THINK TWICE BEFORE YOU ORDER
BY
STACY MATTHEWS
Copyright © 2013
Stacy Matthews
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations,
and events portrayed in this book are either
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Dedicated to my Mom
Special thanks to all my friends for
reading and re-reading this! You all
know who you are!
And a special thanks to
Dawn Simmons
Jason Roden
June 6th
Today is the first day of writing in my journal. I have been feeling a little down for the last couple of months, so one of my friends suggested I talk to a psychologist. I didn’t feel that I needed the services of a professional, but I thought one session couldn't hurt.
I spent two hundred dollars to sit in a room with a woman who asked, “What do you think?” for an hour. I think I should have spent the two hundred dollars on a pair of shoes I’ve had my eye on. I find it difficult—no, very difficult to tell someone I don’t know how I feel or think about anything personal. I don’t know if it’s a Midwest thing or the fact that I just didn't like that woman, but by the end of the session we both knew I wasn't coming back.
She did suggest one thing I agreed with. Since I wasn't comfortable talking with someone face to face, she thought keeping a journal would let me express my feelings. I told her in grade school we used to write to pen pals, and I loved that. I asked if it would be okay for me to write to an imaginary pen pal. She thought it would be great for me to write in whatever format was the most comfortable; the important thing was for me to write.
So I don’t think the two hundred was completely wasted. The journal will be like making a new friend, but one who can only listen and not make any comments or give advice. I still thought you needed a name. It came down to Mary or Blanche. I flipped a coin and it came up Mary. So here we go, Mary.
My name is Sidney Graham, but everyone calls me Sid.
I’m forty-three, five feet eight, with short brown hair and brown eyes. I hate spending any time on my hair, so I get the easiest hair cut possible, and that means short. I want to be able to wash, towel dry, run my hands through it and be on my way. Thankfully, I have very thick hair, so the short cut works for me. I don’t drink that often, I don’t smoke, and I try to get some kind of exercise at least three to four times a week. It’s not that staying fit has ever been that important to me. The problem is I love to eat and don’t want to have to worry about how much weight I might gain if I didn’t do some kind of exercise. I don’t enjoy going to the gym, and I hate running, so that leaves me with walking. If done right, it’s an excellent workout. It also gives me a chance to be alone. I walk to work and take the stairs instead of the elevator when I can, but believe me, if it’s more than three floors, I’m on the elevator. I don’t have the body of a model; it’s more like a wannabe athlete that could do better if she put more time into it. I’m one of those lucky people that have a great metabolism, but I am getting older, and I believe the exercise can’t hurt.
I’ve decided to take a short sabbatical from work to sort out a few things. I started feeling like I needed a change not long ago. What kind of change I’m not sure, personal or professional, maybe both. I’m hoping I can figure that out in the time I have off.
I'm originally from Edwardsville, Kansas. It’s a small town half an hour away from Kansas City, Missouri. When people on either coast find out you’re from a small town in Kansas, you can count on them making smart ass comments about The Wizard of Oz. The two most common are “Does Dorothy look like Aunt Em now that she’s older?” and, “Do you guys still have that problem with talking scarecrows?” They think they’re being clever and witty, but it gets old after the first thousand times you hear it.
I live in New York City now, and I have to say this is one of the greatest places in the world. It really is a city that never sleeps. Something is always going on. It was a big change for me to go from a small town in Kansas to this. At work I’m either on the phone, in a meeting, solving problems; whatever it is, I’m never alone. I am constantly surrounded by people, so by the time I get home, I don't want to be around anyone. That’s why I enjoy walking so much. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do like people for the most part. I just don’t feel the need to be friends with everyone I meet. The friends I do have I’ve known for more than twenty years. It may take me a little longer to make friends than most, but once we are friends, we will be friends for life. Some people would call me eccentric, but I prefer the term “selective.” It’s starting to sound like I’m a hermit, but I’m not. I may have hermit-like tendencies, but I do have friends I go out to eat with, shopping, see a Broadway show, etc.
I’ve just gotten out of another failed relationship. Yes, I’ve had relationships, but none of them seem to last very long. I know what you are thinking: What did all of those relationships have in common? Of course, the answer is moi. At this point I think it would be best for me to continue building a relationship with Grandpa Graham and figure out what direction or path I would like to see my life take. He’s actually the reason I started writing to you today.
He is the only living relative I have. I try to make sure I call him at least a couple of times a week. I can’t tell if it’s irritating to him, he likes it, or if it makes him feel as though I am treating him like a child. I haven’t called him in three days, but lucky for him I’ve made up for it today and called him three times. I’ve had to leave a message every time, so maybe he isn’t so lucky. I think this message will either get his attention or make him throw the machine away. What do you think? “Hi, Grandpa, it’s Sid again. Just wondering where you are. I'm sure you are just out with Charlie or one of your other buddies, but I am starting to get a little worried. This is the third message I’ve had to leave. I am up to ‘You’ve fallen ten feet from the phone and you’re lying there in agony, you can’t reach it but can hear the messages I’m leaving.’ In fact, I think I’ll call one of those places that have the little necklace you wear and push the button if you need help. Call me as soon as you get in.”
