis.
Even on that cool autumn day, in the middle of the afternoon, the place had held an aura of age, sadness, and neglect. In spite of its aged aura, it seemed solid, hidden under many layers of paint. I noted at least two color changes between the chipped blotches. Once Calvin had marked a few more boundaries I had no excuse to remain yet I felt compelled to stay.
That’s when we heard it again, that same cry. Being on the front porch of the house, I whirled around - every hair on the back of my neck rose in alarm. I stepped closer to the door where Calvin joined me. He scratched at the doorsill with his black claws.
"Hello? Is somebody there?" I called out and waited, "Do you need help?"
I hadn’t carried my phone with me, for fear of dropping it in a field or the creek. Neither had I known any neighbors close enough so I could’ve run to their house to dial 911. When the plaintive, childlike wail sounded again, I had to investigate. I shakily tried the doorknob and to my surprise it turned easily in my hesitant grip.
"Hello?"
I pushed open the door and silence hung to the interior like the faded wallpaper. Filled with apprehension, I stepped inside, and found myself in an aged kitchen. Gas stove, cracked linoleum floor, white and blue tiled counters that dated the design as early 1950's. The kind of kitchen which, in its heyday, would’ve made June Cleaver comfortable as she scrambled eggs for Ward, Wally, and the Beaver.
Calvin didn’t worry over conventions and social cues, he strolled ahead of me. The open arch of the kitchen's interior access revealed a modest living room, old but functional. A stone fireplace dominated the far end of the room. A gaudy, overstuffed plaid couch sat in wounded repose before the cold hearth, absent of firewood.
A dented, scarred wooden coffee table waited between hearth and sofa. An equally used Lazy-Boy recliner tilted off-balance near the end of the sofa. A brass floor lamp stood with its dust-covered shade, between the two. In spite of its vacant appearance, it didn't smell of mold or mildew, only dust. A couple of art prints in cheap frames decorated the paneled walls.
That's when I noticed two wooden doors on the other side of the room. One was closed, the other open. Open enough to reveal the young woman on the floor. I was shocked to see her there and even further surprised to see her looking at me. She lay, quite calmly, on her side in a faded flannel gown that twisted around two white, thin legs. A slight smile formed on her lips.
Calvin approached her with his hackles raised. A low growl formed in his throat yet his tail began to wag. I pushed him back as I hurried over to kneel beside her.
"Omigosh!" I exclaimed, "Are you okay?"
"Do you know many folks who lay around on the floor?"
"Well, no. What happened?"
"I fell, duh." She said, "Help me up, okay? Don't worry about my legs though, they don't work."
I helped hoist her up. She grabbed my jacket with a strong pull and held on fast. The medical contraption of her bed was elevated at one end. A huge padded triangle suspended over it, held in place by a thick chain fastened securely into the ceiling beam. I exhaled with relief once she was safely back in bed again.
"Thanks." She sighed as she used her arms to settle herself in the depressed hollow of the mattress.
"You’re welcome." I shrugged, annoyed that I hadn’t brought my phone with me. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Only my feelings." She chuckled as she smoothed the covers over her thin body. "I am kind of thirsty though."
"Let me get you something."
She smiled. Her auburn red hair was wildly tousled and she combed uselessly through it with her fingers as she spoke.
"There's soda in the refrigerator. Help yourself to something, too. Just don't drink the beer, that's Eric's."
I retrieved two cans of Diet Dr. Pepper, opened them, and took them into what I assumed was her bedroom. Calvin returned with a suspicious snort. I hooked his collar with my finger and tugged him over to me. I didn’t want him to decide to mark his territory inside of this house, where we weren’t invited.
"Seriously, if you're hurt anywhere, I should call a doctor."
"No, it would only piss Eric off. He can't really afford it." She casually dismissed my concern and eyed Calvin warily. "Cool dog, does he bite?"
"Not usually." I patted Calvin's head to calm him, "This is Calvin. He's the one who heard you."
She nodded, "I couldn't decide whether or not to yell again when I heard your footsteps. Thought I might as well give it a try. I'm just glad you were a woman."
"You shouldn't leave your door unlocked." I cautioned her. "Anybody could just walk right in."
"Have to." She sighed, "If there was a fire I can fall out of bed and crawl out. That’s why there are rags tied to all of the handles, I can reach those and pull, but I couldn’t reach the lock on my own.”
The idea made me immensely uncomfortable, but I knew it wasn't really any of my business. I shrugged and sipped at the soda before I offered her a smile.
"I guess I better be going."
"Do you have to go?" She asked anxiously.
"I should."
"Can't you stay and finish your pop, at least?"
She held out her pale hand in a friendly introduction, "I'm Melody."
For the next two hours, I sat in the creaky rocker at her bedside and talked to her. I learned that Melody was a 14-year old invalid who lived there with her brother, Eric. She explained that Eric worked construction and was gone most of the time. I also learned that Eric had a girlfriend that used to stay with Melody but had eventually left them both. Before the girlfriend, some of Eric’s friends had helped him look after her. After the girlfriend, there’d been a series of hired nurses, they’d also left.
