I couldn’t imagine what the previous owners were thinking when they went to all the trouble of building this room. It wasn’t really big enough for anything other than additional storage and it didn’t make sense to cut off half of a closet for storage purposes.
It looked like a hidey hole and I wondered if the previous owners had indeed used it for hiding, considering the husband’s nefarious dealings.
Debating whether to talk to my dad later and see if we could take down the wall and get the rest of my closet back, or to just leave it as is and find a use for it, I dropped to my knees and crawled out.
Settling back on my haunches, I surveyed the door and realized I had no idea how to close it from this side. Running my hands along the edges and carefully examining every inch, I discovered a small notch in the paneling, just above the molding. I had never noticed it before, not being prone to examining my walls, but now I slipped the very tip of my index finger into the notch and pulled the door toward me until it closed silently.
Being more careful this time, I picked up my shoes and left the closet. I grabbed my iPod, my phone and my keys from the kitchen, put on my shoes and got ready to run.
I started sneezing within seconds of stepping outside. It was also a lot colder than I had anticipated. Well, no matter – I’d be plenty warm once I got running.
I did a few stretching exercises while looking around to see if anyone else was out and about. I hadn’t checked the time, but I was estimating it to be earlier than 8:00 and it looked like I was going to have the whole neighborhood all to myself. Perfect.
I turned on my iPod, slid it into the pocket of my jacket, popped the earbuds in and, with another round of sneezes, and a cough for good measure, ran down my front walk. I made a right turn and started on my usual path toward the high school track.
I enjoyed the peace and the solitude of the run, listening to my music on low, and found my groove, despite the intermittent sneezing (and wishing I had thought to bring some tissues). But by the time I had travelled the half mile to the high school, I added a sinus headache to my list of complaints and found the cramps worsening rather than improving with the activity.
Determined not to let cramps and the damned pollen ruin my long-anticipated run, I increased my speed as I neared the track and then coughed my way all the way down the first stretch. I made the turn and, as I was now running east, the bright sun was shining directly into my itching, watering eyes. Adding sunglasses to the list of things I wished I would have thought to bring with me, I increased my speed again so I could get to the next turn faster.
I was working up a nice sweat now and reached up to unzip my jacket. And when I did, I tripped over my own feet and went down.
Son of a bitch.
I landed hard on my right hip atop what felt like a boulder. Rolling off of it, I saw it was only a small rock - but the pain in my hip still screamed boulder. I slowly stood up, ripped the earbuds out of my ears, brushed the dirt off of my pants and legs - and then just gave up. The universe clearly did not want me to run today. And right now, I was inclined to agree.
I started painfully limping and coughing my way back the way I had come, knowing that, for a few days at least, my hip would be sporting a bruise larger than the rock that had caused it. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw it was 8:15.
My parents were early risers so, while walking toward the bleachers, I called my mom.
“Good morning, honey,” she answered after only one ring.
“I need a favor,” I said without preamble.
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Could you come and pick me up at the high school track? I fell and hurt my hip and right now the walk home seems too long.” I sneezed three times in rapid succession. “And could you bring some tissues with you?”
“Bless you! And of course I’ll come. Are you okay?”
“I’ll live. Probably.”
She laughed. “I’ll be there in five.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“No problem.”
I disconnected the call, limped the remaining few steps to the bleachers and sat down carefully, shifting my weight to my left side. So much for my magnificent day. I snorted to myself and leaned back a little, squinting up at the miserable sun that had promised so much yet fucked me over in the end.
A loud “Caw! Caw!” pulled my attention to a largish black bird circling directly overhead. I glanced at it for a second then looked down, not able to stand the sun in my eye.
Splat.
I heard it and felt it at the same time. Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!
I knew it was there. I didn’t need to put my hand in my hair to know that bird had just made a rather significant deposit onto the top of my head.
Perfect.
I wanted to stand up and scream my frustration. I wanted to stomp my feet like a toddler and scream some more. I wanted to hurl something at that fucking bird and smash him and his fucking bowels to smithereens. I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw up. I wanted my mommy.
On cue, I heard my mom pulling into the parking lot. Even this early in the morning, her music was deafening.
Sighing, I pushed myself up from the bleachers, hoping the bird shit didn’t start to drip. I made my way slowly to the car and my mom turned the music down as I slid in the passenger side.
“Oh, Angie, you look - what the hell is in your hair?”
“Bird shit. It metaphorically sums up the kind of morning I’m having.”
“Oh, you poor thing!” Her words of sympathy were made less comforting when she burst into laughter.
I glared in her direction and she laughed harder.
“I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “But you just look so pathetic!”
“I feel pathetic.” Even in my misery, I could feel my lips starting to twitch. My mother had a very contagious laugh.
Then we were both giggling hysterically, mine interspersed with coughing. She handed over a couple of tissues and I blew my nose – loudly. For some reason, she also found this funny and her giggling got louder.