I worry about him living on his own. I’ve been reading how the number of missing elderly has been on the rise. Of course, those people suffer from Alzheimer’s or some form of dementia, neither of which Grandpa has, but in my mind I can just see him aimlessly wondering around. I decided to call the police department there and see if they could send someone over to check on him. That’s nothing you could or would ever expect from a large city, but in a small town it’s no big deal. I talked to a very nice woman who said they would send an officer over to the house. If Grandpa was there, the officers would tell him to call me, and if he wasn’t, they would leave a business card letting him know I was trying to reach him.
Having grandparents of her own, she understood the concern when you cannot get in touch with them. She said she would let me know if the officers made contact with him. I thanked her for being so understanding and would be waiting for her call. I have a feeling had I started with my “ten feet from the phone” theory, the conversation would have been much different.
You know what? This really is better than a session with a doctor and a lot cheaper. Can you imagine how much money I would have had to spend on a counselor just to get this far?
But I’m getting way ahead of myself here. Seeing as how you’re a new friend, I need to tell you a bit more about myself, a lot
more actually. That will have to wait until I’m on the plane. Fortunately, the dispatcher called just as I was getting ready to clean my apartment. FYI, I’m not the best housekeeper, so there was plenty to do. She said Grandpa wasn’t there. The officers had walked around the outside of the house, and there were no obvious signs of a break-in. Everything seemed to be fine, no broken windows or open doors, so they left a card like they said they would. At this point that was all they could do.
It didn’t sound as though there was anything wrong at Grandpa’s, but there had been enough time between phone calls that I had worked myself up into a pretty good frenzy. It doesn’t seem to take much to get me into that state lately. Besides, I thought he might be happy to see me. I’m not sure if we are at that point in our relationship where just dropping by is okay, but this is one way to find out. I had conveniently packed a bag earlier, so I grabbed my journal and called a cab. I’m headed to the airport to catch the first flight back to Kansas City. I hope it’s not too long of a wait.
Talk to you in a bit.
Airport/plane
Dear Mary,
Two things; It’s only an hour until the next flight to KC and I can’t believe how much I enjoy writing in my journal.
I especially love the fact that people leave you alone if they think you are busy. They don’t ask what time it is, they don’t try and make small talk. It’s great. While we were waiting to board, no one said a word to me. Once I was in my seat, I got my journal out and started writing. Right now the little kid sitting in front of me is peering over the top of the seat just staring at me. Thanks to my new pen pal, I can concentrate on writing instead of having a staring war with a three year old. Honestly I wish I had started one of these years ago.
All this rushing around and catching the next flight home reminds me, I haven’t been back since Dad’s funeral. I have wanted to come out and see Grandpa before now, but I have been so busy at work I just haven’t had time.
When Grandpa and I first started talking, I was a little worried that the only thing he may have been doing was sitting at home being depressed and doing yard work. Mrs. Bartley is the one I get updates about Grandpa from. She’s in what is unofficially known as the Edwardsville Mafia.
The E-Mafia includes Mrs. Ruby, Mrs. Holtz, Mrs. Edmonds, and Mrs. Bartley. These women are the ones that take care of the newly widowed men in town. They make sure they have enough to eat, the house is clean, and their laundry is done properly. It all started because a widower’s daughter thought it would be best if her father learned how to do all of these things for himself; Something to keep him busy and not feeling sorry for himself.
Legend has it that was the one and only time they gave in. Then it happened. They saw this poor man walking around town and all of his clothes were a dingy shade of blues and blacks. They vowed right then and there nothing like that would ever happen again while they were alive. Because of one man’s inability to separate whites from colors the Edwardsville Mafia was born.
Some say Texas actually got their State slogan “Don’t mess with Texas” from the E-Mafia. It’s well known around these parts that you don’t mess with them.
Even though Mrs. Ruby lives next door to Grandpa, I don’t like to be on the phone for an hour or more hearing the business of everyone else in town, and you can never actually be sure about the accuracy of her information.
Mrs. Bartley is how I found out Grandpa has more friends than I do, and he does everything but sit at home feeling lonely and sorry for himself. According to Mrs. Bartley he and his friends always seem to be doing something or going somewhere. She said Charlie Crossland is the friend Grandpa spends most of his time with. Charlie is about twenty years younger than Grandpa, so that would put him in the neighborhood of 67.
Even though they had known of each other for years, their friendship didn’t start until about five years ago after Charlie’s wife died. Grandpa knew what it was like to lose the love of your life, so he tried to get Charlie out of the house. He took him bowling, fishing, anything he could think of to get him up and moving. Grandpa told me if it had not been for his “mall buddies” he probably would still be sitting at home thinking about Grandma.
