manly

Danny stood at the corner, waiting for the signal to change as the rain poured down on him.  He held his dry cleaning slung over his back and  turned up his collar as he waited to cross the street.  It was finally coming down hard, and he wished that the rain could have waited one more hour.  He could have made it to his sister’s place, straight up the road in that time.  Shawna, his girlfriend, had kicked him out of the house once and for all. 

The streetlight flashed a glowing white figure, signaling it was safe to cross.  Danny heard the tweets of the signal, just in case he was blind and unable to see walking man.  He hurried across the crosswalk just as the downpour began.  He leaped over puddles and took shelter underneath the organic grocer’s awning, next to the oranges. 

The grocer was just closing up, and the fluorescent lights were flickering anemically as he brought in all of the displays. 

“Are you okay, buddy?” the grocer asked.

Danny was shaking his hair out like a dog would shake his fur. “Yeah, I’ll survive.”

The grocer didn’t press him.  After all, Danny didn’t look lost or homeless, just wet.  He stood underneath the awning catching his breath, contemplating his next move. 

He was a tall, manly forty year old.  His jacket, a black Harley Davidson Classic Cruiser, communicated himself to the world: he was tough and ready to rumble….

With anyone but Shawna. 

He took crap from her all day long and now she had the keys to his ride and was threatening to sell it, saying he hadn’t brought home enough money to pay the bills in a long, long time. 

Her timing was wonderful.  The guys in the monkey suits had just promoted him and tomorrow  he was scheduled to start his new job in the west building with the fancy offices.  He would be representing the finest company in the world: Harley Davidson.  He couldn’t be late; couldn’t show up unshaven; or carrying around this negative-loser spirit.  Damn her!  Her timing was shit. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?  I’m closing up.”  The grocer had a strong Mexican accent, looked clean-cut ; in his late fifties.  Danny could tell he was trying to help, but Danny hated repeating himself. 

“Yeah.”

The grocer shut the lights off and locked the door.  He pulled the exterior grate closed and pressed the padlock in place, making sure that it was secure.  “Okay then, goodnight.” 

The man made his way to an old white Datsun pickup in the parking lot and Danny decided to ask him for a ride. 

“Hey!” Danny ran out to him in the pouring rain, managing to catch the man before he got in his cab.  “Can I have a lift to my sister’s house?  It’s right off of First street, right up there.” 

The grocer was smiling, but Danny could tell he was hesitating. 

“I’ll be fine in the back here,” Danny motioned to the back, where a collection of wet cardboard boxes had collapsed from the rain. 

“No, you can’t ride back there!” the man said.  “Come on up front with me.”

Danny didn’t argue and got out of the rain and into the cab.  It was a typical Datsun pickup: a good strong ride stripped down to basics.  “Thanks, man.”  He didn’t shake his hair, but rather wiped his face with his hand. 

“You can’t freeze out here,” the man said, like Danny had a choice.  “I’m Ramon, by the way.”  Danny shook hands with the man, then said, “Danny.”

The Datsun started with a “crank, crank, crank viiiiimmmm…” that all Datsuns do, and Danny felt encouraged, like he just caught a break.  His sister would surely let him in and from there he could make a plan for tomorrow and somehow getting his stuff back.

Ramon left the parking lot with too much care and proceeded down Martin Luther King Blvd. rather slowly.  For some reason, Danny wasn’t as irritated as much as he usually was at slow driving. 

“Why are you out in the rain?” Ramon asked. 

Danny sighed heavily.  “Girlfriend kicked me out.”

“Girlfriend and not wife?”

Danny smiled and looked at Ramon, who kept his eyes on the road.  “Yeah,  my girlfriend.  She’s too mean to be anybody’s wife.”

“You say that now.”

Danny laughed a little.  He didn’t argue at all and knew Ramon probably meant well, but he didn’t want to get lectured by a stranger - even one who was giving him a ride. 

Ramon’s windshield wipers did remarkably well in the downpour and traffic seemed less heavy.  People were trying to stay off the roads in this weather.  It was stormy and wet and everyone preferred inside to out. 

“So you’re on your way home now?” Danny asked Ramon, who kept his eye on the road. 

“Yeah, I go home and have some dinner and then put my kids to bed.  They have homework and sometimes they need me, so I try my best to help.  Then I go out and do some work with my son for his business.  He’s trying to get this new business started….”  Ramon’s voice trailed off and Danny looked out the windshield to see why.  All he could see on the road was red tail lights.  Something was stopping traffic. 

Ramon turned the radio on and a Spanish station blared, enough to make Danny wince. 

“Sorry,” Ramon said, smiling.  He switched the dial to a news station and heard a traffic report, reporting major slow-downs around town because of the weather.  There was no special flag on Martin Luther King Blvd. 

“Guess it’s just slow because of the rain.”

“You said First street, right?”

“Yeah, you can drop me at the corner.  It’s not far from there.”

“Ah, I got you in here.  I may as well  take you the whole way.”

The windshield wipers made a “flap, flap, flap” and the rain continued to come down hard, and the radio was now moving on to sports.  Danny strained to listen, knowing the unbreakable rule of never touching another person’s car stereo knob….

He thought of Shawna.  When he met her, she was seventeen.  He wasn’t supposed to like her, but he did.  He was thirty, just out of another dead-end relationship himself.  It was a river boat party and Shawna was there with her Aunt Rita, a mutual friend.  Her brown curls had glimmered in the sunlight like water.  Her bare back was light and full of freckles.  He hadn't been able to stop staring at her…

“Turn right or left?”  Ramon asked.

“Right, sorry.”

Turning on to First street, Ramon slowed the Datsun even more.  Danny rolled his eyes to himself, 

remembering to be grateful for the only ride available to him that night.

“It’s right up here- this yellow house with the green light.”

“A green light…”

“Yeah, that’s how everybody finds it.  Thanks a lot, man.  I can’t tell you how much…”

“I’ll wait till she answers.”

Danny opened his door and got out, throwing the wrapped dry cleaning over his shoulder.  “Don’t wait for me to get in, it’s okay.  Thanks so much for the ride!”

“Okay.”

Ramon smiled at him as he shut the door.  In a moment, Danny was under his sister’s porch ringing her doorbell.  There were no lights on inside and soon he had a sick feeling that she wasn’t home.  He rang a second time.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered to himself. 

