Edgy People

by Barb Nobel

  So I turned around to explain that I couldn’t get my finger out of my nose, and this guy kind of freaked out. He pulled the car right over to the curb and ordered me to get out. I think he called me a freak too, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Anyway, it seemed like this guy didn’t really want to be my friend after all. I asked for the candy, but he practically pushed me out of the car and then he peeled out.

  I feel kind of bad that this guy didn’t want to be my friend either, but really, it’s going to be okay. At school today, I heard Johnny say that he was going to jump in the river, and it’s only a short walk back to the bridge.

  Party Story

  THE LITTLE GET-TOGETHER THAT got out-of-hand, Beth thinks. She is in the kitchen, checking on the lasagna. In her apartment is a gathering of women, about half of whom she doesn’t know.

  It started when she invited Marie to her annual Christmas gathering. Marie had asked whether she could bring her sister, Rita. Rita was new to the city, and did not yet have any friends. Beth had, of course, agreed.

  Then she asked Marion from work, who had recently “come out,” and Marion refused to attend without her partner, Rachel. That was fine with Beth. She had never met Rachel, but Marion was a congenial, good-hearted person, so Rachel was welcome.

  Beth had mentioned this development to the third person she invited. Tina declared, “the more the merrier”, and said she would bring a friend, Sylvia. Sylvia, she stated, was flamboyant and would liven up any get together.

  After that, Beth gave up and told her remaining friends, Amelia, Patti, and Maggie, to bring a woman friend as well, if they liked.

  Now, twelve women—six friends, and six friends-of-friends—are gathered in her apartment. Beth, a conscientious hostess, is making an effort to attach the correct name to the correct face for each of the six strangers.

  Beth picks up a bottle of wine and moves into the dining room where the nibbles are. She goes over to join Amelia at the snacks.

  As Amelia lifts a shrimp on a cracker, a woman on the other side of the table says, “You don’t really need those calories, do you? You’d be better off with a celery stick.”

  Beth looks with amazement at the woman who has spoken. She is a small, beige, nondescript woman. Amelia pauses, the cracker halfway to her lips. “An ounce on the lips, a pound on the hips,” says the small beige woman.

  Amelia, always conscious of her hips, returns the cracker to the plate and excuses herself to the washroom.

  The small beige woman strolls into the other room. Beth, aghast, stares after Amelia. She wonders if this woman is Amelia’s friend.

  After uncorking the wine, Beth goes into the living room to mingle. She joins a small group where Tina is telling a story.

  “Well, when I found a dead mouse in the basement, I put out mouse poison,” Tina recounts. “I put out that seed that kills mice by dehydrating them. Then three weeks later, my basement flooded. When I saw all that water down there, I was afraid to go down. I was afraid I would be confronted by a battalion of re-hydrated mice bent on revenge.”

  The women laugh, except for the small beige woman. She is staring at Sylvia.

  “What’s all that black stuff around your eyes?” says the small beige woman to Sylvia. “Didn’t you take off your make-up before you went to bed last night?”

  The women are thunderstruck, bamboozled. They gape at one another. Tina stands up to defend her friend.

  “Your house can’t be very clean if you’ve got mice,” says the small beige woman to Tina.

  The women’s mouths open and closes silently. The small beige woman wanders away.

  Tina follows Beth out to the kitchen to help with the food. “Who’s friend is she?”

  “I don’t know, but I wish they’d take her home,” Beth whispers back.

  The two women, joined by others, bring out the food.

  The small beige woman is first in line, and she fills her plate. Beth is glad she has prepared generously.

  As the women crowd into the room and begin to eat, several praise Beth’s lasagna.

  “Have you tasted the President’s Choice lasagna?” the small beige woman asks. “It beats out the home-made stuff any day.”

  Several women defend Beth’s lasagna, but the small beige woman appears not to hear. She is engrossed in eating.

