“I saw someone get a ticket in the same place,” I said. I could play that game. I pretended not to comprehend what she was really saying and kept my speed constant but watched for police cruisers in the distance. The subtext of that little comment, “slow down.” It didn’t take long to realize that much of Priscilla’s communication was spoken in the language of white space. White space is not an exact language and there is some leeway in its interpretation. White space in conversation is the silence between spoken sentences. Sometimes white space can be complete silence with no bracketing audible sentences. I became adept at deciphering just exactly what she was saying and what she wasn’t. What she wasn’t saying often times was what the noise coming from her lips indicated. It has been my observation that females are much better at speaking in white space than men.
My stop at the sign about two blocks from home elicited, “Oooof.” Priscilla fell forward against the seatbelt. White-space: “Easy on the brake.”
After the stop, there was an exaggerated whiplash against the head-rest she had perfected. A nearly inaudible “Uhh.” White space: “Easy on the accelerator.”
Near home, there was one more right turn and a block down the hill and we’d be there. Just before the turn, I could see in my peripheral vision Priscilla gripped the door handle. White-space: “You’re taking that corner too fast.” On some occasions she’d grab the handhold over the door. White-space: “We’re liable to roll.”
I’m probably being passive aggressive, but what I’d do when I notice her hand-hold grab would be to slow down to a black ant’s crawl before we actually got to the corner. What it did was, it negated her handhold white space communication.
The thing is, I’ve been behind the wheel for nearly fifty years without an accident. Someone who was daydreaming rear-ended me at a stop light in Renton, Washington about forty years ago but I don’t count that. I hit my emergency flasher when I saw she wasn’t going to stop and that caused a panic look on her face as she hit the binders but she still bumped me. Not much damage to my VW, but I did have to have some bodywork done.
Most all of Priscilla’s subtext communication dealt with things other than driving. There could be any number of topics she could talk about without even bringing up the subject. The yard is her specialty.
One morning after a stretch of good weather, Priscilla came to my office door. “The forecast says it’s going to rain for the next few days.” Priscilla stood looking in at me in front of my computer screen.
“I think it’s supposed to be sunny,” I said, knowing full well rain is in the forecast.
“No, I’ve read it and saw it online. No, it’s definitely going to be raining.” Her eyes narrowed, burrowing her telepathic instruction into my mind.
No rocket salad there. I know what she’s saying. “Are you going to mow the lawn?”
“Maybe I better mow the lawn before it rains,” I play her like a fiddle. She knows I hate mowing. I’d done it for years and for some reason, it was not a favorite activity. I do like the looks of the lawn afterward.
Priscilla smiled and continued on dressing for work, her mission accomplished. I volunteered. I really do love her.
Maybe it was that damn hard-to-start Briggs and Stratton engine on the mower we had when I was a teenager. Mom’s mower took at least twenty pulls and sometime more to get the damn thing to fire. That’s a guess, but I bet I’m not far off. Of course, back then, nearly fifty years ago; there was a rope with a knot on one end and a handle on the other that had to be wound around the starter spool each time the rope was pulled and the engine didn’t start. There was no recoil spring to rewind the rope so you had to manually hook the knot in a notch in the winding spool, wind the rope around and around the spool up to the handle. Often, the knot at the end of the starter rope would fray and break off, adding another little irritation to the whole lawn mowing adventure by having to tie another knot in the rope. Once the rope got too short, it had to be replaced. You can only tie so many knots in an ever-shortening starter rope before it is too short to work effectively. Rope was about as plentiful as the non-existent tools in my tool chest.
In my early years, I always wanted to be a mechanic. Always until I was about twelve. There was never any money for tools so I had to make due with a pair of pliers and a screwdriver and maybe a hammer for all mechanical work. The lack of tools and rope finally killed any desire I had to be a mechanic or mow lawns. Irritants like that just stick with you, I shit you not.
When I finally could afford the tools, I was managing a Big Richards store. I’d probably have been happier being a mechanic. But then, The Man was always giving mechanics the business too. Big Richards had an automotive department with low paid mechanics struggling right along with those minimum wage check-out cashiers.
Getting ready for some social event, Priscilla said, “Are you going to wear your cargo pants?” Sergeant Sub-text: “Don’t wear those pants; they aren’t fit for the occasion.”
Sometime, I leave time for Priscilla to get ready for work and stay out of her way in the early mornings. Sometimes, just before she leaves for her job at the bank and just after the goodbye kiss she’ll say, “The dishes in the washer are clean.”
On first thought, one might think it is a clue not to put dirty dishes in the machine. That’s not even close to what she meant. White-space: “Empty the dish washer before I come home for lunch.”
My point is, it is not what women or little girls say that count, it is in the white space where the real communication takes place. I wonder if Priscilla was three, like Bella, when she mastered the art of talking in that blank space.
Chapter 24 Bella and Jake Forest He was off the hook with those expensive ballet lessons for the chickens. I couldn’t reach Bella ... the river.