“You’re not going to wet your pants, are you?” I asked, giving her a look of horrified fear.
“Probably not. But if anything was going to do it, it would be this.”
We erupted into more giggling and she put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Do you have anything to take for those allergies?” she asked as we drove the short distance back to my house.
“Yeah. I’ll take it as soon as I get home.”
“Good. And before I forget, I have something for Jack. Are you planning to see him today by any chance?”
“Yeah, I’m having dinner at his house tonight. What do you have for him?”
“Rice Krispie treats. I made too many and I know how much he loves them.”
“Love might not be a strong enough word for how he feels about Rice Krispie treats. Did you put peanut butter in them this time?”
“Of course. A person needs some protein with their sugar.”
“He’ll be very happy.” This was a massive understatement. Jack had a sweet tooth that rivaled my mother’s. My dad avoided processed sugar at all costs and I tried, not always successfully, to limit my own intake. So when my mother was making anything sugary, which was often, she sent the overflow to Jack.
As she pulled into my driveway, I said, “I’d invite you in, but I’ve got shit to take care of. Literally.”
She laughed. “I understand. I’ll bring the stuff for Jack over later, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Just give me an hour or two and I should be feeling human again.” I got out of the car and leaned back in. “Thanks again, Mom; you’re a lifesaver.”
“I try,” she said with a wink.
I closed the door and stood in the driveway, waving while she drove off, the music already cranked back up to irresponsible teenager levels.
I made my way into the house and went directly to
the bathroom. I examined the mess on my head. It was larger and even more disgusting than I had imagined.
Suppressing the urge to vomit, I used some toilet paper to remove as much of it as I could and then flushed the whole nasty mess. I took the clip out of my hair and examined it for stray splatters. I didn’t see anything, but washed it under hot water just to be on the safe side.
I took an allergy pill, hoping it wouldn’t make me tired and loopy, then treated myself to a long, hot shower.
The steam from the shower helped to ease the headache and by the time I was dressed again I didn’t feel such an overwhelming need to go back to bed. I skipped makeup until later and scrunched some gel into my wet hair, deciding to let it air dry - and prayed for the best.
Assessing the priority of the things I needed to get done today before heading to Jack’s, I scooped a pile of clothes out of the closet and painfully made my way down the stairs to the basement. I threw them in the washing machine, not bothering to sort them, and then discovered I was out of laundry detergent.
And things only got worse from there.
I made some scrambled eggs for my breakfast and had to fish an ungodly number of broken eggshell pieces out of the raw eggs.
I mopped the floors I had neglected yesterday and spilled the entire bucket of sudsy water onto my kitchen floor.
I peeled and sliced potatoes then diced some onions for the scalloped potatoes I was planning to take to Jack’s - and cut a small slit into my left index finger.
I was in the bathroom, wrapping a Sponge Bob bandage onto the finger that was still dripping blood when I heard my mom. “Hi, honey! I’m in in your house!”
“Hi, Mom!” I yelled back. “I’ll be right out.”
When I got to the kitchen I found my mother already making a pot of coffee, a shockingly large rectangular container of Rice Krispie treats on the counter.
“Hey,” she greeted. “How are you feeling?”
“Let’s not talk about it,” I suggested.
She laughed and picked up the chef’s knife from the counter, raising her eyebrows at the blood on the end of it. “Blood-inducing wound?”
“Yeah.” I held up my bandaged finger for her inspection. “Just the most recent in the long line of disasters I’ve been enduring today.”
“Ouch. I think you really need this coffee.”
“Definitely,” I sighed. “Just let me finish up these potatoes first or I just know they’ll turn brown on me.”
I quickly put together the rest of the ingredients while my mom washed my knife and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard. By the time I was putting the covered casserole dish in the refrigerator, the coffee was poured and the mugs were in place at the table.
I gingerly settled into my chair and moaned at the relief of being off of my feet. I picked up my coffee and took a sip, moaning again. “Oh, that’s so good.”
“You’re still moving kind of slow,” my mom observed. “How bad is your hip?”
“It still hurts, but I imagine it will be better by tomorrow,” I replied optimistically. I lifted the bottom of my shirt and pulled my sweat pants down the side of my hip, revealing the bruise that seemed to be spreading. “It’s ugly, right?”
She leaned in for a closer look. “Yeah, very. What the heck did you fall on?”
I released the edge of my pants and let them slide back up into place and we drank our coffee while I rehashed my morning from hell.
My phone beeped with an incoming text just as I got to the part about spilling the bucket of water. I picked up the phone and saw the text was from Jack.
Jack: I’ve got the steaks. What are you making for me?
“Jack,” I informed my mom with a smile. “Already thinking about his dinner.”
Me: Scalloped potatoes and asparagus.
Jack: Excellent. Will you get me some of that bread I like?
Me: Already bought it.
Jack: Awesome, thanks. Love you.