"Do you have a phone I can use?" I asked.
“The battery on my cell is dead but we have a land-line too.” She nodded in gesture. "In the kitchen, didn't you see it when you came in?"
"I wasn't looking for it at the time."
"On the wall,” she yelled to direct me. "By the door you came in.”
I called my parents and spoke to my Mother. I told her what had happened and she sounded slightly confused.
"Where?"
"Out in the woods. Past Drexler's fields."
"Clear out there?"
"Yeah. Anyway, I'm going to stay here until I'm sure somebody comes home to take care of this kid, okay?"
"All right, but be careful. I don't know the family. It could be dangerous."
"It's okay, I've got Calvin with me."
"All right, Honey. I'll leave the porch light on for you."
"Look, I'll call back if I need a ride or something, or if my plans change. I just didn't want you to worry."
I stood there with the receiver in my hand and wondered whether I should call the police, social services, or someone in authority. I figured there was some kind of law about leaving children, especially invalid children, alone in a house. As much as I knew it was what I should do, I didn't.
I went back into Melody's bedroom.
We talked some more, mostly about her. She was friendly, yet something about her seemed “off”, as if she was scared of something. I reminded myself that falling out of bed and being alone probably had shaken up her confidence. It’d be enough to scare anyone, so I dismissed it.
I told her my life story in the briefest of paraphrases. She was particularly interested in the natural disaster but I didn't elaborate. Afternoon wore into evening and she began to yawn. I told her I ought to get home before it got so dark that I wouldn’t lose my way in the woods.
She detained me with the sincere insistence that Eric could drive me home in his truck when he returned from work. I allowed her to keep me there as I wondered if there was a law against trespassing in aid of a fallen person. It was pitch dark outside when a rattled roar and bright lights suggested the arrival of a vehicle on the weed-choked driveway.
Immediately nervous, I was afraid Eric - who sounded like he didn't like much of anything - would be angry when he found me in his house with his sister. Calvin, who’d curled up for a nap at my feet, jumped to his paws and growled a warning. There came the sound of heavy boot heels on the arthritic wooden deck, the rustle of paper, and a man’s voice called out.
"Melody? I'm home."
"In here." She called out and rubbed her eyes. She glanced over at me with a grin, a finger to her lips. "Sssh, don't say anything. I want to surprise him."
I started to protest, but my objection was cut short by the appearance of Eric in the bedroom doorway. I held Calvin's collar as he barked at the man. Eric didn’t look anything like I’d envisioned from Melody's description. His brown hair hung down past his shoulders in a ponytail.
He was tall and lean, with the hardened build of a guy who ate too little and worked too hard. His clothes were filthy and I could see plaster and cement splotches on his work boots. His eyes were soft, brown spots in a gaunt, weather-worn face. As he stared at me, his black eyebrows pulled into a frown.
"Hi." I waved meekly as Melody introduced me and Calvin.
"Hello." He nodded uncertainly.
"She's my new friend." Melody explained cheerfully.
"Pleased to meet you."
His words were incongruent to the expression on his face.
"Look, uh, Eric, I'm sorry. I know this probably seems very strange but I . . ."
"No!" Melody wailed, "I want to tell him."
I yielded to her exuberance.
"I fell out of bed today, Eric. I must've had a spasm or something. Anyway, I heard someone outside, I couldn't get up so I yelled and yelled for help. Calvin heard me and led her in here."
Eric's eyes remained fixed on me. I wanted to shrink under his gaze, which I felt was less than appreciative.
"Anyway, I told her to stay since I knew you'd want to thank her. I knew you probably wouldn't believe me when I told you, if she wasn’t here to prove it. She needs you to take her home in the truck, can you?"
He blinked as though he'd been slapped. He gave me a hesitant nod, "Sure."
"Great!" Melody smiled triumphantly, "See? I told you."
"Let me change out of these clothes first and I'll take you home."
"Fine, thank you." I nodded agreeably.
Melody seemed quite pleased with herself. Since she hadn't any leverage, she merely beat on her mattress with her hands to emphasize her words.
"Great! This is great! He likes you. I can tell."
I waited and in a few moments, Eric returned to Melody's room. Calvin's tail thumped in recognition against the floor. Eric brought a glass of water and a pill bottle.
"Melody," he started gruffly. "It's raining outside and I can't fit all of us in the cab. You'll have to stay."
"Hey, look," I interjected, "Never mind the ride. I can walk back. I got here on my own two feet."
"No, Melody's right. It's too dark for that to be any good. Besides it's raining, you'll get soaked." He turned his attention to his sister. "Here, take two of these and get some sleep. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"I really don't feel right about leaving her here alone." I insisted but Eric shook his head.
"She'll be fine. Come on."
We walked out to his battered, early model Ford pickup. Eric dropped the tailgate and Calvin stared at it with indifference.
"I had to wire the passenger door shut."
"Why?" I asked as I halted on my step up, the sound of this made me nervous.
"So Melody won't fall out. Don't worry, I'm not dangerous." He only grinned, very handsomely. “I think your dog here is a good chaperone. He won’t let me get too close.”