Seeing no movement from inside, Danny leaned against the post and turned back to face the pouring rain.  In the driveway, the Datsun waited, its lights still on and windshield wipers flapping.  After a third ring, Danny decided to go tell Ramon to just go home and he would wait on the porch.  After all, there was a chair there and he could sit out of the rain. 

When he got to the pick-up it was Ramon who talked first.  “Get in!”

Danny got in, still clinging to his dry cleaning.  “Just leave me here, man.  I can sit and wait for her.  She gets off work late sometimes.”

“How about this,” Ramon said, facing him.  “Come home and have dinner with me and my family.  When it’s time for me to go help my son, I’ll drop you off then.  You need to get dry and maybe hang up those clothes.”

“I can’t do that, man.”

“You’ve had a bad day, right?  Why I’m gonna leave you here?”

Danny smiled.  He was humbled by the offer, but suddenly self-conscious of his hair, his jacket, his tattoos.  He wondered why Ramon would offer such kindness to him, a man he found wet under the awning of the store. 

“No, thanks.”

“Man, you are a stubborn person.  No wonder your girlfriend is kicking you out of your own house.”

Danny smirked and nodded his head.  “I guess I deserved that.”

“You want me to take you back home and you can apologize?”

Danny remembered back on Shawna tonight.   She was livid; a tiger, determined to get him away from her.  “All you do is take, take,take!” she shouted at him, pushing him out the door. 

He had tried to calm her down, but he could have seen this coming.  The end had been looming in the distance for months.  He looked at Ramon and shook his head.

“She doesn’t want me back there.”

“Where are your bags?  Where is your car?”

“I have a motorcycle.  I told her I’d get my stuff later this week.”

Ramon shook his head.  “You got kids?”

The question stabbed at Danny’s heart.  His daughter, born earlier in the year, died when she was 100 days old.  She had never completely matured in Shawna’s womb and she was born a month early with a host of health problems. 

“No.”

“Well.  Why not?”

“My daughter died,” Danny said without thinking.  He never brought this subject up; never discussed it.  Not even with Shawna.

“When?”

“In April of this year.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Thanks.”  A terrible sick feeling came over Danny and he felt like vomiting.  Instead, he said thank you again and  left the pickup, going toward his sister’s porch and collapsing in the chair.  How could he leave her?  How could he just give up?  Were alcohol and drugs the only thing that could make the pain go away? 

“Hey.”  Danny looked up to see Ramon standing there next to him.  He looked remarkably dry and Danny felt drenched. 

“I know this sounds awful, but I can’t leave you here.  Tonight my wife is making carne asada.  Do you know what that is?  It’s a marinade of beef with orange and then roasted a little.  We pull it apart and have with tortillas.  It’s awesome.  After you eat, you come with me and I’ll bring you back here.  Or to your house.”

“Alright.”  Danny sat on the chair, unable to say no.  He was bankrupt with nowhere to go.  He held the dry cleaning, even thought the outside wrapping was tearing and wet.  It was the suit he was supposed to wear for tomorrow and maybe it could dry off as he ate dinner.   

“Okay, buddy.”  Ramon helped him to his feet and as he stood, Danny was surprised to see he was taller than Ramon.  

How could that be?

change

Heidi received  five “likes” for her Instagram picture of her niece, Wendy, crossing her eyes and blowing out her cheeks.  She was trying to take another of ducklings following their mother in a line when she heard Wendy’s voice. 

“Aunt Heidi!  Look at me!” 

Wendy was hanging like a wet shirt from the monkey bars, her four-year-old muscles not developed enough to hoist her up and move her any further. 

“That’s amazing.”  Heidi turned back to her phone and clicked the picture.  One of the ducklings was just out of range so she clicked again.  She viewed her picture and was quite pleased.  It looked like a perfect picture of spring (maybe that’s what she would caption it) and so she clicked to share it. 

“What should I do now?” Wendy was suddenly at her side, her pink cheeks glowing and her pigtails fuzzy and disheveled.  “Should I swing or should I go on the monkey-fish?”

“It’s your choice,” Heidi said, preoccupied with cropping her picture.  When she had applied the “Rise” effect, she clicked a blue arrow on the upper right hand corner of her phone to proceed. 

“If I swing, you’ll have to push me.  I don’t know how to push myself.”

“Okay, you’ll have to wait a minute.”

“Who are you texting?”

“No one.”  Heidi typed in the caption: A picture of Spring!   

“Okay, I guess I’ll go on the monkey-fish.”

Heidi suddenly looked up and saw her niece, running across the playground in her pink, corduroy pants, pigtails flapping like crazy. 

“Wait!” Heidi called, and then decided to follow her.  

She walked quickly to the other end of the wooden playground, to the cement outcropping of two fish with lion heads.  The strange statues were painted by local artists and welcomed creative children to the playground.  Heidi remembered them as being weird, even when she was Wendy’s age, fifteen years ago. 

Wendy was already climbing on the statues, with two other boys.  The boys’ mother was busy taking pictures of them with her phone. 

“Wendy!” Heidi scolded her niece.  “Don’t just run off like that!  I’m trying to keep an eye on you, you know?”

Heidi heard a laugh behind her and turned around to see an old lady in a long grey coat sitting on the park bench.  She was clutching a black vinyl purse in one hand, a red canvas leash in the other.  At the end of the leash was a Scottish terrier, who bore a striking resemblance to Toto from the Wizard of Oz. 

“Are you?” the woman chuckled.  Her hair was well kempt, but wiry and curled in a way that she resembled an old movie star – waves that fell heavily against her ears.  Her face was lovely and chiseled, but she stared at Heidi in such an intimidating way that it unnerved her. 

“Excuse me?” Heidi asked her.  It sounded very much like the woman was accusing her of not keeping an eye on her niece. 

The woman chuckled again to herself.  “They’re like quicksilver, these kids!”

Heidi felt a strange relief, absolved from any guilt of being neglectful.  “Especially, her,” Heidi pointed to Wendy, who had now made friends with the younger boy who was climbing the fish.  They were pretending to be afraid of the fish eating them, and shrieked when they lost their balance climbing up his slick back.  “She’s like lightning.”