  Uncomfortable minutes pass as Beth searches her mind for conversation. Finally, she asks Maggie how her pregnancy is going. Maggie cheerfully advises the women that this has been an easy pregnancy.

  “A bad sign,” says the small beige woman. “When the pregnancy is easy, there’s usually something wrong with the fetus.”

  The conversational attempt comes to an abrupt halt. The other women all stare at the small beige woman.

  As with one mind, they wish that whoever brought her would have the sense to remove her.

  “Well, got to run,” says the small beige woman.

  She picks out several chocolates from the gift box one of the guests has brought as a hostess gift for Beth, gets her coat, and leaves.

  No one goes with her.

  Beth looks around in amazement. She counts twelve guests.

  Persevere

  SHARON LOOKS FOR THE PARKING spot closest to the hospital door, and, seeing nothing else, parks in the wheel chair spot. I can justify that.

  She heads down the hall, greets a familiar nurse with a friendly smile, and marches onward to the oncology unit. The receptionist is busy checking someone in, but nods towards the washroom door. Sharon knocks.

  Kelly calls out, “Just a minute,” and takes measure of herself in the mirror as she washes her hands. Her skin is pale, her hair, which she had cut soon after beginning treatment, is growing dryer and thinner. Her eyes look huge. There’s one compensation. She smiles as she remembers her adolescent self striving for that big eyed look. Well, she has that look now. They could paint her on black velvet.

  Her stomach rolls, and she bends over the toilet bowl again and retches. She still has some fluid in her stomach to bring up, and is glad she follows the advice to drink lots of liquids on the day before and on the day of the chemo. But now she’s developed sores in her mouth, and anything citric is out. Too bad. Kelly loves those little clementines you get at Christmas. She will check her resource booklet for soothing foods. She washes her hands again, rinses her mouth, and leaves the washroom.

  “How you doing, kiddo?” Sharon asks. She takes her friend’s sharp elbow, but changes her grip as she feels Kelly tremble. With her arm around her friend’s waist, she walks Kelly toward the exit.

  Outside, a man in a security guard uniform is walking around her car. He starts to say something, then he takes a look at Kelly, gives a little salute, and goes to the back of the car to direct them out.

  Freezing rain coats the windows, and the defroster has a hard time keeping up. Sharon takes it slowly. “I hate city driving,” she says, and Kelly nods. She knows Sharon can’t see her nod, and doesn’t need to. They are on the same wave length.

  They have been friends for almost 40 years, played together as infants, snuggled to sleep together when their mothers visited. At the age of eight, they cut their fingers with a small jackknife and mingled their blood. Neither of them knew how much it would hurt, and Kelly, who was first because it was her idea, yelled. But Sharon, always the braver one, went ahead anyway. At nine, on a sleep-over, they had their first big disagreement, something about Barbie dolls. At fifteen, they had a falling out for a week, over a boy, of course. It was Sharon who called Kelly that time. “Kell,” she said, “is he worth it?”

  “No” said Kelly, instantly.

  Sharon is auntie to Kelly’s three children, has taught them to play poker, and taken them on trips Kelly couldn’t possibly afford. John Peter, called JP by everyone, is fourteen now. When he is with his friends, he calls a brief “Hi, Aunt Sharon”, but at home he is always ready to sit down to a game of penny poker. Trevor, 12, and Lisa, 10, sti
ll dote on their aunt and clamor for her attention when she comes to visit. Sharon is fascinated with their growth, with JP now being almost a young man, and Trevor with his voice starting to crack. She braids Lisa’s long brown hair, invents new hair styles for her.

  Sharon loves being with them, but nevertheless is always glad to go back to her quiet, childless life.

  Kelly has seen Sharon through her divorce from Richard. She had wished Sharon out of the relationship long before Sharon did, but managed to keep her mouth shut. It was a very difficult thing, to keep her mouth shut when she saw her friend being hurt, but she only repeated to Sharon that she would be there if Sharon ever needed anything.