Grandpa finally convinced Charlie to join the mall group. Even after five years, Grandpa said it hasn’t been until these last six months that Charlie has truly started coming out of his shell.
I’m finding things are much harder to explain when having to write them down instead of verbalizing them. For instance how do I explain Grandpa to you, or anyone for that matter? At first glance you think, “What a cute little old man.” It’s only when you have spent time in Edwardsville that you realize every old man in town looks exactly alike.
He has snow-white hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. When I was a kid I wanted my eyes to be that color, but I got stuck with brown. He wears overalls, and with the exception of one good suit, I think they are the only clothes he owns.
He and some of the other guys in town go to the Redwood Inn in the morning to have breakfast, drink coffee and talk about the “old days.” No wonder people their age are up so early in the morning, there’s no way anyone could sleep with all that caffeine in their system. It keeps them off the streets, which in my eyes is a win-win situation.
I was going to tell you more about myself wasn’t I, where do I start? I’m the marketing director for a large company in New York City. It is a great job and I’m lucky to have it. I’m just not happy doing it anymore. I’m not sure what-if anything has changed.
As far back as I can remember, whenever my Mom would come home from the grocery store, I would make up commercials for the products she bought. I would practice them for hours. When my Dad would get home from work, I would do 15 minutes of commercials, “brought to you in Technicolor by Sid Graham.” I always got standing ovations. I have a feeling that played a big part in my decision about going into the world of marketing.
When I was a sophomore in high school, advertising still held my interest and it was time to start thinking about colleges. I ended up going to college in Arizona. They have one of the best schools for marketing. I knew to really make it in this field I would eventually need to move to New York. Of course my mother had wanted me to stay in state and go to school then get a job locally, but that’s not what I wanted. She adjusted to the fact I was going to school out of state, but when I had to tell her I had been offered a job at a firm in New York, you would have thought I shot her. She said “Don’t you love us anymore? The next thing you know we will only see you on holidays and birthdays, then it will be the occasional card on holidays if we’re lucky!” she could be so dramatic. I went home as often as I could. I have a tendency to overreact, and I may worry a little more than necessary. Okay a lot more than necessary; can’t imagine where that comes from.
The thing I don’t understand is that I never overreact or worry at work. No matter what happens, I’m cool as a cucumber. I’ve convinced myself that the overreacting is a lovely little trait I get from my mother, along with the worrying. It has to be genetic. I would hate to think I could be this bad on my own.
Well we are coming into KCI Airport; time to get my things together.
Talk to you later
Finally getting to Gpa’s
Dear Mary,
The Kansas City Airport has improved over the years. Although it seems like every time I’ve come to town there has been some kind of construction going on, it is one of the easier airports to maneuver around. When you get off the plane and are leaving the secure area there is a sign on the other side of the doorway that says LUGGAGE, with an arrow pointing to the left. No trams to take, no going up stairs, elevators. Nice and simple, the way it should be. There are a lot more coffee shops, restaurants, gift shops, you name it they have it. Seeing as how it was the red-eye flight, there weren’t that many people milling around, but more than I was expecting. It looked more like a newly remodeled shopping mall than airport. I stopped by one of the coffee sh
ops and grabbed a cup. Carefully balancing my coffee and bag, I went outside to get a cab. That is one of the biggest differences between Kansas City and New York. Now I know what you’re thinking. Out of all the differences between Kansas City and New York you notice the cabs? What you may not understand is, in New York, to the naked eye, it appears there are as many cabs as people. When you look out into the street in New York there are more cabs than any other kind of car. It’s not the case in Kansas City. I had to grab one of the skycaps to see if he could help me. It took about ten minutes. He was finally able to find one, I jumped in, gave the driver the address and we were on our way.
Now for small town people and small town living. You know how you get that warm feeling when you think of something from your childhood? Whether it’s something you ate or time you spent with your family at holidays? Then when you try to recreate that exact situation or feeling it never measures up to your memory? Well Edwardsville isn’t like that. It’s exactly the same as it was when I was a kid. It doesn’t seem to matter how old I get, it’s like walking into a Thomas Kinkaid painting. It gives me the sense that everything in the world well be all right. It’s a little creepy, yet comforting.
When you live in the city for a long period of time the skyscrapers become your trees. You just get used to it. Having grown up in a small town where there are more trees than houses you wouldn’t think seeing them again would be a big deal. But when I come home I’m amazed at seeing how all those dark green trees gives me a sense of calmness and familiarity. There are a few small parks scattered throughout Manhattan, and of course there’s Central Park, but most people do not pay attention to any of those. When I try to explain to my friends how much I miss seeing trees along the streets, they stare at me as if I’m from a different planet. I try to get them to imagine walking down the Avenue of The Americas, and in their minds eye replacing the flags with trees. To them that would be like walking in a forest, which most of them have never done or would ever think of doing.
Stacy Matthews - Dear Mary 01 - Think Twice Before You Order Page 1