The old woman mistook this snippet of conversation for friendship and motioned for Heidi to sit down next to her on the bench.  Unable to think of an excuse not to, Heidi walked over and sat down. 

“It used to be that the mothers all sat together on these benches,” the woman said.  “That’s why they were put in.”

“Hmmm.”  Heidi felt trapped in a conversation she had never intended to be in and raised her eyebrows in feigned interest. 

“That was before cell phones,” the woman’s face turned dark and bitter, as if she were talking about memories of a concentration camp. 

“Yeah,  I guess so.”

“You guess so, I KNOW so.”  The woman shook her head and pet her dog on its head.  “The change that cell phones brought has been devastating for the park.  Now the mothers are so busy taking pictures of their children and talking on those phones and typing…. that they never talk to each other!”

“Maybe you’re right.” Heidi couldn’t relate even if she wanted to; she wasn’t a mother and she didn’t come to the park often.  Today was a favor to her sister while she got her carpets cleaned. 

“Look at that mother,” the old woman leaned closer to Heidi and pointed at the boys’ mother snapping pictures with her phone and smiling.  The mother was wearing yoga pants and Uggs and really looked cute for her age, but Heidi was sure the old woman was about to make a different observation.  “She came to the park with her children and all she’s doing is taking pictures.  The only time she talks to them is to have them look up at her and smile.”

“Hmmm.”  Heidi wondered if the woman had noticed her snapping pictures of the ducks. 

“I guess the world does need more good pictures, but that’s why we have photographers for!  What good is it to come to the park and be in your own private world?”

This odd statement resonated with Heidi.  She looked at the woman again and wondered how old this woman could be.  Eighty?  Ninety?  Why was she walking her dog by herself?  Why was she waiting here on this bench?

“Do you come here often?”

“Oh, I bring Lucy out here everyday.  She loves the park!”  The woman smiled down at the dog, who licked her lips.  “Now she thinks I’m going to give her a treat.”  The old woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie that she unwrapped slowly to reveal a piece of cheese. 

“What’s your dog’s name?” Wendy's voice broke in.  Heidi jumped, surprised that her niece was suddenly there with them, panting and flushed from climbing the fish sculptures. 

“Her name is Lucy,” the old woman said as her terrier gobbled the cheese.  The woman became animated and leaned forward, smiling at Wendy.  “What is your name?”

“Wendy!”

“Wendy, like Peter’s Wendy?”

Heidi smiled, watching the exchange between the old woman and her niece.  Something looked familiar about it; it reminded Heidi of being in kindergarten.  Wendy looked confused and nodded slowly at the woman.

“Who is Peter’s Wendy?”

“What!?” The woman exaggerated a surprised response.  She looked from Wendy to Heidi and smiled.  “Well, Peter and Wendy were two friends.  It's a book -a story of  children who go on a magical journey to Neverland together.  Have you not read it?”

Wendy  leaned forward and glowed, waiting for the story to come out of the woman.  Heidi felt five years old again, hanging on the woman’s every word.    The woman looked at both of them and then over her shoulder at a tall brick building. 

“Do you see that building over there?  That’s the library!  There are so many stories in there!  Why don’t you go and see if you can find the story of Peter and Wendy and your sister here will read it you!”

“That’s my Auntie.  That’s my Auntie Heidi and she’s twenty years old and she has a boyfriend named Bobby who smokes.”

“Your Auntie Heidi can find that story if you help her,” the woman said, tapping her index finger against Wendy’s chest.  People think the story is called Peter Pan, but it really is called…”  the woman waited for optimum effect.  Then she whispered, “Peter and Wendy!”

Both Wendy and Heidi smiled.  “Let’s go!” Wendy took off for the library, pigtails bobbing and arms pumping. 

Heidi jumped up and started to tear off after her, before remembering the old woman.  “I’m sorry, thank you!” 

The old woman was still smiling and winked before Heidi trotted after her niece, who was trying to open the heavy door of the library.

 When she caught up, Heidi took her niece by the hand and knelt down beside her.  “If you want to go in, remember that we have to be quiet and walk and not run.  Stay with me, okay?”

Wendy looked into her Aunt’s eyes and nodded, sincerely. 

They entered the building and the smell of old books greeted Heidi, bringing back beautiful memories she shared here with her own mother.  Aunt and niece approached the desk and were warmly greeted by a woman who smiled brightly, her hair tied back and glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck. 

“Welcome!  How can I help you?”

“Do you have a book called Peter and Wendy?” Heidi asked. 

The woman smiled to herself and began to look in her computer. 

“That’s my name!”  Wendy said, a little too loud.  Heidi turned to her and put her index finger to her lips. 

“That’s my name,” the girl whispered loudly. 

“Wow!” the librarian smiled brightly at the child.  “Our copy of Peter and Wendy is out right now.  I can order you another copy, but it will take a week.”  The woman looked up to Heidi, who smiled, disappointed. 

“I don’t come here all that often.” 

“Well,” the woman said, quietly.  She leaned forward as if she were sharing a trade secret.  “Peter and Wendy is free on kindle.  It’s public domain and you might be able to download it and start it for her.”

Wendy was panicking.  “We can come back next week, can’t we, Aunt Heidi?  You can climb the monkey fish with me or even take my picture.  Mommy will let you….”

“Yes,” Heidi said to both the woman and her niece.  “Please order it for me and I will pick it up next week.  Also, I will download it and start reading it.”  Wendy was pleased and hugged her aunt’s leg. 

After filling out paperwork for a new library card and then submitting a request for the book, the librarian smiled and thanked her.

“What a nice request!  It’s been a long time since someone has requested it by its proper title.  Most people ask for Peter Pan!”

“We were in the park and a lady actually told us what the name of the book was.”

“Was it Mrs. Ravenwood?  Did she have a little dog with her?”

“Like Toto.”

“That was Mrs. Ravenwood!”  The librarian smiled.  “This is the Ravenwood library.  It’s named after her and her husband.  They were both teachers in this area.  She still walks that dog everyday and comes in and says hi.”

“Oh.”  Heidi was stunned.

As they walked home, Heidi  relaxed into gentle contemplation of her niece.  She looked so much like her sister did at that age.  She made everything wonderful; she was never bored or lonely.   As they walked down the tree-lined street, Wendy made sounds like an airplane and held her arms out.  She started to get away from her and when she did, Heidi was quick to call her back.