  No, words were not needed.

  They have reached Hwy. 401 now, and the going is easier. The passing of countless cars has dried the asphalt. Sharon picks up speed.

  “I’ll make you some soup, or something, when we get home,” she offers.

  “That would help,” Kelly says.

  There is silence.

  “Sharon, you’ll take care of Lisa, won’t you?” Kelly says. “Oh, I know you will, I don’t have to keep saying it. It’s just that she’s the one I worry about the most. Her dad will look out for her, but you know, a girl needs to have a woman around to talk to. And, maybe, to talk to John too, if he gets over protective. John does respect your opinion.”

  “I know. You say it if you have to. And I promise I’ll be there for her if ever I’m needed. No matter what. But, Kell, I’m not going to be needed. You’re going to be there for Lisa. You’ll be there to help her through those teenage years and see her get married, if that’s what she wants. The radiation, the chemo, it’s all working. The doctor said so. You’re going to get better.”

  They are at the turnoff to the secondary road that will take them home. This is a drive they both love in the spring and the fall. The hills undulate, the view widens and narrows as they crest and drop. As children, going to the city with one set of parents or the other, they would close their eyes, the better to feel the lift and swoop.

  Today, the road is treacherous. Sharon grips the wheel a little tighter and slows down.

  “Kell,” she says, “one more treatment, and then everything will get better. One more treatment. Kell, you can grow out your beautiful hair again, you’ll be able to taste again. We’ll go for Greek. We’ll eat popcorn, drink wine, get tipsy, and laugh like a couple of fools again. It’ll be good.”

  Kelly turns her head and smiles at her friend. “It’ll be good,” she echoes.

  The car is going a little fast down the hill, but Sharon doesn’t touch the brake. Braking on this ice would only cause a slide. She has driven these roads all her adult life, and knows how to do it.

  “Kell,” she says. “We’re going to a spa this spring. My treat. For your birthday. We’ll get facials. And massages. I’m going to find us a spa where the masseuse is 6 foot, 200 pounds, with big hands. Big hands.”

  Kelly giggles. Something in Sharon’s chest jumps up, a little leap of hope, or joy.

  “Almost home.”

  They crest the next hill. As they start down they see it coming down the hill in front of them. An eighteen wheeler. The trailer is swinging out from the side of the cab, overtaking the cab. It slithers sideways, the cab tips, and the trailer is in command. It swings and slides. In spite of the ice slicked road, sparks fly up where the cab is being dragged. The back of the trailer catches up to the front of the trailer, and the whole thing thunders down the hill sideways.

  Sharon wrenches the wheel to the left, and the car starts to spin, out of control.

  In the seconds left, as if with one brain, both women have the same thought.

  “Christ, all that fucking chemo for nothing.”

  Dear Diary

  JAN 1

  Dear Diary: I can’t believe how many years I’ve been doing this. When I was a kid it wasn’t cool, but now it’s called journaling, so I guess that makes it acceptable. My wishes for this year are mundane: health and happiness.

  JANUARY 21

  Dear Diary: A difficult but rewarding day at volunteer work. Spent an hour with G. who will be leaving two small children behind. She had to tell me (or just someone) all about the cute little things they do, how the oldest is doing in school, how she thinks the youngest will have difficulty sitting still. Of course, then she started to cry knowing she will never know how he does do in school Gave her a back rub after a while, and she fell asleep exhausted by emotion. Very difficult to hear, but I know I did good in the world today. On a more cheerful note, had a great time at euchre last night. The four of us spent more time laughing about the past then playing cards.

  FEBRUARY 3

  Dear Diary: Ridiculous. I forgot the kettle on the stove, and Josie made a huge fuss. Now, she’s determined that she’s getting me an electric kettle with an automatic shut off. The girl always was a drama queen. Although she was really good as a Lady Macbeth in that high school play. James and I were certainly proud of that—attended every time. Of course, she, Peter and the boys arrived on my euchre night, saying they were here for just a short visit, and what a rush to get ready after that. I think she thinks my time is free, or wasted, now that I’m finally retired. She doesn’t know how wrong she is. Had a good night at euchre, though. Belle was really ticked. Pleases me.