I followed Eric's instructions of getting in on the driver's side and Calvin rounded the truck and hopped into the cab beside me. Calvin growled, almost on cue, yet when Eric climbed into the cab he got his face washed with a pink canine tongue for his chauffeur services.
I had a million-and-one questions for Eric, which he answered in a placid, unhurried tone. He told me that he and Melody were alone in the world, except for an absent father who wrote sporadically. Their mother, I learned, had died in the car accident which had left Melody paralyzed at the tender age of six.
He followed my directions as I pointed out familiar streets. The rain slowed and stopped by the time we reached my parent’s hose. Eric parked in front of their house, got out and held open the door. Calvin hopped out and I followed. He walked me halfway up the yard and we stopped. I bravely asked why he left Melody alone during the day.
"It's against the law, y'know?"
He shrugged, "My insurance doesn't cover live-in help. I tried to make it for a while, worked night jobs, and had friends who came by to help."
"Like your girlfriend?"
"Melody told you, huh?"
"Yeah."
He nodded silently before he cleared his throat.
"Are you going to turn me in?"
"Not if you're willing to make a deal with me."
Calvin trotted about the familiar yard to diligently reclaim his territory. This gave me something else to focus on as I bravely offered Eric my 'deal'.
"Let me stop by before I go to my job in the afternoons. Today was my afternoon off but on work days, I can sit with her for a while. At least I can check on her, how about that?"
"No. I'm sorry. That's impossible." His expression grew sullen.
"Then I guess I'll have to call someone, won't I?"
"Please, you don't understand."
"I understand you can't leave her alone like that. What if I hadn't happened along today? What if it wasn't me but some creep or something?" I sighed with frustration, "Look, you seem like an okay guy. Give yourself a break. Even caregivers need time off now and then. This way you'll know she's not alone all day and I'll know she's okay."
His silence, I assumed, was surrender.
"Ask Melody," I suggested, "I'm sure she'd like the company."
I pointed to the house numbers illuminated by the front porch light. "You know my name, you know where I live. Tell Melody I'd be happy to stop by. If I don't hear from you by the end of the week, I'll be on the phone to social services."
"Yeah, I'm sure she'll be really happy about it."
"Great, then I'll talk to you later?"
He merely stared at the front porch of my parent's house and shrugged. He waved as he silently turned, got into his aged truck and drove away. I whistled for Calvin and together we went inside.
I did talk to Eric later. Each of my working days, in fact, for the next eight months. I would go by their house and sit with Melody before I drove on into the city to go to my part-time job. I’d make sure she had everything she needed within reach, her urine bag changed, her drinks refilled, something to eat, snacks, and her cell phone charged. Eric rearranged his shift by an hour or so to make sure he was there by the time I had to leave.
I got written up for being late once too often as I’d linger to discuss our day with Eric. After that, we decided that if I moved in with them, I could stay with Melody full-time. I did need to move out of my parent’s place and they were suspicious, but a few meetings with him and they agreed. I argued that it was important for me to move out to restore my sense of independence.
My Mom knew better but she kept her suspicions out of my Dad’s hearing. Not that I was fooling either of them. I liked Eric and his sister, I was needed, and it was easier to get ready for work and supervise Melody in the same location. Mom made me promise to call her weekly to check-in and I did.
Eric seemed different out of Melody's presence. Sometimes I wondered if he even cared about the girl. He seemed happier to ignore her. It seemed to my naïve mind that he merely provided physical comforts for the girl and not much else. It was a bit awkward at first, but after two weeks, my disruption of their lives seemed to level out.
The "L" shaped house, which had at first seemed cubed and diminished, hid a couple of extra rooms. Eric warned me to always give Melody her medications on time, and to stay away from the root cellar as it was a haven to black widow spiders and mice. He joked that he wasn’t affluent enough to provide for two invalids should I fall through the rickety stairs in the cellar as I searched for family skeletons.
Otherwise, I was free to come and go as I pleased but being a full-time caregiver meant that wasn’t really true. I spent my days with Melody, talking, reading, cooking, and watching T.V. Sometimes, she would get into moods, as though fighting to hold something inside herself.
I could set my watch by these moods and knew it was time for her medications. She'd start to talk about other people and places, or call herself other names. Childish role-playing, I told myself, it was easy to forget she was only fourteen. During these times, she’d often cling to my hand.
Sometimes she’d bring out "her treasure box." It was an old cigar box filled with odds and ends of jewelry. A single earring, a charm bracelet, a few hair clips, a locket with nothing in it, a class ring, a couple of necklaces and a watch that didn't work. When I asked her where she'd gotten these things she’d shrug and tell me they were her 'collection'.
Some were from friends of her mother's, gifted to her when she was little more than a toddler. I couldn’t help several trinkets from her former nurses and a bracelet from Eric's ex-girlfriend. She’d touch all of her ‘treasures’ and after a few minutes she’d ask me to put the box away. She’d always cry, too. I'd check and sure enough, it’d be time for her next round of pills.