“Hey, Wendy!” Heidi called to her niece.  “Why do you call that statue the monkey fish?  It has a lion’s head.”

Heidi stopped running and looked back at her Aunt.  She waited for her to catch up, then explained the mystery: “It’s not the monkey- BARS… It’s the monkey- FISH!  You can climb on it like a MONKEY, but it’s a FISH!”  The child’s hands were open and her fingers were spread apart, implying the concept was easy to understand. 

“Oh.”

“Are you going to read about me and Peter when we get home?”

“Yes.  You’re lying down for a nap and I’ll read it until you fall asleep.”

Wendy looked angry.  “I hate naps.”

“Well…”

“How do I know you’re not taking my picture?”

“You’ll know because I’ll be reading you the story.”

“Oh.” 

Heidi felt the child’s hand in hers and she smiled, looking down at her.   The sun was directly above them and the light shone down on her niece’s head, making her curls look like gold.  

If you want to read the amazing story of Peter and Wendy, it is free on kindle. Click here to get it. You might want to buy the book just for the illustrations by FD Bedford

wife

Black’s Mortuary stood like a medieval castle, crafted from grey stone arching over heavy black doors. Roberta waited on the steps while her husband, Phillip, parked the car.  The downtown streets were now all metered and Phillip refused to pay for parking at his own brother’s funeral. 

Roberta adjusted her smart black slacks in the long shadows of four o’clock, the fading sun slicing through the tall junipers and hitting her white tennis shoes.  She almost didn't wear them, but realized she might be playing with the kids afterwards and in the end chose function over fashion.  

Her brother-in-law, Charlie, was now gone and she thought of how quickly he was taken from them.  First came his headaches, then a diagnosis of a brain tumor in October and then hospice.  It was early January and this was the day of his funeral - he was barely 35.  His wife, a French immigrant named Pauline, and his two small daughters, her nieces Camille and Claudette, were devastated.  The family car had just dropped them off and they were already inside.  Phillip and Roberta's car had followed them, but now with the parking issue, she was separated from her husband. She grew impatient waiting. 

Roberta was suddenly distracted by a figure in a black lace dress and high heels, running daintily toward Mortuary, high heels clacking up the sidewalk.  The woman’s face was an inverted triangle, her lips, a heart of pink and her eyes covered with wide, black sunglasses.

Denise.

Roberta’s heart sank.  She scanned the street for her husband but he was still not visible.  For a moment she thought of ducking inside to avoid Denise altogether, but then realized that was stupid.  She would be forced to greet and acknowledge her sister-in-law, no matter how much they disliked eachother. 

Denise was married to Phillip and Charlie’s “other brother” Craig, who was currently in a rehabilitation clinic (his fifth), trying to recover from alcoholism.  Roberta didn’t like the fact that Phillip was picking up the tab for this round of recovery; she had even less regard for his wife, Denise.  

After all, she wasn’t even family.

“Hello Roberta,” Denise said, climbing the grey stone stairs and stopping in front of her.  Roberta smiled and hugged her without much enthusiasm. 

“Hello, Denise.”

“Are you here alone?  Do you want to sit together?”

“Phillip is parking the car,” Roberta said coldly.  The air between them was uncomfortable, but Denise tried to lighten it.

“I suppose that you’re going to sit with the family, right?”

“Of course we are.”

“Maybe I'll walk in and sit with you."

Roberta tried to smile, but it was useless.  "I'm waiting for Phillip..."

"Look, I know this is awkward, but we're family, right?"  Denise was starting to tear up.  "Why don't we just try to get along?"

Roberta rolled her eyes.  “Denise, please don't be a drama princess here today!” 

Denise nodded and wiped her eyes.  “I’m sorry.  This whole thing has hit me so hard.”

“Well, remember, this is Charlie’s funeral.  This is HIS family’s day.  Of course you have every right to be here, but try not to be so…”

“So what?”  Denise removed her dark sunglasses and revealed a piteous expression.  Roberta couldn't feel sorry for her. 

“Remember that we have to respect the family."  

"I respect the family, Roberta!"

"I'm just saying..."

"You're just saying you wish I wasn't around.  You won't ever come out and tell me that to my face, but you are saying that, aren't you?"

"This is it!" Roberta clapped her hands and then held them out to Denise, showcasing the drama.

"What is it?"

"You!" 

"Me.  This is all me!"

"Remember my wedding to Phillip?  You and Craig got so drunk that you went out on the ballroom floor during our spotlight dance and were laughing and ...”

“Really?  Are you still holding that against me?”

“Don’t be like that today.  This funeral is like a spotlight dance.  Don’t get drunk!  Don't start crying.  Don't sniff glue in the bathroom so that you’re seeing pink elephants and reaching for the homemade shanks in your purse.”

As soon as she said it, Roberta realized it was too much.  Even the drama princess, Denise, looked shocked.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come.”

“Well…”

“But Craig asked me to.  He told me ‘Please go to my brother’s funeral just so Mom can see you’re there representing us.”

Roberta shook her head.  “Give me a break…”

“And here you are, judging me before I even go inside…”

“What right does Craig…” Roberta heard the volume of her voice and then lowered it, in respect.  “What right does Craig have to ask you to represent him to his Mother.  If he wanted to represent himself, he wouldn't be in rehab, would he?  With my husband paying for it!”

“I told you we’d pay you back…”  Denise started, but then gave up, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Just don’t cause a scene.”

“The next time…”

“Hi, Denise,” Phillip said, bounding up the steps and joining the conversation before realizing it was filled with tension. 

Denise looked up at him, tears still in her eyes, and nodded.  Then she whispered to Roberta. 

“The next time you don’t want me to make a scene I suggest you not accuse me of being a drama princess who gets drunk and owes you money.”  Denise put her sunglasses on and walked inside, opening the heavy door with some effort and disappearing into the darkness of the room.

“Where were you?” Roberta whispered, loud enough for a young couple just arriving to hear.  She hit her husband’s arm, and then looked at his suit.   “You look so wrinkled.  What happened?”

“I had to run five blocks to get here.  What happened with Denise?”

