by Tonya Kappes
I throw my hands in the air when my mouth begins to water at the Café Beginnings Coffee Shop sign. It is just around the corner from the house, which is dangerous.
“You new to the area?” the barista asks when I walked in.
“Not really. Well sort of.” I hesitate, torn by conflicting emotions.
I know if I’m confused, she’s confused. She flings her straight brown hair out of the way of her glasses. I wonder if she is trying to figure out if I’m a nut off the street or just nuts.
“I’m from the west side.” I make my cute little gangster “west side” gesture which doesn’t get a smile out of her.
“But moved to Chicago after college. Now I’m back here for three months. For work.”
“Okay, welcome back.” She put her hand over top the counter for me to shake. “Addy, barista and fellow transplant. I knew I hadn’t seen you before. Everyone stops in to get a cup or just say hi. As we say here at Café Beginnings: Here's a cup that honors the hands of a farmer, the craft of an artisan roaster, and the distinguished tastes of our patrons. We welcome you to Café Beginnings. As you sit, sip, and savor, or grab, go, and guzzle, our wish is that you too enjoy your part of the story.”
Damn! Even if the coffee isn’t good, her speech sure sold me on coming back.
She finds out every single detail about me in minutes, it seems to be her gift. I can’t tell you one thing about her. She introduces me to every single person that walks through her door. “This is Hallie from Chicago.” She emphasizes the a in Chicago.
Not only is the coffee good, the atmosphere is awesome. The green clap board house beckons you to sip coffee from the front porch as you watch the pedestrians stroll by. Patrons sit on the deck or out on the patios discussing their plans for the day. Another couple is catching up on the week’s activities while some read the paper or simply enjoy their coffee.
I want to explore more of Hyde Park. As a teenager, you couldn’t have paid me to go in Hyde Park Square. Now I’m excited about living, however temporarily, less than a mile away.
The square is busy with the shop owners putting out their wares out on the outside in front of their stores. The doors are open and inviting. Everyone says good morning as I pass. This is something you don’t see in Chicago.
I can’t believe this is something I miss about living here. I was so busy trying to get on with my life when I moved to Chicago, I didn’t even pay attention until now.
Trees in full bloom line both sides of the square’s center and frame the wood park benches. The fountain gurgles with water spewing from a stone panther’s mouths.
I pop my head in the open door of One Bead at a Time. A group of women sit at a table and scour through all sorts of designs and colors to make the perfect bracelet, necklace or ear rings.
I catch myself smiling as I watch the four friends—obviously friends, and overhear their conversation.
“How does this one look?” A blonde asks one of the others about the beads she picked out.
“Oh I love it,” her friend said, “But you know,” she adds, as she hands over a different bead, “this one will really make it stand out.”
The others nod their head in agreement.
It makes me long for my friends. The simple pleasure of just being around them is something I will not take for granted again.
I run my finger down the beading class schedule hanging on the open door. My interest is flying. I’ve spent a ton of money buying beaded jewelry. Why not try to make my own? My girls are five hours away. I’ll have plenty of down time at night. I make a mental note on the class times to see if any of them fit into my work schedule.
But as I make my way back to my new home, I wonder what my friend’s are doing in Chicago, without me.
Prudence is probably working at home in her office, stopping briefly to take in Lake Michigan and watch the sail boats going out for the day.
I check my watch. It’s about time for Georgia and Lucy to meet at Moksha Yoga. And Georgia is probably taking a walk the Lincoln Park, before heading to baby in the belly appointment.
I long to be next to Lucy, lounging on the terrace watching television and relaxing the day away.
And me? Looks like I’m going to take up beading.
I toss my cup in the trash can outside the Hyde Bark, the cutest pet store I’ve ever seen, and could make almost anyone want to get a pet. But I won’t. I have a hard enough time taking care of myself and I don’t like wiping my ass, much less a furry one.
I shrug away the thought of a dog and remember my bagua awaits me. I jog back, trying not to think about my friends, or pets, or the fact that I’m alone.
The last box is calling me when I walk into the door.
“All right, Buddha. Hold on,” I say as I get my compass and lay down, with my feet almost touching the front door.
I need to feel the energy of the house to check my chi.
Arms stretched way out to my side, eyes close tighter with every breath. I begin to feel the coziness of the house. I even think about stripping down to my birthday suit to feel liberated like I had last night.
But my eyes bolt open when I hear a door slam.
“Hi, there.” Suddenly a man is standing over me with the goofiest-ass grin.
“Get back!” I scramble to my feet, with fear knotted inside me. “I know karate.” I do my best Ralph Macchio pose. That pose is the only karate I know. But I know I can hit him in the balls and take off running.
“Yes Daniel-son,” the stranger says in Mr. Miyagi’s voice, bowing down. “I come in peace. I’m Wilson, and you?”