I tried my best to be patient with her but we had good days and not-so-great ones. Especially if she was in her ‘moody’ phase. I helped her dress in the mornings and spent long minutes fixing her hair. I even helped her try a little makeup. On our good days, I’d take her from room-to-room with me. The drawback was, I had to carry her.
I asked Eric about a wheelchair after we'd dined on the big meal I'd made to celebrate his new raise. He said she'd nearly killed herself in the last one trying to do wheelies on the deck. The next night, he arrived home with a new model wheelchair in the back of his old truck. He’d gotten it from a durable medical equipment charity that loaned them out to the needy.
It eased my daily burden and provided Melody with more freedom. I continued to give Melody her pills and helped her to dress every morning. Eric continually cautioned me to keep an emotional distance from Melody. He explained that he didn't want her to become too attached to me. Already, I felt emotional attachments to both of them. When I told him this, he stormed out the door, got in his truck and left.
I spent the night wondering what I'd said that was so wrong. In spite of his warning, Melody and I became very close. The medications kept her from her moods, so I applied for aid to the homebound and got it. We were able to get books, schoolwork, and teen-magazines. It also allowed me to quit my part-time job and stay home with Melody full time.
I encouraged Eric to get out more, but he refused. At first, Eric acted angry about my being there, about getting financial aid, and trying to better Melody academically. After the first few weeks, he began to accept it. Melody told me that having dinner ready for Eric when he got home helped a lot.
We developed a routine, the three of us. Eric and I spent our evenings together after Melody went to sleep. By Thanksgiving, he began to relax in my company and we’d talk at length. We had ample time for that. Every once in a while, a couple of my friends would come over to visit. Eric and Melody never invited anyone into the house.
That Christmas, they got a single card in the mail. It was from their father and it contained a sizeable check. Hush money, Eric laughingly called it. A year went by and times improved. I'd not actually noticed how close we'd become, almost like family, the three of us. Content with my life and my routine, Melody surprised me one afternoon with her question.
"Are you in love with Eric?"
I shrugged as I thought about it. "I don't know."
"He's in love with you." She teased me. "I can tell."
"Really?" I teased in response, "I just thought he hated everybody equally."
"He's too scared to tell you."
"Is he?"
"Yeah." She grinned.
I wasn’t sure what to say but she blinked and seemed to detach herself from the conversation. "He doesn’t like me."
"Of course he does, he loves you." I assured her. "He's just not very good at expressing his emotions, that's all."
"You don't know!"
She burst into tears and I hugged her. That’s when she asked me the oddest thing.
"You'll stay won't you? I mean, you won't ever go away and forget about me will you?"
"I promise I'll stay as long as I can. Even then, I hardly think I'll forget about you."
"You swear?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die." I promised, making the sign of an 'x' with my finger over my heart.
It was another three months before Eric admitted to the feelings Melody claimed he held for me. When I asked him why it'd taken him so long to confess, he revealed an absolute anxiety about Melody's reaction were she to find out. After another couple of beers, he decided that if we were married perhaps it would be okay.
He suggested that Melody might not feel so threatened and we could really be a family together. I agreed, but felt we should ask Melody how she felt about it. Eric made me swear not to breathe a word about it to Melody, he said he wanted to be the first to approach her with the news
One afternoon, another letter from their father arrived. I asked Eric about it, but he merely handed me the envelope. Inside, a short, curt letter stating that he'd moved, again, and wanted to know if there was any improvement in Melody's condition. He also enclosed a check for three thousand dollars. Puzzled, I resolved to wait until Melody was asleep before I asked Eric about the letter.
"He pays me to keep her out of his life." Eric confessed as we lay in bed listening to the rain.
"Why?"
"Guilt, I guess. The scandal."
"From the accident? But why?"
"It wasn't an accident. I wasn’t there, I was in school, but I think she meant to drive off that bridge.” Eric shrugged, “They said it was suicide. She'd been through a bad time, a lot of her friends died that year."
"Why did she have Melody in the car if she meant to kill herself?"
"She wanted to kill them both."
“Why?” I sat up in bed and stared incredulously at him. "Was it depression?”
"I’m sure that had a lot to do with it. Our parents were very prominent people and Melody was a problem child, even before the accident. By the time she learned to walk, she started taking things that weren't hers. Even when they found her at the scene of the accident she had one of our mother’s earrings clutched in her hand.”
"So? That’s normal. Little kids take things that interest them. Car keys, change, shiny things. That's no reason to try --" I lay back down beside him.
I couldn’t say it aloud, I had a loving mother, but obviously they hadn’t. I couldn’t wrap my head around such a horrendous deed.
“Maybe she got distracted and accidentally drove off the bridge.” I suggested.
“Distracted? Yes, I guess you could say that.” Eric let out a weak laugh, "It doesn’t matter. She only succeeded in crippling Melody and killing herself. My father never really recovered."
"Does he ever come see her?"
"Never." Eric yawned and rolled away from me.
The thought disturbed and nagged at me. I plagued over it until I finally decided to write their father and introduce myself. I figured he should be informed of 'our' family announcement. Being in love, I felt everyone would want to share in our happiness. I described Melody to him. How she'd matured into a fine, loving, kind, and beautiful young lady. I confessed that I hoped one day, that he would visit.