  FEBRUARY 13

  Dear Diary: Had a call from Patty today. She says she’s doing well in the big city. Sure hope so. If she wasn’t, I would be the last to know.

  FEBRUARY 27

  Hell of a day. Mariette called me into her office today and tried to convince me I needed a vacation from my volunteering. Told me what a great worker I was, but that right now they had more volunteers than they needed, and I should wait for a call before I came back. I said if I was so good, why were they telling me to quit? M. said someone had seen me giving medication to a patient. What a crock! The woman had a headache, so I gave her a tylenol. Does it take a doctor. to prescribe that? To top it all off, had a bad night at euchre. I trumped Mary Beth’s bower a couple times, so she wanted to know what was wrong with me. I told her what happened, but made her promise not to tell anyone else.

  MARCH 5

  Dear Diary: Turns out, Mary Beth can’t keep her mouth shut, and here comes Josie asking me what happened at the hospital. Told her she wasn’t her mother’s keeper, and she left in a huff, saying she was only trying to help me. I relented later and called her to say I was sorry.

  MARCH 9

  Dear Diary: Since I have free time on my hands now, decided to get into better shape and took a long walk. Must have been thinking about all this crap and got lost. When I came out of my fog, I didn’t know where I was, and had to ask a man who was watering his lawn. It turned out that I was only a few blocks from home, and you would think I would recognize the streets since I’ve been living here for more than twenty years. I guess that comes from always having a car.

  MARCH 12

  Sure do miss the hospital work.

  MARCH 22

  Don’t know what happened this morning. Decided to take a long walk but was still in my pajamas. The police picked me up, called Josie, and said I’d been wandering. Embarrassing. I must have too much on my mind.

  APRIL 1

  Dear Diary: Patty came to visit. Says she’s got a week’s vacation. I’m so happy to see her. Of my three, I always thought it would be her who would have a hard time settling down. I was right. And now that makes me think of G. and her having to leave her two behind.

  APRIL 3

  Dear Diary: Even the good apple has a worm in it. Turns out Patty has been talking to Josie. They think I’m getting senile, because I can’t find my keys sometimes. Anyway, I’m not going to ruin Patty’s visit, I’ll just keep quiet. We did go to a great restaurant. I have to say, Patty knows how to

  APRIL 19

  Dear Diary: Missed my euchre last night. Can’t think how that happened.

  APRIL
22

  Dear Diary: Last night was

  APRIL 30

  Dear Diary: Josie wants me to see a doctor. I reminded her that I had my checkup on my birthday, and I was fine. She wants me to discuss my forgetfulness with the dr. Everyone forgets some things.

  MAY 3

  MB claims I’ve been trumping her bowers again. She was nice enough about it, took me aside and said she was concerned about me, but the reality is that she’s never been a very good player and now wants to blame it on me. Just told her I would be more careful. She’s been a friend for a lot of years, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

  MAY 12

  Dear Diary: I went to the dr. to satisfy Josie. I had another little episode of not watching where I was walking and getting lost. Although this time I managed to get dressed first. Afterwards, the doctor talked to Josie, as if suddenly I wasn’t able to talk for myself. Pissed me off.

  MAY 17

  Dear Diary: Quit euchre. Let them find another player.

  MAY 28

  Dear i don’t know

  JUNE 5

  Dear Diary: Now, I am getting scared. Ran into Josie in the grocery store and couldn’t figure out who she was for a minute. Don’t know what I was writing about on May 28th. Must have been interrupted in the middle of it.

  JUNE 7

  Jimmy called. Said he just wanted to know how I was. Told him I was fine. Told him I would love to see him & Liza and my granddaughters some day.