“At least pull up your socks and straighten your cuffs.  My gosh, you look like a hobo!”

“A hobo?  What happened with…”

“Oh, you know her!  Always some drama about something!”

“Yeah.”

“I’m waiting.  Straighten your cuffs.”

Phillip bent down and pulled up both socks and straightened the hem of his pants.  Once Roberta thought he looked presentable they entered the darkened Mortuary.  The organist was playing “I’ll Fly Away,” as they walked into the sanctuary.   

Denise looked up at them as they passed her, taking their seats in the front benches where all the family sat together.   

Uncle Walt

Uncle Walt and Mario at the braai.

In every human heart there is a beautiful thing that searches for a true love.

Walt found that in my Aunt Emmy, after she lost her husband (my Uncle Rich) to cancer.  They became companions, friends with romance.  My Uncle Rich had unusually large shoes to fill and the transition into our family wasn’t an easy one for Walt. I’d have to say that the family didn’t accept him so easily, or maybe I can only speak for myself. 

Still, in my heart there was also that thing that finds a place for new people.  My heart soon found space for Walt and  I loved him like he was a part of our family.

I wish I knew the moment it happened.

Probably the thing that solidified his place with me(in my finite mind) was the way he connected with my children.   It’s easy to pick out the leaders in a crowd – just see which person your kid loves.

All of my kids and my siblings’ kids loved Walt, and we promptly took advantage of this by making him dress as Santa on Christmas Eve.  He didn’t mind at all; in fact he played the role with gusto, dressing up in the red suit, padding his waist and blushing his cheeks. 

The kids loved their new Santa, especially when he (Walt) would shout orders to the reindeer on the roof, correcting Rudolf for making too much noise.   They took their turns sitting on his lap while he handed out gifts….

In 2013, I was enjoying the thought of these early Christmases as I watched him work his magic with all of the kids that surrounded him.  Before he left the house to transform back into Walt,  Santa asked for two cookies for Rudolf before he left.  It was my granddaughter, Harmony, who brought them to him. 

It was the last Christmas that Walt would be Santa.  He died this evening after a shockingly brief bout with C-diff, a serious colitis that took him quickly.  It seemed like one day Walt was in the hospital, three days later he was in heaven. 

Death came too quickly.

I am in shock and denial.  I tap out these words in remembrance of him and thinking of how  I had grown amazingly close to Walt over the years.  Especially after he and my Aunt Emmy came out to South Africa in 2012.

Walt and Aunt Emmy landed in Johannesburg and were amazingly popular with all of our friends right away.  They thought Walt hilarious and a good example of a guy who wasn’t afraid to have fun, especially when it was time to braai.  We hosted a party so that our friends could get to know them and heard time after time that they would be welcome in any of their homes,  anytime.  What I’d known about my family was confirmed: they were awesome!  I was celebrating that my Auntie and Walt were here – my FAMILY was with us!!

As the party wound down, Walt offered to help clean up.

My friend, Elmay, caught Walt in the kitchen washing dishes more than once (Walt loved washing dishes by hand). 

“What are you doing in here?  This is YOUR party!” Elmay said to him.

“It will only take a few minutes,” Walt said, but Elmay took him by the arm and led him back outside. 

In the days they were with us in 2012, we visited a diamond mine (which they loved) together and visited local attractions.  Being adventurous, they went off by themselves to Cape Town for a visit to see the other side of the country.   We went to Pilansburg (a wild game park) together, and while they surveyed big game I furiously pounded out the last part of my first novel.  Auntie Emmy and Walt took the manuscript back home and mailed it to my editor. 

It was sad to see them go, but the trip had bonded us for life.  I wondered why I was still calling him “Walt”, not Uncle Walt -a term of endearment that I think he deserved. 

Recently at my daughter’s wedding, one particular group of my son-in-law’s family enjoyed him so much that they remarked about him as I said goodbye to them later.

“We really enjoyed your Uncle!” they said.  I was perplexed – I tried to think which of my Uncles came to the wedding. 

“Really?” I said.  “Which one?”

“Your Uncle Walt!  He’s so friendly and so pleasant.  He’s welcome at our place anytime!” 

I smiled. 

“Everyone says that about my Uncle Walt,” I said.  It was true. 

Tonight I realize that he was my Uncle Walt because I am in pain.  I am grieving like a girl who loses an Uncle – not an Aunt’s longtime companion.  He was goofy and colorful.  He was adventurous and friendly.  He was always the one everyone was happy to see, happy to welcome and happy to have working on a project. 

Walt loved doing the dishes because he loved to tell you about the efficient way of cleaning he had chosen; He hadn’t used his own dishwasher in years.  He’d break into song at a moment’s notice, and always corny tunes.  He was positive without apology; believing the best about people and staying positive about life, even with all of its ups and downs. 

I am grieving his loss… deeply.   Even so, I know one day we will be reunited.  I know that Walt is with God, at his happiest place right now.  I have to comfort myself with this, because it is me who needs comforting right now. 

I can’t believe he’s gone from us.  This world needed Walt. 

heroes

Odtsetseg stirred the contents of her buuz with her index finger, hoping that her Granny would not see her playing with her food.  It was Grandmother’s idea in the first place not to buy the frozen dumplings anymore, and now chose to make them herself.

In her enthusiasm, Grandmother left much of the mutton gristle in the dumplings, determined not to waste one bit of what God gave them.  Odtsetseg didn’t like mutton gristle and was determined to remove it herself if her Grandmother would not. 

“Ay?” Grandmother touched the post with her boot and corrected the child as she chewed her supper herself.  

“This is cooked.  You eat it.”

Odtsetseg removed her finger and took a bite, chewing the contents and looking at Grandmother as she did.

Grandmother looked at the ground, chewing so hard that her jaw shoved her wrinkled cheeks toward her ears with each bite.   

There was a hard knock on the door of the ger and Grandmother looked up.  With relief, Odtsetseg stood up and unlocked the door and cracked it open slightly.  The cold wind was biting, but there was sun.  Boldo stood before her in his fur-lined jacket, as if it were morning.  In forty minutes the sun will be down and the wind will be biting at his ears, Odtsetseg thought.

“Come out and see this!”  Boldo’s face was too delighted for his playmate to not be interested.