I never got an answer. We made our arrangements in secret. We decided to elope in order to save money but Eric insisted we shouldn't tell Melody until after we'd gotten married. We argued about it, outside of Melody’s hearing, of course. Finally he said he wanted something, for once, that didn't include Melody.
My friend, Kim, agreed to stay with Melody and Calvin for a long weekend so we could take a brief honeymoon. No matter how many times I pleaded, Eric stubbornly refused to let me tell Melody. The date approached and I was sick at heart. I wanted to share this 'big sisterly' moment with Melody but knew I had to keep my promise to Eric.
It was on a Wednesday, I remember that much. Kim was going to come over that night and we’d already rehearsed our 'script'. It rained that day and I was anxious. Just that morning, in a fit of sentiment, I let Melody wear the simple ring Eric had given me as a "birthday" present. We knew it was an engagement ring but we didn’t tell Melody.
My Mom called. She was in on our plan and wanted to talk to me before I became “an old married lady.” It was sweet and I talked to her too long on the phone. I went and prepared Melody's bath, as usual, but when I went to retrieve her I found her sitting stiffly in her chair.
She stared out the window in a nearly catatonic daze. When I touched her, she was ice-cold. I almost panicked when I realized that with all the plans, and phone calls, I'd forgotten Melody and missed a dosage of her medication. Quickly, I ran to fetch it and some water. When I took it to her, I had to force it down her throat.
"Oh Melody, Melody, Honey, I'm so sorry.” I cried, afraid I'd harmed her somehow.
She only muttered softly, in a strange voice. Words I barely heard. Words I didn’t understand and ignored in my fearful haste to get her medications down her.
"Let me out. The box. Help me. The box."
I assured her that she was going to be okay and of course I’d help her. At that moment my only concern was to get her into bed. I had a tight time schedule that night and I kept thinking, why tonight of all nights?
She grabbed me with those powerful hands of hers. She nearly pulled me onto her lap as she hissed in that alien voice.
"You mustn’t ever forget Melody."
She muttered incoherently after that, strange things, in different voices. I almost wore a hole in the already ragged rug in the kitchen as I waited for Eric to get home. I don't remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up when I heard the sound of a man's screams.
Immediately, my eyes flew open and I jerked awake. I saw Eric standing in the doorway. He just stood there in his dirty work clothes. I had no idea what was wrong. I opened my mouth to ask when he suddenly strode forward and grabbed me up, and slapped me, hard, across the face.
I shrieked as he broke into sobs. He hugged me close to him.
"I'm so sorry, oh God, why you? Not you! She promised she wouldn't anymore."
I struggled to move. Outside, I heard Calvin howl mournfully. I didn't know what was wrong, what did Eric mean? What had happened? Why couldn't I move?
I struggled in Eric's grasp and managed to work myself loose a bit. Why was I on the bed? What was that thing on the floor? As I stared at the limp figure on the floor, horrified that I’d let Melody fall out of bed yet it didn’t look exactly like Melody. It looked too familiar, with its dark brown hair and closed eyes.
That’s me! That was my body!
The thought pierced my brain like a crazy knife. If that corpse on the floor was my body, where was I? I stared down at the bedspread. Melody's bed. Fearfully, I lifted the covers as Eric pushed slowly rose and stepped away from bed. I screamed when I saw the twin, withered limbs, pale and white. I screamed and screamed, yet there wasn’t any sound.
"Don't worry." Eric's voice trembled, "I'll take care of it. I can’t put it in the root cellar with the others. I’ll have to put it in the truck and push it over a cliff. Your parents will need some kind of closure. Jesus, I tried, Sweetheart ‑ I tried to tell you. I shouldn’t have let myself -."
He never finished his sentence. Helplessly, I watched Eric lift my former body from the floor. He cradled it in his arms and kissed the cheek I always thought was too full. I tried to speak, to say something to him, but words wouldn't come. He carried it away and for the first time, I noticed the cigar box at the foot of Melody's bed.
A girl’s hand reached for it and took off the ring. My ring. The ring I'd let Melody wear. The hand gently dropped it into the old cigar box and closed the lid. In my ears I heard Melody giggle.
Eric returned and stood silently in the doorway of Melody's bedroom as tears streamed down his face. He began to pound on the wood of the door, muttering curses, until at last he managed to get control of himself. When he did, he slowly turned and walked away. Fingers combed auburn-red hair around my face and I sobbed, unheard.
As long as I can remember what happened, I can retain that part of me that loved and lived. I refuse to give up, but every day I have to struggle to recall. It's easier to remember when Eric's here. He tries to help me remember. I think he can even see me, sometimes, in here where I'm trapped. The worst times are when I hear Melody's voice answer him. Calvin whines and backs away.
We left the house in the woods after Eric poured a new floor in the root cellar. I didn’t ask him about it, I couldn’t, but I thought I knew. We moved away, another town, and another job for Eric. The memories come but sometimes they're not mine.We still get an annual letter from their father but he's never visited.