I frowned a little at that. Jack never said I love you in a text. In fact, we rarely said it at all. It was more of an implied thing. Still, after the day I was having, I appreciated it. With a small smile on my face, I texted back.
Me: Love you more. See you soon.
Setting the phone down back down on the table, I looked up to find my mom studying me with slightly pursed lips and a furrowed brow.
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” she said with a small shake of her head. “Just lost in thought.” She got up and brought the coffee pot back to the table, refilling both of our cups.
Remembering the mission Jack had asked me to complete, I asked as casually as possible, “So, did you do anything interesting last night?”
“Not really,” she shrugged. “Had dinner with a friend.”
“Oh? Anyone I know?”
“No. Just a woman I work with.” She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck to the side. She probably wasn’t aware of her body language, and I certainly wasn’t going to point it out, but this was something she did every single time she lied.
I couldn’t believe she was lying right to my face.
“Mom, I can’t believe you’re lying right to my face.”
“What do you mean?” That angelic expression on her beautiful face might have fooled people with less experience, but she was forgetting who she was dealing with.
“Jack saw you and Peggy at the restaurant last night.”
“Well, for goodness sake, Angie. If you knew what I was doing last night, why didn’t you just say so? And if Jack saw us, why didn’t he come over and say hello?” Now she looked irritated.
I leaned back in my chair and smiled. “Don’t try to distract me, Mom. Just tell me what you and Peggy are up to.”
She sighed and took a drink of her coffee. “I can’t tell you. It’s personal to her and it doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s not a big deal - and I don’t want you to get the idea that it is just because I promised to keep it secret.”
“Okay. Fair enough,” I replied. “Just tell me this – is Peggy okay?”
She tilted her head and looked a little confused. “Yes, of course she is. She’s a wonderful person and she’s in perfect health. Does that answer your question?”
I studied her face and didn’t detect a lie. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Okay, then.” She stood up and declared, “I want to look at your hole.”
I snorted out a laugh at that, slapping a hand across my mouth to stop the coffee from spewing. She looked at me funny, then I saw the realization of what she had said dawn on her and she started laughing, too.
“Hidey hole, Mom! Hidey hole!”
“Yeah, whatever,” she laughed as she started to walk out of the kitchen.
“And not one word about the condition of my closet,” I yelled at her retreating back.
“I’m already familiar with your closet habits,” she yelled back.
I smiled and shook my head, then picked up my coffee cup and sat back to wait for her to return.
***
Three hours later, my mom was gone and I had everything packed up and ready to take to Jack’s. It wasn’t even 2:00, but between the never-ending cramps and the effects of the allergy medication, I had been fighting urges to cry and/or go back to bed ever since my mom had left.
Jack’s memo was written and emailed (after my computer had re-booted itself halfway through and I had to start over) and the asparagus was washed, trimmed and marinating in a light layer of garlic-infused olive oil inside double zippered storage bags - because the first one had a leak. I was dressed in whatever clean clothes I could scrounge (jeans and a plain, light pink tee shirt), my makeup was on and my hair, which I left down, had passed my critical inspection.
I had planned to take a little more care with my appearance since I would be meeting Luke for the first time, but I just couldn’t muster up enough energy to care what he thought of me. Jack didn’t have a problem with my appearance, no matter
how bad I might look, so I wasn’t about to put myself out worrying about the opinion of someone I didn’t even know.
I sent Jack a text letting him know I was on my way and, two trips to load up my car later, I was finally pulling out of my driveway.
After seven minutes of driving directly into the sun, minus my misplaced sunglasses, I made a left turn on to Jack’s shady, tree-lined street and heard the “phalunk, phalunk” that told me a flat tire was going to be the straw that finally broke this camel’s back.
Struggling to hold back the tears - and kind of wishing I was dead - I pulled into Jack’s driveway and drove slowly and carefully toward his garage. The way things were going, I fully expected my brakes to go out, sending me through his garage door. I got out and walked across the deck to the back door, deciding Jack could unload the damn car.
I had one hand on the doorknob and the other raised to knock when the door was pulled open from the other side. I gained my balance before I fell through the doorway, and looked up at Jack’s smiling face.
“Hey.” His welcoming smile faded as he got a good look at me. He put his hands on my shoulders and examined my face. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?”
“I’m having a really bad day,” I said in a small, pitiful voice. And then I burst into tears.
“Hey!” He pulled me inside and shut the door in one move. He put his arms around me and I fisted my hands into his shirt and continued to sob against his chest.
He rubbed my back, which felt really good, and whispered into my hair, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Everything!” I overdramatized, and related my tale of woe through shuddering breaths. “I fell through the wall in my closet…I landed on a rock… I spilled the water! And the pollen…I cut my finger…” I continued rambling, even though I knew I wasn’t making much sense. “The cramps are awful…my tire is flat! And…and…a bird pooped on my head!” I finished on a wail, burying my face harder against his chest.
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