“We are nearly finished with our food,” Odtsetseg said.  “Then I must rinse our bowls.  I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”  

She shut the door on him, and it didn’t seem to dampen his spirit.  His face glowed with anticipation and it made the young girl want to rush through her food, even if there was gristle in it. 

Once it was locked Grandmother looked at her with raised eyebrows. 

“It was Boldo.”

Grandmother raised her eyebrows again and Odtsetseg shouted, “BOLDO!”

Grandmother nodded and wiped out the juice in the bottom of her bowl with her fingers.  With great difficulty, Odtsetseg swallowed the rest of her dumplings, fighting the gagging urge.  She didn’t want to appear ungrateful.

“I will wash the bowls outside today,” she said as Grandmother reached for a toothpick and began her nightly ritual of picking her teeth with the thin strip of balsam.  In Grandmother’s world, there was no greater pleasure than sitting in front of the evening news in her favorite chair, flicking the last of her dinner back onto her tongue and eating it all over again.

With Grandmother happily situated in front of the news, two toothpicks in front of her, Odtsetseg knew it would be some time before Grandmother would miss her presence.  She put on her coat and gloves and a tight cap over her ears and left the ger for the cold yard. 

Boldo was right where she left him, smiling happily.

“Hurry!  Let’s go!”

“I need to wash these…”

“I’ll help you.”   The two ran to the community water and quickly rinsed the bowls, wiping them with their hands.  The beautiful bottoms – each having a picture of a smiling cow, surrounded by milk, cheese and creams – were now clearly visible. The bowl’s enamel squeaked against Odtsetseg’s fingers and she knew they were now clean.  The two ran them back to the entrance of her ger and set them down to the side of the door. 

Boldo took Odtsetseg by the hand and they ran to the old VW bug, dormant in the middle of the camp and climbed on top of it.  From the roof of the car, they could see over the fence and into the world: a camp of gers on the hillside, at least twenty that made up their community.

It wasn’t hard for Odtsetseg to see what was new: a bright white ger had been erected that day and stood like a newly frosted cake in the middle of the camp.  She gasped and Boldo jumped up and down, shaking the beetle beneath them.

“Our new school!”

“There it is!”

“Next month we will begin!”

“Yes!” Boldo and Odtsetseg could barely contain their excitement and the VW  shook beneath them as their padded boots danced furiously in celebration.

“And you will write my name!” Boldo shouted happily.  His reasoning confused Odtsetseg. 

“You will learn to write your own name, Boldo!”

“Yes, but I can’t hold a pencil.”

“You will learn to hold a pencil.”

“There is no need for me to learn to hold a pencil if you will write my name.” 

The VW was still beneath them.  Why would Boldo think I will be the one who learns?  Odtsetseg thought. 

“You know, Boldo, you are not just a warrior.  You are also a good boy.”

“I am a warrior!”

“Yes, but you can hold a pencil.”

“No!”  Boldo jumped off the car defiantly and Odtsetseg just looked at him.  She looked back at the big white cake in the middle of the camp, still being tended to by the builders. 

She breathed in deeply and when she exhaled, her breath was a cloud of steam. 

It was time to go in.

She jumped off the car and dusted off her pants and boots.  Boldo had stood in front of the car with his arms crossed.  Odtsetseg shook her head at him.

“You are going to school and you will learn.”

Boldo shook his head.  It appeared he was holding his breath, but Odtsetseg couldn’t be sure. 

“You will learn to hold a pencil.”

“No.”

Odtsetseg was starting to get angry.  Why is he being like this?  Why is he excited about the school ger, but not learning?  Why did he think he couldn’t do it, even before trying?  Why did he even ask me to come out and see the new school if he wasn’t excited about it?

“Genghis wrote his own name, you know.”

Boldo uncrossed his arms and face.  He now looked at his playmate with suspicion. “Genghis wrote his name?”

“Yes!”  It suddenly occurred to Odtsetseg that the great Genghis might not have ever once written his name and she might be caught in a terrible lie.  She had to do something, though.  Boldo had so few heroes and she had to use one to entice him into being excited about the pencil.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”  For a moment Boldo looked defeated and then he got excited again and climbed the VW again to look at the new ger. 

Odtsetseg began to climb up with him when she heard a terrible cry from across the camp.  “Boldo!”

Both children followed the voice to the hulking frame of Sukh, Boldo’s father.  He was in his heavy quilted coat, holding his lunch pail and a bottle of what looked like wine in a paper bag.  Boldo jumped down from the car and ran to him, his little boots moving so quickly that Odtsetseg hoped he wouldn’t trip and fall.  

Soon he was the size of a dumpling, running up to the man whose voice was so mighty it travelled through the whole camp like thunder.

Sukh’s expression was impossible to see from where she was, but Odtsetseg  was frightened as she saw him reprimanded her playmate, most likely for being out too late and then hit the back of his head with his open palm.  She hoped that it would be the end for tonight.  She hoped that Mr. Sukh was tired from work and that he would go to bed immediately after entering his ger.

She walked toward hers, her breath now in silver ribbons before her.  She picked up the dairy bowls and entered the ger as quietly as she could.  Grandmother didn’t stir, but rather picked heartily at her teeth in the glow of the television. 

In half an hour she was washed and in bed herself.  She smiled, remembering the new white ger - the frosted cake in the middle of the camp.  She grew serious thinking of Boldo and his own ger tonight. 

Soon she heard her own father come in and lay his own pail down on the shelf as quietly as he could.  Grandmother had fallen asleep in her chair and Mother was one more day in the country before she came home. 

“Father,” she whispered.

“What is this?” she heard him smiling.  “Is my little star flower awake?”

“Father, our new school is here.”

“Yes it is.  Go to sleep.”

“Father, could Genghis write his name?”

“Shhh.  Yes.  Go to sleep.”

And she did, happy that she didn't tell a lie after all.  

salud

My friend Lulu is my Afrikaans sister who tried (in vain) to teach me Afrikaans.

She endeavored from several angles: an auditory approach (“Repeat after me: Lekker, lekker Braai!”); a child’s perspective (a book of large animals with their names captioned underneath); and conversational (her most effective). 

She is a great teacher, but my American mouth and mind could not make friends with the Afrikaans language easily. 