I overheard the lady, next door, tell her husband what a nice man Eric is, to dote on his sister like he does. They don't understand and I can't tell them. The days are lonely, but Eric still comes home. He wheels us in to watch T.V. with him while he drinks his beer.
Sometimes, I think I can hear him crying late at night in the bedroom we should’ve shared. My heart breaks for him. I know it's hard for him. It’s hard for us too, but a promise is a promise, and someone has to remember to take care of Melody.
The Doll
by Faintly Macabre
4/2022
I’d intended to mow the lawn when I first saw the doll.
It was a balmy Sunday afternoon and I’d put off the chore long enough. The forecast had predicted rain but the afternoon clouds only hinted at rain and kept the humidity locked into place. The warm breeze was pleasant but wasn’t enough of a rain threat to forestall the task any longer. I put on my outdoor clothes and headed out to the garden shed.
I admired my peony bushes as I glanced around at various gardening chores I’d have to do. My mind wandered with ease over the idea of pruning, shaping, mulching, feeding, and weeding. I loved gardening and although mowing wasn’t my favorite of these chores, it was something that had to be done. I marched toward the shed and stopped.
The sight of something pale and lumpy, buried in the grass, caught my eye. I paused and looked down to examine the unusual growth, thinking it was some errant mushroom. They often popped up, like moss, with excess dew or moisture but this was no mushroom. It looked human.
I gingerly stepped over it and opened the doors to the shed. I went inside and retrieved my hand-held garden trowel and went back to the mysterious object. I crouched down and put the tip of my spade at the dull white shape and pushed. The object moved a bit and I gasped.
It had a face and it was staring at me.
Shocked, I rocked backwards, almost lost my balance and had to put my hands down to keep from landing on my butt. The glaring face of the thing frightened me. Recovering from my surprise I was able to tell it was a doll, a forlorn, forgotten, abandoned doll. Some child must have lost it playing in this area – but when?
Moss had grown over to cover it as if it had lain here for years but that was ridiculous. This was my backyard.
I was out here almost daily, had been out here yesterday, and I hadn’t ever seen this object here before now. I was an avid gardener, aware of my surroundings, I would have seen this. After all, I practically tripped over the thing on my way to the shed today, how could I have missed it?
I poked it with the trowel and it let out a low, broken cry.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaa……..maaaaaa…”
I blinked, “Mama?”
The moss tore loose with a dusky green-gray plume of spore as I shoveled the pale body from the earth and grass. The china face had blotchy green grass stains and mud had seeped into the cloth body to give it a bloody brown look. One eye was closed and the other glared in half-opened awareness at me. A dirt filled fracture showed neglect or abuse.
I felt kind of sorry for the hopeless object, it’s days of being the focus of a child’s love seemed long passed. I wanted to salvage it but at the same time I felt a strange aversion to touching the thing. Even through my gardening gloves I felt an eerie chill course up from my fingers as I picked it up to brush away debris and dirt from the matted hair.
“Where did you come from?” I asked it.
I didn’t really expect an answer as I held it by the muddied toes and rose. I carried it back into the shed and deposited it into the rubbish can. Poor thing, I thought, some child probably missed it for a long time, lost it outdoors playing. Odd though, that thought led to the next, I never saw children playing in my back yard.
My children were grown with ‘tweens’ of their own. None of them would have a reason or cause to have a doll like that in their possession, let alone here at my house. I clapped dirt and grass from my gloves, picked up my gardening basket and set about my work. I moved these things, tended to some edging and pulled out the mower.
I put in my headphones, donned my safety goggles, and made quick work of the mowing. The sun remained behind the clouds and I knew it was easier to get a sunburn this way than if it had been out and glowing bright upon me. I took a break from dumping the grass catcher into my compost pile and did the last few laps before pushing the mower back into the shed. I carried my gardening tools in the basket back into its place on the shelves in there and locked up.
I headed back into the house, took a shower, and went downstairs to relax just as rain began to patter against the windowpanes. I found my paperback that I’d been reading earlier in the week, took it into my study and settled down to read. Reading turned into napping, after the strenuous exercise of mowing and the relaxation of the shower.
I dreamed and in the dream the patter of rain began to sound like tiny footsteps. I smiled at the thought. I opened my eyes, yawned stretched, and saw the doll standing in the hall, staring at me. I shrieked and sat bolt upright in the chair, the thud of the paperback as it fell from my lap bringing me fully awake now.
There was no doll.
With hand to breast, I exhaled with relief. What a nightmarish thought. That gruesome, pitiful little doll had really gotten to me. Crazy.
For the next week, I thought nothing more about the doll. Until rubbish day and I went out back to pull the bin out to the alley curb for pick up. I took out additional sacks from my house and opened the lid. I looked in idly as one does, not really expecting to see anything but garbage, yet I had expected to see the doll and even felt a bit guilty about the idea of throwing rubbish on top of it.
