“Right. And I have no intention of reporting it, either.”
“So, I’m safe?”
“Yes, but you need to watch yourself from now on. Promise me?”
Zing put on her most serious face. At least, she thought it was a serious face. She’d have to practice faces in the mirror so she’d use the right one. “I promise.”
She held up her fist. Annabelle smiled and they bumped fists.
***
“So, when I’m sad I’m supposed to do this?” Zing asked. She turned the corners of her mouth down and raised her eyebrows. They were sitting in the living room on the couch. Miracle’s living room was crowded with Victorian vases, busts of famous people, and a lot of other antique stuff. The couch was large, overstuffed, and covered in a burgundy fabric.
“Don’t raise your eyebrows. Scrunch them down lower. Then make your lower lip tremble a bit,” Miracle said. “I did summer stock theatre when I was younger. I used the method acting technique. So, I’ll pretend like I’m a guardian angel. I will become you and you will become me.”
Zing remembered when Miracle tried her hand at acting—Annabelle had told her it hadn’t gone well. Annabelle had watched the play—excited by this new interest of Miracle’s. She’d gotten the role of Wendy in Peter Pan and during the flying scene, her flying wire had gone haywire and she kept smacking into Peter Pan. A high-wire argument had ensued between Peter Pan and Wendy. When they got down to the stage, Peter had to be prevented from beating Wendy about the head with his wooden sword. Annabelle intervened by making Peter trip, which sent his sword skittering across the stage. Both Miracle and Peter were fired and their understudies performed to rave reviews.
Zing said, “I don’t think you could be me. Guardian angels are special, but I don’t know how we get that way, so I can’t really tell you how to be me.”
This was all getting very confusing. And to make matters worse, Zing didn’t know what a confusing face looked like. She’d be sure to ask Nell because if she were going to be hanging around Miracle, a confused face would come in handy.
“Don’t worry. I’ll just be an honorary guardian angel, not a real one. Now practice making your lower lip tremble.”
Zing trembled her lip. Once she mastered that, Miracle had her practice being angry. Zing learned to scowl and ball up her fists and huff and stomp her foot. Then they worked on compassion—which was by far the easiest emotion. All she had to do was tilt her head and lightly touch the other person’s arm.
“You’re doing an excellent job, Zing. I think you’re ready for the hardest emotion of all: Broken-heartedness.”
“Will I need that one? I don’t have a sweetheart,” Zing said.
“Definitely, because you never know when you will fall in love. And after you fall in love it always ends with a broken heart.”
“Always?”
“Always,” Miracle said. “That’s how you know it was true love.” Miracle stood. “Now, let’s dress the part. Broken-heartedness requires costumes and props. Go put your pajamas on and I’ll get the ice cream.”
Zing complied. She put on her gold-with-avocado stripe men’s 1950s pajamas. She’d purchased two sets because the lady at the thrift store said it was a two-for-one sale. The second set was brown with white polka dots. Zing thought they were both very stylish. The sales lady told her they’d been there for a while. She couldn’t imagine why.
When she came out, Miracle studied her pajamas and deemed them perfect. “You can’t get any more depressed lookin’ than that.” Miracle seemed pleased. “I think you should pick out your own flavor of ice cream because Ben and Jerry make a lot of flavors.”
Zing didn’t know who Ben and Jerry were but anyone who made ice cream was awesome in her book. “I love ice cream,” Zing said. She wondered whether ice cream would be even better on donuts.
“Then you’ll love Ben and Jerry’s. It’s heavenly.” Miracle laughed. “I can’t believe I just said heavenly to an angel.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t that where you’re from?”
Zing followed Miracle into the kitchen.
“No, I don’t work in heaven. That’s a separate department. We don’t have wings or play harps. Although, we do have a ukulele player and a clogging troupe.”
Miracle handed Zing a spoon and opened the freezer. It was filled with pints of ice cream. Zing chose a pint at random and read the label. “Chunky Monkey? Is it made from real monkeys?”