For instance, Gesund (health) is pronounced in Afrikaans like you are hacking up a loogie, then saying “soont”.   At first, I couldn’t even pronounce her name correctly.  VanAswegan (pronounced FUN- US-vee-ye-ghin) also stirs up phlegm. 

I practiced saying it many times before actually meeting her. 

Lulu was impressed with my desire to learn Afrikaans so much she took it upon herself to teach me.  The South Africans call the language “baby Dutch,” maybe because it is a simpler version of the proper language of the white settlers.  Over the generations, the high Dutch became more colloquial and Afrikaans evolved. 

Lulu gave up teaching me Afrikaans when she split both of her sides laughing at me one afternoon in her living room.  We had just arrived at the VanAswegan house and were unloading our luggage.  As we unloaded, I searched the crowded living room for their little dog, Serabi. 

“Where’s your winkie?” I asked them.

Lulu’s husband, Wouter, stood up and left the room.  Lulu –along with every other person in the living room- began laughing so furiously that they were  bent over. 

My mistake was quite hilarious.  In trying to blend in with my Afrikaans friends, asking after their  “little dog” – or hondjie (OY –und-kee) -I made a mess of the pronunciation and instead asked for another little something – “Winkie”, the Afrikaans euphamism for a little boy’s penis.

Language barriers are very hard to overcome. 

While Lulu has many stories of me filleting the Afrikaans language, one of her favorite stories of mine is a family story of my Uncle Jim learning how to speak Spanish.

I have decided to tell it here:

My Uncle Jim was larger than life.  He was a large man and former football star who became a Police stand-out in our small town.  He later became mayor, but that is many years after this particular story takes place.

My Uncle Jim fell deeply in love with my Aunt Molly in the early 1960’s.  Molly was the youngest daughter of my Grandparents, Ignacio and Juana Gonzalez.  Auntie Molly was the identical twin of my Aunt Emmy and the two of them were thick as thieves.  They were small and beautiful and a bit like Hispanic Tinkerbells, with a hint of mischief in their eyes. 

When Uncle Jim fell for Auntie Molly, he was doing two things that were not conventional: he was starting a relationship with an identical twin; and he was starting a relationship with a Mexican girl. 

My Uncle Jim was seen as “white” – and his family was from the South.  In the 1960’s marrying a Mexican girl wasn’t the norm, as our civil rights movement was very recent.  This didn’t matter to Uncle Jim and Auntie Molly, who were in love and that was that.  Uncle Jim knew early that he wanted to marry Auntie Molly and become part of her family.  He sought to win over my grandparents in the same manner he won over everyone else: with his winning personality.

Uncle Jim spoke absolutely no Spanish and decided to start learning simple things before meeting my grandparents.  One of them was the Spanish toast. 

“What do you say, instead of ‘Cheers’ in Spanish?” he asked Auntie Molly and Auntie Emmy one night, while they enjoyed a glass of wine together. 

“We say ‘Salud!’” Auntie Molly said, confidently.  This was true; Salud means “health” in Spanish and this is the customary toast. 

“Then, when someone says ‘Salud!’” Auntie Molly continued.  “You lift your glass and say ‘NICOMEDES!’”

Auntie Emmy agreed, laughing a little to herself.  The games had begun.  Nicomedes (NEE-koh- meth-es) was Molly and Emmy’s Uncle; married to their Aunt, named Salud.  Aunt Salud had a very unusual name (imagine naming your daughter “Cheers!” or “Health”) and people who met her often asked her the reason why.  I don’t remember the answer… It doesn’t matter. 

Uncle Jim practiced the toast a lot, with water glasses, coffee…anything.  Auntie Molly and Auntie Emmy would say “Salud!” and Uncle Jim would lift his glass and say “Nicomedes!”

“No, Jim,” they would say.  “With more gusto!  NIC- omedes!”

The time came for him to meet my grandparents.  My Grandfather was a very strong man and even Uncle Jim was a little nervous meeting him.  My Grandparents, very hospitable and mannerly seemed to like him; thing were going well.  The moment of truth came when dinner was served.  My Grandmother was an excellent cook and served certain dishes with special pride.  In this night, she served up a totally beautiful meal and then set wine on the table. 

“Salud,” my Grandfather said, lifting his glass and taking a drink.

“NIC-omedes!” My Uncle Jim said, with supreme gusto.

There was laughter and guffawing galore, except from my Uncle Jim, who realized that he had been set up.  My twin Aunts… thick as thieves.

As I wrote this, I thought of my Aunt Emmy (whose first husband, My Uncle Rich died shortly after I married Mario) and my Aunt Molly (who lost Uncle Jim before we moved to Africa).  They have both weathered so many storms and remained close – thick as thieves. 

I just got off the phone with my Aunt Molly, who gave me an update for Walt (Aunt Emmy’s long-time companion) who is in the hospital with something called C-Diff, a severe life-threatening colitis.  He is not doing so well and we have been praying non-stop. 

Because of the nature of C-diff, Walt is virtually quarantined and Auntie Emmy is there with him and Auntie Molly is at her home.  They can’t be together during this difficult time.  Please pray for Walt to be healed 100% - and please pray for my Aunt Emmy and Molly. 

mythomania

photo credit

LeeAnne Sawyer was a beautiful girl with a tanned body to match the color of her face, detailed with a fine dusting of blush and freckles.   She was stretched out on a large beach towel, next to her best friend, Nicole, after an afternoon of swimming.  Together they were practicing the age-old beauty secret of lying in the sun and allowing it to toast their skin to a hue of golden perfection.  Being eleven-year-olds, they didn’t yet worry about skin cancer or premature aging.

Nicole was a skinnier, more scared version of her friend, with long legs and knobby knees.  She opened her eyes to see LeeAnne smiling, as if she knew something. 

“What are you thinking?” Nicole asked.

“I was just thinking of my damn stupid neighbor.”

Nicole smiled a little herself.  Nicole liked to say damn when her mother wasn’t around.  “What about him?”

“Well, my neighbor is a ‘her’, first of all.”

“Well, what about her?”

“She got a ticket on our street this morning,” Nicole said, sitting up a little and looking at her friend.  “She had just backed out of her driveway and  a cop was waiting  there for her.”