Were there places that still repaired dolls, I wondered to myself. I doubted it. We were such a disposable culture, us Baby Boomers. I’d been pleased to note that new generations were taking an interest in refurbishing and re-purposing old items into new and entertained the thought that maybe someone might wish to rejuvenate the old doll but when it wasn’t there, I was startled.
Where could it have gone? I looked around but didn’t see it. I even opened the shed and looked around in there. I searched through my flowering bushes to no avail. Had there even been a doll? Had I dreamed up the whole thing? I was perplexed.
I went about my routine, tried to figure out whether I’d lost my mind and imagined the whole thing and if not, what had happened? What could have happened? Later that afternoon, I was distracted by a knock at my door.
Two policemen introduced themselves and said they were searching for a missing child and asked if they could look around my back yard. Would I mind if they searched my premises. Of course I didn’t mind, immediately worried about which of my neighbors could’ve lost their child. I even helped them search. It was fruitless but I went to join the neighborhood gathering that assembled to look for the child.
The next few hours were so busy with this event, all other thoughts were scattered from my mind. I even forgot about a doctor’s appointment I was supposed to have. There was so much silent apprehension but soon it was broken into grief when a body was found. The child’s throat had been torn open. They attributed to a feral dog and a search was made. Strays were rounded up and shot, it was a miserable afternoon.
The hunt for strays and the news of another missing child occurred within the month. The neighborhood again went into high alert and searched. Again the child was found, its throat mutilated, parents formed vigilante groups to walk the neighborhood at night. Something in the newspaper tickled my memory and I only recalled it because it was time to mow the lawn again.
I went out to retrieve the mower, moved the rubbish bin, flipped it open to toss in the weeks garbage and gasped. There was the doll. The fracture was gone and it looked shinier than it had when I’d first found it. I felt shock and surprise contort my face, this was more than unexpected, this was abnormal. I donned my gardening gloves and picked the doll up with gentle precision.
I took it over to my potting bench and laid it carefully down on the flat wooden surface. Here was where I kept my extra pots, bags of soil, natural additives such as ash, cedar, fish oil, and such things. I plucked some pine and cedar to fold across the bare breast of the doll and picked up one of my gardening stakes.
“I’m not sure how you came up.” I told the miserable wretch as it began to writhe beneath the stake, its tiny mouth opened to reveal jagged rows of needle sharp teeth. “But its clear you can’t remain.”
I hammered the stake into its china white chest and blood spurted from the wound. Later, I would put garlic bulbs in its mouth and remove the head. I would bury body and head in two separate places on my property. I smiled and nodded. I felt sad for the two children that had been made victims to its voracious little appetite but it’d been a long time since I’d seen such a thing. I’d almost forgotten they’d existed.
Once I was finished in the garden, I walked out to check the post. I opened the slot, pulled out my mail, most of it flyers and handbills, before I snapped the door closed. I stared at the lettering there, I would have to get some paint and touch it up for the spring.
One could barely read the “a-n” in Van Helsing.
It was a balmy Sunday afternoon and I’d put off the chore long enough. The forecast had predicted rain but the afternoon clouds only hinted at rain and kept the humidity locked into place. The warm breeze was pleasant but wasn’t enough of a rain threat to forestall the task any longer. I put on my outdoor clothes and headed out to the garden shed.
I admired my peony bushes as I glanced around at various gardening chores I’d have to do. My mind wandered with ease over the idea of pruning, shaping, mulching, feeding, and weeding. I loved gardening and although mowing wasn’t my favorite of these chores, it was something that had to be done. I marched toward the shed and stopped.
The sight of something pale and lumpy, buried in the grass, caught my eye. I paused and looked down to examine the unusual growth, thinking it was some errant mushroom. They often popped up, like moss, with excess dew or moisture but this was no mushroom. It looked human.
I gingerly stepped over it and opened the doors to the shed. I went inside and retrieved my hand-held garden trowel and went back to the mysterious object. I crouched down and put the tip of my spade at the dull white shape and pushed. The object moved a bit and I gasped.
It had a face and it was staring at me.
Shocked, I rocked backwards, almost lost my balance and had to put my hands down to keep from landing on my butt. The glaring face of the thing frightened me. Recovering from my surprise I was able to tell it was a doll, a forlorn, forgotten, abandoned doll. Some child must have lost it playing in this area – but when?
Moss had grown over to cover it as if it had lain here for years but that was ridiculous. This was my backyard.
I was out here almost daily, had been out here yesterday, and I hadn’t ever seen this object here before now. I was an avid gardener, aware of my surroundings, I would have seen this. After all, I practically tripped over the thing on my way to the shed today, how could I have missed it?
I poked it with the trowel and it let out a low, broken cry.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaa……..maaaaaa…”
I blinked, “Mama?”
The moss tore loose with a dusky green-gray plume of spore as I shoveled the pale body from the earth and grass. The china face had blotchy green grass stains and mud had seeped into the cloth body to give it a bloody brown look. One eye was closed and the other glared in half-opened awareness at me. A dirt filled fracture showed neglect or abuse.