Miracle laughed. “Of course not.” She grabbed a pint of Cherry Garcia. “I hope this isn’t made from real Garcia.”
Zing dug up a spoonful of ice cream and tasted it.
“Well?” asked Miracle. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know which one’s better, donuts or ice cream.”
“You can like ‘em both. It’s not an either/or kind of thing. Let’s go sit on the couch and I’ll teach you how to be a Sad Girl,” Miracle said.
They went back to the living room and sat on the couch with their ice cream. Suddenly, Miracle jumped to her feet. “I almost forgot the most important part.”
“What?”
“The sad movie.” Miracle opened the doors on the cabinet the TV sat on.
“Wow. That’s a lot of movies,” Zing said.
Miracle put a DVD into the player. “Prepare to cry,” she warned.
Zing watched the movie and ate her ice cream slowly. She’d learned her lesson from the brain freeze. From the corner of her eye, Zing saw Miracle drip ice cream onto her pajama top. “You spilled on your clothes.”
“It’s okay,” Miracle said. “It just adds to the authenticity of my Sad Girl character.”
Zing looked down at her brand-new pajamas. She didn’t want stains on them.
Miracle intuited what Zing was thinking. “You don’t have to spill on yours if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you. Have you had a lot of experience being heartbroken?” Zing asked.
Miracle nodded. “My love life hasn’t been going well.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Zing asked. She tilted her head and lightly touched Miracle’s arm.
“I’m okay,” Miracle said. “But thanks anyway.”
They went back to watching the movie. Miracle sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. Zing found it baffling that anyone would watch something that made them sad when they were already sad. Shouldn’t they watch something that would make them happy?
Miracle paused the movie during the scene where the Debra Winger character was lying in a hospital bed, saying goodbye to her children. She looked at Zing and blubbered, “It was an accident.”
“What was an accident?”
“I accidentally fell in love with the wrong woman, and if it hadn’t been for a stupid parking ticket it never would’ve happened.”
“Parking ticket?”
“Rita was a meter maid. It was her name that hooked me. There’s a Beatle’s song that had Rita the Meter Maid in it. So I was destined to fall for her simply because I adore the Beatles—ever since I was little. My mother used to play them all the time so they are a large part of my memory of her.” Miracle paused. She seemed lost in thought. “I loved her so much.”
“Rita or your mother?”
“Both.”
“But you said Giselle, the yoga lady, broke your heart.”
“That was after Rita. Giselle was not the love of my life—not like Rita. It was Rita who did the real damage. Giselle was just a selfish bitch who wore yoga pants twenty four hours a day.”
“Oh.”
“Rita broke my heart in a different way. She still wrote me a ticket, which should’ve been a red flag right there, but she had such a dazzlin’ smile I didn’t even notice when they towed my car away. We went to lunch and next thing I knew I was smitten. It’s that women-in-uniform thing. Lesbians go gaga for uniforms and I fell for it too. I’d spend the night at her place just to watch her get dressed in the morning so I could see that glorious uniform.” Mir
acle sighed deeply.
Zing waited patiently while Miracle snuffled and wiped her eyes. Miracle collected herself and continued, “It was bound to happen. We were so different. She was a city employee with government concerns. She was a democrat and I’m apolitical. She didn’t think I had a legitimate job and that I was a drain on society.” Miracle’s face reddened and she balled up her hands into tight fists.
Zing recognized this as anger. “Are you...I mean, do you… what about money?” Zing didn’t know how to inquire about this employment thing. She knew it was a touchy subject and she didn’t want Miracle’s anger directed at her.
“You mean what do I do for a job?” Miracle asked. She didn’t squint her eyes at Zing. That was a good sign.
“Yes. That’s what I meant.”
“I’m a feminist poet. I write very women-centered poems that address the sensual nature of woman-ness capturing the woman in the woman while she’s in the grip of being a woman.”
“That’s sounds extremely important.”
“It is, but Rita thought my work wasn’t an addition to the nation’s GNP.”