Present
It was Priscilla’s kiss on his forehead that woke him. It took a few moments for Jake to get a grip on reality. The angels disappeared, Karen was gone, and there was no evidence of his Dad or Mom. No chickens roosting or chicks peeping anyplace. A ridiculous thought crossed his mind that he was off the hook with those expensive ballet lessons for the chickens. Nurses cruised past the door and smiled when they looked in. He realized he was actually in a hospital bed with a bunch of machinery connected to him with wires and tubes and not in a holding pattern for a journey to one of two places his Lutheran relatives always talked about for eternity.
“How are you doing sweetie,” Priscilla whispered in his ear. The fog was lifting and her kind voice caused him to look up at her beautiful blue eyes.
“Good as puddin’ Priscilla Pretty Panties,” he said, always the kidder. “What in the hell is going on, you might ask.”
“I’ve been here every day since they brought you here. The doctor said you’ve been having hallucinations,” she said. “He said you were having bad dreams and seeing people who weren’t here.”
“It seems like I have seen a lot of people. My Mom and Dad were here to visit, I remember that pretty clearly. My sister was here with her chickens.”
“Well, honey, nobody is here. No chickens. Your sister did call though. I told her you were going to be okay. I’m late today because of all the snow.”
“What snow, it was nice when we were by the river.”
“There’s been record snowfall. We had almost two feet in the past twenty-four hours. I spent hours shoveling the drive.”
“What am I doing here?”
“You had a heart attack in the river,” Priscilla said. “You almost didn’t make it. You had a triple by-pass operation, Honey, but you’re going to be just fine.”
And that is when his heart started pounding and it hit him. “I’m sorry ... I’m sorry.” Jake started crying.
“I don’t understand,” she said. She came close and held his head next to hers. “Sorry for what?”
“I couldn’t get --. I couldn’t reach Bella ... the river.”
“Oh, honey, you did save her. She is okay. You caught her and held he
r above water and pulled her to the shore and Bella, that lady who lives in one of the homeless tents, grabbed her. You’re a hero, Honey, she is perfectly alright. The truck drivers pulled you from the river. One driver said he was sorry for knocking you in the head with the load lock but that is what they used to hook your jacket and pull you ashore.”
Then he really started blubbering. Maybe it was the relief of knowing Bella was okay. It wasn’t like all those heroes he’d read so much about. Men aren’t supposed to be doing that. He found out that the older he got, the more emotional he could become. Sometimes he could start crying just thinking about something sad. Especially if it is something sad about a child. It didn’t used to be that way. He never cried. Now, there were times when he couldn’t stop.
“Oh, don’t cry sweetie, I have something to show you,” and she walked over to the door and he could see her motion to someone down the hall.
He heard footsteps and there she was at the door, in her Mom’s arms.
“Paaapaaaaaaaaa.” Bella must have startled every patient on the entire floor. Several nurses came running but they let her be once they saw how happy she was. Her mom tried to shush her but she was having none of that. He thought that even that killer of enthusiasm, Bella’s preschool teacher, Mrs. Ashoff, couldn’t have quieted her. Bella squirmed out of her mom’s arms the way little kids can make their selves limp and impossible to hold and she escaped her mom’s grip in an instant; like a wet bar of ivory soap. She hit the floor running and made a beeline into the room, slamming into the side of the bed. “Paaapaaaaaa,” She gripped the jungle gym railings on the side of the bed and climbed onto the mattress before anybody could stop her. Jake helped her as best he could as she crawled into his arms and gave him the biggest hug ever. Several buzzers and beepers started sounding when a couple of wires became disconnected.
“I love you more than anything in the whole wide world,” he said into her ear. He wasn’t sure if it was very clear because he couldn’t get the words out too good between the blubbering.
“You are the best Papa in the whole wide world,” she whispered into his ear. They always whispered that to each every time they saw each other. It was their little secret, that they loved each other more than anyone in the whole wide world.
“Papa, I have something to tell you,” Bella whispered into Jake’s ear.
He pushed her dark, curly locks away from her ear and put his lips close, “What’s that sweetie?”
“Papa, I want you to call me by my real name,” she whispered.
Again, pushing her soft, locks back, “I love you,” and his voice softened to an imperceptible whisper as he said “Dava,” so only she could hear, “more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gave her ear a little kiss. She smiled and squeezed him tightly.
Chapter 25 Old Jake Forest A bubble off plumb. Clumsy-ass squirrels. It’s enough to make God drink out of a cat dish.
Present
You’d think that all the people Mama called those who were a bubble off plumb were going to cross my path would have done it by now. Not my bloody luck.
Polly Wriggle, Bella’s mother, is one such person. She believes she has the intelligence to read messages hidden from the rest of us. Based on those non-existent messages in her fantasy world, she would take a leap from her fantasy into action. That reprehensible, horrendously selfish, egotistical action is what did the damage. I cried quite a few times over the past months when the thought comes floating into my mind -- many times in the blackness of sleep in the middle of the night. I’m still trying to recover from the effect of her actions.
She is one of the people I had pegged who, like the wobbly cafe table, had the folded napkin under her short leg. One who, not naturally level, was shimmed to correct the flaw. Apparently, the napkin worked itself out.