“What did she do?” Nicole lifted her hand to shield the sun from her eyes.  She could see LeeAnne’s face, glittering with blush sparkles and peppered with freckles.  Her earrings were turquoise ornaments, dangling stylishly from her lobes, trembling every time Nicole moved her head. 

“She took off down the road looking for the damn fire, like she does every day!  The cop was waiting there - in the shade of the Herman’s tree - to bust her.  He was tipped off by all of the other neighbors.”

“What do you mean, ‘tipped off’?” 

“All the other neighbors were complaining that our street was becoming unsafe with her driving so fast.”

“Oh.”  Nicole closed her eyes again and lay her head back down on her towel.  The sun was warm on her face, but she would have to lay out quite a bit to catch up with LeeAnne’s tan.   She wasn’t too interested in the story of the neighbor and her speeding ticket, if it even happened.  LeeAnne was well known in the fourth grade for lying and Nicole  knew better than to believe everything she said. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad if she were just by herself.  But she has those twins, you know.  She gets into her car and throws them in their car seats without even buckling them in.  Most of the time she’s drunk.”

“How do you know?”

“How do  I know what?”

“How do you know she doesn’t strap the twins into their car seats?  How do you know she’s drunk?”

“I just know, dummy.”

Nicole was embarrassed for asking, especially since LeeAnne reacted to her question by calling her dummy.  It meant that LeeAnne might not be her friend anymore and maybe tell vicious stories around the school about her.  She could make up some pretty wild stories.  She opened her eyes again and looked at LeeAnne, who was back to lying down and tanning. 

“Besides,” LeeAnne said.  “Cops don’t go around stalking normal sober people just to give them a traffic ticket on their own street.”

“Yeah, I guess not.”

“You guess not?  Who do you know that has gotten a traffic ticket on the street that they live on?  Have you ever heard of that happening before?”

Nicole was feeling attacked and grimaced in the sun, never once allowing her eyes to open.   “No.”

“Well, okay then.”

The sound of the sliding glass door opening made both girls sit up slightly and they saw Mrs. Sawyer, dressed in a short sundress with high heels coming out with a tray of drinks and snacks.  Nicole was thirsty and was about to get up when LeeAnne  spouted off to her mother.

“Mom!  We don’t want drinks now, we’re tanning!”

Mrs. Sawyer set the tray on the patio table next to the pool umbrella.  “Don’t be mouthy, young lady,”  she corrected her daughter.  “Maybe Nicole is hungry or thirsty.”  She laid out two napkins on top of the tray and turned back toward the house, her red, bouncy hair swinging behind her.  “It’s not all about you, LeeAnne.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sawyer,” Nicole said, softly.  Mrs. Sawyer flashed her a smile about the same time LeeAnne let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes. 

“You’re such a damn kiss-up!”

“Why do you say that?” Nicole was starting to think about going home.  She liked LeeAnne, but her attitude was so destructive.  Sometimes she wondered why someone so fun could be so angry. 

“My mom comes out here to spy on us, see if we’re talking about boys or whatever and she brings a little lemonade and you’re like, ‘Thank you, Mrs. Sawyer…’”  LeeAnne mimicked Nicole’s voice as high and insincere. 

Nicole sat up and readied herself to leave.  “I have to go.”

LeeAnne didn’t even move from her spot.  “This is why you’re so white.  You don’t stay in the sun long enough.  If you lie here for fifteen minutes, you’ll be brown before you know it.”

Nicole looked down at her long, spindly legs.  They were, indeed, very pale.  LeeAnne’s looked brown and lovely next to hers.   She had a point, but she was being mean, so Nicole got up just to prove a point.

“Goodbye,” LeeAnne yawned.  “Don’t forget to sip on that lemonade before you leave out the side gate.”

“Don’t you want to walk me back to my house?”

“Nah.  I’m going to tan for at least another half-hour.”

“It will be dark soon.”

“No it won’t.”

“It will be twilight soon, then.”

“Whatever.”  LeeAnne lay still, as if she didn’t care if her friend stayed or left.

Okay.  Goodbye then.”

Nicole turned to leave, then saw Mrs. Sawyer’s snack tray.  It was set up so darling, with two hot dogs and marshmallows on sticks, dipped in a blue frosting and decorated with a goldfish.  Nicole could tell she had made them herself.

“Look at these,” Nicole said, in a tender voice that made LeeAnne sit up. 

“What?”

Nicole lifted a dipped marshmallow  on a stick and showed LeeAnne, who was scowling into the sun to see what Nicole was holding.  When she did, she made a groan and returned to her towel. 

Nicole set the marshmallow back down on the plate.  She turned back to LeeAnne and considered her.  She was a beautiful girl, looking at least a full two years older than Nicole.  Even so, Nicole took it upon herself to say something. 

“Why do you do that?” Nicole asked her friend.

“Why do I do what?”

“Why do you act like everything I say is nothing?  This is cool, you know.  Your Mom worked hard on these. “

“Ha!  Shows what you know.  We made those marshmallow treats together this morning.  In fact, I did all the work.  Mom just shopped for the ingredients.  Those were going to be a surprise for you before you went home but now you’re acting all offended and  weird.”

“You made these together?”

“Yes!” LeeAnne looked up at her friend, scowling again.  For a moment Nicole believed her, but then she knew better.

“How did you get the blue frosting to coat the marshmallow?”

“With a knife, retard.”

“Why are there no knife marks?”

LeeAnne screamed to herself and sat up quickly, then got to her feet.  Nicole stood her ground, thinking her friend was going to charge toward her.  Instead, LeeAnne picked up her towel hastily and walked toward her house.  As she passed Nicole, she said with tears in her eyes, “If you’re going to leave, just leave.”

She opened the screen door with a violent jerk,  marched in and then slammed it behind her.  Nicole looked at the tray and wondered if LeeAnne would come back out for it.  It would be a shame to leave the treats outside to spoil overnight.  For a moment, she considered taking hers with her, but then walked toward the gate, wondering if she and LeeAnne were still friends. 

The walk home was long and warm, the sky filled with the twilight she was expecting, erupting in purple and rose hues that were breathtaking.  Even so, all Nicole could think about was her beautiful, angry friend who was so oddly incapable of telling the truth.  She dreaded the thought of seeing her in school the next day.