“What’s that?”
“Gross National Product.”
“Oh, I see,” Zing said, even though she didn’t see at all.
“But I stayed with her because we were perfect in bed together, and to me that counts for a lot. Then there was the uniform, of course. We were the perfect couple as long as we didn’t talk about politics, the GNP, books, religion, sports, food, or foreign policy, etcetera.”
Zing wondered what was left to talk about. Miracle began sobbing. Zing handed her a second box of Kleenex. Miracle had used up the first box. Between the movie and the story of Rita, they had a mountain of balled-up tissue on the coffee table.
“I truly thought we were going to make it last. We would’ve been like all those couples who are seniors and have been together for their whole lives. She would’ve retired from civil service and we would’ve toured the country in an RV and gone to women’s music festivals and craft shows. Who knows, I might have opened up my own booth and sold little crocheted owls or something cute like that.”
“That would’ve have been very nice,” Zing said. She’d like to do that too. It sounded fun. Maybe she could see all the national parks and get one of those park passport books and collect all the stamps from all the different parks. She’d heard of other humans who did that.
Miracle interrupted her reverie by saying, “But Rita did the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly it was over. Poof! She was gone.”
“What happened?” Zing asked, her eyes wide.
“She saw a man ripping up the ticket she’d just placed under his windshield wiper. The car was across the street. She yelled at the man but he flipped her off. Nothing pissed Rita off more than when a civilian disrespected a government employee. She flew across the street in a rage. She didn’t look before she crossed and she stepped in front of a bus. The number 17 Red Line going from Harwood Park to the Courthouse. It was over. Rita was a goner.”
“Oh, no.”
“It was bad, the mortician did the best he could but he couldn’t get the tire tracks off her cheek. A lot of her fellow officers attended the funeral. It was a good crowd. They let me keep her badge. It was kind of them. Her badge held great sentimental value to me.”
“Oh my,” Zing said, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m still grieving, despite my affair with Giselle. The way I figure it, one more year and I should be over Rita.”
“How long has it been?”
“Eight years.”
“That’s a long time in human years,” Zing said.
“I think of her every day. That’s not to say I haven’t had lovers, just no one that can compete with lovely Rita the meter maid.”
“Poor, poor, baby,” Zing intoned, patting her hand.
Miracle looked at Zing with big, pleading eyes and asked the question all humans eventually asked, “Why did she have to die?”
“Everyone has an expiration date,” Zing said. “It was her time.”
Chapter Four
“What the hell are you doing?” Carol asked.
Zing was seated at a table in the donut shop. Carol and Nell stood nearby, watching her eat.
“I’m eating breakfast,” Zing answered. “Miracle said breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I came early so I could have my important meal on my first important day.” Zing put another scoop of Rocky Road ice cream on her fresh out of the oven chocolate éclair. “I came early so I wouldn’t be tardy, and I’m being paid in donuts, so I’m having this one,” she pointed at the chocolate éclair, “In advance.”
Carol stared at her, dumbfounded. “She’s putting ice cream on a pastry,” she informed Nell in a whisper.
“I know. I gave her the spoon.”
“It’s disgusting,” Carol said.
“You should taste it. It’s good,” Zing said. She held up a spoonful and offered her a taste.
“No thanks,” Carol said. She put her white baker’s hat on—forcefully.
“Since donuts are so good and ice cream is so good, I thought putting them together would make them both twice as good,” Zing said.
“That’s so crazy it almost makes sense,” Carol said. She looked over at Nell. “Don’t look at her that way. She’s not a lost puppy, she’s a nut ball.”
“Cut her some slack. She’s working for donuts and coffee and right now we need her,” Nell said without taking her eyes off Zing.
“Can she at least wear a white smock? Her flowered shirt is an eyesore,” Carol said. “And tie her hair back so she doesn’t look like a demented mermaid.”
“I’ll get her all set up,” Nell said.
“I can’t be a mermaid, I don’t know how to swim,” Zing said with a full mouth.