It’s not as though we didn’t see clues to the pending disaster. Clues taken alone would be insignificant. Accumulatively those clues would lead to the conclusion her action was not entirely out of character for a person so unbalanced.
Priscilla, Bella, and Polly were riding home with me when Polly saw a crow devouring the remains of a squirrel in the middle of the street.
“The poor thing must have fallen out of a tree,” Polly said of the squirrel.
Priscilla and I stole a glance at each other but remained silent about clumsy-ass squirrels. You know, the ones that can sprint at warp speed along a cable, thirty feet over the street, in a gale force wind, without once making a miss-step and never come close to falling off.
Right then I should have seen that the napkin was working itself loose under Polly; the bubble floated a little off center.
“What if they missed the flight?” Polly said. “They’d have to wait seven years for another ride back to earth.” Polly was commenting on an article she had read about a mission to Mars and the difficulty of plotting return flights.
“There isn’t one single chance they would miss their flight,” Priscilla said. “Astronauts are extremely disciplined people and it just wouldn’t happen.”
When we left the restaurant and let Bella sit in my car -- Bella loved the smell of my car for some reason -- and Polly was gathering her stuff and getting the child seat adjusted in her car.
Priscilla looked at me. “Did you see how upset Polly was with me for suggesting that astronauts were more disciplined than normal people and there’d be no chance in hell they would miss a flight back to earth? She took it personal. She hardly said a thing to me after that.”
“Well, Hon,” I said, “she can’t be on time for anything so it is probably logical to her that they might miss their flight.”
“I laughed at her logic,” Priscilla said. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m sure she will get over it.”
“I got a gift card from the Half Price Bookstore,” I said.
“I thought you said you told Polly you wanted a can of Almond Roca. She even asked me what you wanted.” Priscilla was gathering up the discarded Christmas wrap after Bella and her mom had left on Christmas Eve.
“I did. Polly asked me specifically if I liked a particular kind of candy. I said my favorite candy was Almond Roca and Walmart sells it for $3.98. I told her I knew she didn’t have much money and I would really like Almond Roca. She said okay, Almond Roca it is. The fact is, she tried to talk me out of it. She asked me if I’d rather have a gift certificate from the Half Price Bookstore. I told her no, I buy all my books online and would much rather have the candy.”
I know that buying me a gift card is not a sign of imbalance. But taken with the other things, it fits a pattern of someone’s mind not seeing the obvious. She saw a fantasy in her mind that I’d rather have a gift card, regardless of what I said, rather than the candy I specifically requested.
“I don’t want her to take swimming lessons because she doesn’t have the basic skills of swimming yet.” Polly told me when I asked if I could pay for Bella’s swim lessons.
“They are beginning lessons. Kids don’t have to have any skills before taking lessons ... that’s what they are, beginning swimming lessons,” I said.
“I just want her to have some basic skills, that’s all,” she said.
You’re the mom, were my thoughts at the time. I was beginning to learn it was useless to discuss anything with Polly when she made one of her illogical statements, absurd as they often were.
“Polly said she doesn’t see Sylvia anymore,” Priscilla said.
“What the heck did Sylvia do to deserve that?” I asked. “Sylvia adores Bella, doesn’t she?”
“Sylvia loves Bella. She takes care of her a lot when Polly can’t get you to watch her.”
“What did she do, mistreat Bella?” I asked.
“Oh heavens no, she loves Bella. You’re not going to believe this, she got a boob job,” Priscilla said.
“Oh for Christ sake. Didn’t Polly have a wart removed from her nose a while back? That makes a lot
of sense, she abandoned a longtime friend, one who adored Bella, never to speak to her again, for getting a boob job.”
“Polly says it isn’t even close the same thing. Warts are not boobs.”
Polly’s latest move was to a nicer apartment. She had been promised a raise and decided to move before she actually had them money in hand.
“They promised it to me so I found a place and am moving next week,” Polly said.
“Don’t you think it would be wise to actually get the money before you commit yourself to a year-long lease? What if it turns out you don’t get the raise?” I asked Polly.
“That’s just not going to happen,” Polly said.
Well, it did happen. She was embarrassed to say, but when she finally did, she only got a small portion of the raise she thought she was getting which put her in dire financial straits. She had to borrow money for her second month’s rent.
“I am moving this weekend and am painting the bedrooms before I move.” Polly told Priscilla.
“If you need drop cloths, I have plenty,” Priscilla said.
“Wouldn’t it be smart to move all your stuff, you don’t have much time. Are you packed?” Priscilla asked.
“No, but I’ll do that tonight,” Polly said.
I had moved over twenty times with Big Richards so I had some practical experience and some good advice to give Polly. Pack everything in boxes and tape the boxes closed. Leave nothing hanging out; it helps in stacking boxes for the move. Do you think Polly took the advice? When we got to the old apartment, Polly had very little packed. None of the boxes she had packed were taped closed ... crap overflowed from every one of them. She didn’t even have near enough boxes for the move.
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