I felt kind of sorry for the hopeless object, it’s days of being the focus of a child’s love seemed long passed. I wanted to salvage it but at the same time I felt a strange aversion to touching the thing. Even through my gardening gloves I felt an eerie chill course up from my fingers as I picked it up to brush away debris and dirt from the matted hair.
“Where did you come from?” I asked it.
I didn’t really expect an answer as I held it by the muddied toes and rose. I carried it back into the shed and deposited it into the rubbish can. Poor thing, I thought, some child probably missed it for a long time, lost it outdoors playing. Odd though, that thought led to the next, I never saw children playing in my back yard.
My children were grown with ‘tweens’ of their own. None of them would have a reason or cause to have a doll like that in their possession, let alone here at my house. I clapped dirt and grass from my gloves, picked up my gardening basket and set about my work. I moved these things, tended to some edging and pulled out the mower.
I put in my headphones, donned my safety goggles, and made quick work of the mowing. The sun remained behind the clouds and I knew it was easier to get a sunburn this way than if it had been out and glowing bright upon me. I took a break from dumping the grass catcher into my compost pile and did the last few laps before pushing the mower back into the shed. I carried my gardening tools in the basket back into its place on the shelves in there and locked up.
I headed back into the house, took a shower, and went downstairs to relax just as rain began to patter against the windowpanes. I found my paperback that I’d been reading earlier in the week, took it into my study and settled down to read. Reading turned into napping, after the strenuous exercise of mowing and the relaxation of the shower.
I dreamed and in the dream the patter of rain began to sound like tiny footsteps. I smiled at the thought. I opened my eyes, yawned stretched, and saw the doll standing in the hall, staring at me. I shrieked and sat bolt upright in the chair, the thud of the paperback as it fell from my lap bringing me fully awake now.
There was no doll.
With hand to breast, I exhaled with relief. What a nightmarish thought. That gruesome, pitiful little doll had really gotten to me. Crazy.
For the next week, I thought nothing more about the doll. Until rubbish day and I went out back to pull the bin out to the alley curb for pick up. I took out additional sacks from my house and opened the lid. I looked in idly as one does, not really expecting to see anything but garbage, yet I had expected to see the doll and even felt a bit guilty about the idea of throwing rubbish on top of it.
Were there places that still repaired dolls, I wondered to myself. I doubted it. We were such a disposable culture, us Baby Boomers. I’d been pleased to note that new generations were taking an interest in refurbishing and re-purposing old items into new and entertained the thought that maybe someone might wish to rejuvenate the old doll but when it wasn’t there, I was startled.
Where could it have gone? I looked around but didn’t see it. I even opened the shed and looked around in there. I searched through my flowering bushes to no avail. Had there even been a doll? Had I dreamed up the whole thing? I was perplexed.
I went about my routine, tried to figure out whether I’d lost my mind and imagined the whole thing and if not, what had happened? What could have happened? Later that afternoon, I was distracted by a knock at my door.
Two policemen introduced themselves and said they were searching for a missing child and asked if they could look around my back yard. Would I mind if they searched my premises. Of course I didn’t mind, immediately worried about which of my neighbors could’ve lost their child. I even helped them search. It was fruitless but I went to join the neighborhood gathering that assembled to look for the child.
The next few hours were so busy with this event, all other thoughts were scattered from my mind. I even forgot about a doctor’s appointment I was supposed to have. There was so much silent apprehension but soon it was broken into grief when a body was found. The child’s throat had been torn open. They attributed to a feral dog and a search was made. Strays were rounded up and shot, it was a miserable afternoon.
The hunt for strays and the news of another missing child occurred within the month. The neighborhood again went into high alert and searched. Again the child was found, its throat mutilated, parents formed vigilante groups to walk the neighborhood at night. Something in the newspaper tickled my memory and I only recalled it because it was time to mow the lawn again.
I went out to retrieve the mower, moved the rubbish bin, flipped it open to toss in the weeks garbage and gasped. There was the doll. The fracture was gone and it looked shinier than it had when I’d first found it. I felt shock and surprise contort my face, this was more than unexpected, this was abnormal. I donned my gardening gloves and picked the doll up with gentle precision.
I took it over to my potting bench and laid it carefully down on the flat wooden surface. Here was where I kept my extra pots, bags of soil, natural additives such as ash, cedar, fish oil, and such things. I plucked some pine and cedar to fold across the bare breast of the doll and picked up one of my gardening stakes.
“I’m not sure how you came up.” I told the miserable wretch as it began to writhe beneath the stake, its tiny mouth opened to reveal jagged rows of needle sharp teeth. “But its clear you can’t remain.”
I hammered the stake into its china white chest and blood spurted from the wound. Later, I would put garlic bulbs in its mouth and remove the head. I would bury body and head in two separate places on my property. I smiled and nodded. I felt sad for the two children that had been made victims to its voracious little appetite but it’d been a long time since I’d seen such a thing. I’d almost forgotten they’d existed.
Once I was finished in the garden, I walked out to check the post. I opened the slot, pulled out my mail, most of it flyers and handbills, before I snapped the door closed. I stared at the lettering there, I would have to get some paint and touch it up for the spring.
One could barely read the “a-n” in Van Helsing.