Nell and Zing were saved from Carol’s future wrath by the fryer timer.
“I’ll get it. We don’t need a tray of burnt crullers on top of everything else,” Carol said with an exaggerated sigh. She marched back to the kitchen.
“Will I get to bake someday?” Zing asked after licking her spoon. She looked longingly into the depths of her empty bowl.
“Uh, maybe not today. We need you to work the counter. You’ll get people their donuts and coffee and take their money. I’ll show you how to work the register.”
“Oh, how fun,” Zing said. “I love the ching, ching, ching sounds it makes.”
“Most people will pay with credit cards but some pay with cash. Do you know how to make change?” Nell asked.
Before Zing could answer, Carol called from the kitchen, “Am I going to get some help back here anytime soon?”
“Just a second!” Nell answered. She smiled apologetically at Zing and said, “We’ll talk about this later. You go look at the register and familiarize yourself with it. I’ll be back in a minute to answer any questions. When the donuts and pastries are done, you can help fill up the cases.”
“And after all that I’ll get my box of donuts minus the one I ate in advance?” Zing asked.
“Yes. I’ll save you all the best donuts,” Nell said.
“Awesome.”
***
Zing was surprisingly good at the register and at helping people. Her enthusiasm was contagious. She was fast and efficient. She was also good at selling extra donuts by extolling the deliciousness of each and every donut—some of her descriptions were so amazing that people clapped and bought more.
Nell stood in the kitchen doorway and smiled at her. Zing basked in the warmth of that smile. Now that Nell’s bandage was removed and Zing could see both Nell’s ears, she looked lovelier than ever—except for the bald patch that was really evident without her hat on.
By eleven o’clock the crowd thinned out. Zing made her final sale of the day, which officially cleared out the case. Nell turned the sign around on the door to read “Closed.”
Carol stood behind the counter and stared at the empty cases. S
he shook her head. “We’ve never sold everything before. What are we going to tell Homeless Tom?”
“Who’s Homeless Tom?” Zing asked, her mouth stuffed with a Boston crème donut. Had Nell not been well-versed in Donut Speak no one would’ve understood.
“Homeless Tom comes to the back door every morning and we give him the leftover donuts,” Nell explained. “He hands them out among the homeless.”
Zing looked at her box of donuts. She felt a heaviness in her chest and what felt like a brick in her tummy. Her good mood evaporated and she felt a little sick. “I’m having a bad emotion,” she said to Nell. “What do you call it when you have a lot of something and somebody else has none and it makes you feel bad?”
“Guilt?”
“That’s it,” Zing said. “I have a big wad of guilt in my tummy and I don’t like it.”
“Yeah, it’s a bad one,” Nell said.
Zing thrust her box of donuts at Nell and said, “Give these to Homeless Tom.”
“That’s very sweet, but you worked for your donuts,” Nell said, refusing to take the box. She poured Tom a coffee, adding three sugars and a lot of milk. “I can make him a sandwich or something.”
“But aren’t donuts his favorite?”
“Duh,” Carol said. “Why do you think he comes by here every day?”
“Don’t be mean,” Nell scolded Carol.
Zing shook her head. “I can’t eat these donuts when Homeless Tom needs them more. He must have them. Do you think he’d like the rest of my ice cream on his donuts?”
Carol rolled her eyes. “Sure, he might be just as weird as you.”
“Come on, Zing, let’s go give Tom his donuts and coffee,” Nell said. She took Zing by the elbow and guided her toward the back door.
On the way through the kitchen, Zing opened the freezer and grabbed what was left of her Rocky Road ice cream. She turned to Nell with a bright smile on her face. She was anxious to meet Homeless Tom. “Do think he’ll like me?”
“Of course he’ll like you,” Nell said. “You know, you’re doing a very nice thing, Zing. You’re giving Tom your donuts, and you like those best in the world. So that makes it a sacrifice, which is much harder to do than if you didn’t care about them in the first place.”
Big Love Page 5