“Get out! I’m going to call the police.” I stand with my fists clinched in the air, panic welled in my throat.
“Hi, Mr. Buddha?” Wilson bends down and picks up my Buddha, pretending to talk to him. “Checking out the bagua?”
He tilts the Buddha back and forth as if in agreement.
“How do you know? Were you listening to me?” Stepping forward, I snatch my Buddha out of his greedy hands. The Buddha is heavy so I can use him as a weapon. “Who are you?”
I pat my pockets for my cell phone. The only problem, I don’t know my own address to give to the 911 operator.
“I heard someone up here talking and I wanted to introduce myself since we’ll be running into each other. Especially late night refrigerator raiding.” He pats his belly.
“I’m really going to call the police.” I yell after he goes into the pantry and shuts the door.
I’m tired of screwing around with this lunatic.
“Where do you think you are going?” I don’t hesitate to go after him.
With Buddha pointed over my head and ready to throw, I carefully open the door, fully expecting him to jump out and scare me. I only find stairs. Not a pantry. A basement.
I walk down the stairs trying to ignore the theme song from Nightmare on Elm Street that’s playing in my head.
I want to make sure Wilson leaves the same way he came in. He may be harmless, but you just can’t walk into someone’s house without being invited.
There he sits, on a black leather couch enjoying a steaming cup of coffee.
“Now you decide to come down and say hi.” His glasses fogged with steam. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Wilson and I live in this apartment which is down stairs from your apartment. I am assuming that your fancy employer didn’t tell you that it was an apartment.”
“No, they did.” I can feel the red creep up my face with embarrassment. “I just thought it was a mistake. I thought the basement door was a pantry.”
“Didn’t the refrigerator and pantry full of food give it away?” He walks over to the coffee pot. “Would you like a cup?” he asks.
“Yes, please.” Apartment? I’m trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. “I, I’m, um, sorry for yelling at you.”
“It’s okay. I was going to say hello last night, but I didn’t think you were dressed properly for the occasion.” He smiles.
&nb
sp; Oh, my God! I’m not shocked by his beautiful white teeth, I’m shocked because he saw me in my panties and t-shirt when I went down to get a drink of water. I cross my arms over myself, trying to hide what he saw last night.
“So you were spying on me?” I have to wonder.
“I was going to come and introduce myself to clothes-wearing Hallie, not t-shirt Hallie. Though I might like t-shirt Hallie better.” He laughs handing me the cup. “Sugar or cream?”
I pick up the creamer and avoid eye contact. With sarcasm dripping in my voice, I say, “You’re a funny guy. We might just have a lot of fun for the next three months.”
“Who might have fun, clothed or unclothed Hallie? If you’re asking me, I think I will try out unclothed Hallie first.” He held his coffee cup up to toast me. I oblige.
“First off, the place was so hot, I could’ve fried an egg on the radiator and I couldn’t find the thermostat. Why were you up so late? Don’t tell me you’re some perv.” I stand at the edge of the steps ready to bolt.
“I was coming home from work and I heard the faucet turn on.” He pretends to twirl the edges of a fake mustache. “Watch it or I could mess with your bagua.”
Wilson is not like any other man I’ve met. He’s direct, and I like that about him.
“Okay joker. Show me around since you know my place like the back of your hand.” He obviously knows what a bagua is.
“This is my office.” He points to the coffee table. “That’s my bedroom and bath.” He points to the only door off the room. “Last on the big tour, my dining room.” He nods towards the bar with four black bar chairs. It’s not big, but it’s perfect for one person.
I notice the Persian rugs, and I feel a twinge of envy. His apartment is nice, especially for a guy.
“So where do you work?” He must have a pretty good job to afford some of these luxuries. “Procter and Gamble downtown.”
I should’ve guessed. Half of Cincinnati works there.
“Cool. I work at the Gucci boutique in Saks.”
“Oh, la-la.” He flashes his irresistible devastating grin.
He certainly doesn’t look like an executive in his Ohio State pajama pants. The hint of ginger in his blonde crew-cut, stands out against his tan skin.
“Again, Wilson, I am sorry for freaking out on you. I have to say you’re lucky I didn’t go all Karate Kid on you.” I demonstrate my best karate chop in the air. “See you later?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “Bring my mug back when you’re finished.”
This isn’t going to be so bad, I smile. Wilson’s sense of humor really isn’t my type, but he is definitely someone I can see myself hanging out with having a few beers.
The rest of the afternoon I tiptoe around so Wilson won’t hear me. With each box I unpack, I’m finding myself getting into a funk. It takes all the energy I have to finish unpacking all the boxes. I’m so mentally exhausted. I close my eyes, just to take a break.
Chapter Thirteen
Shit! The ringing phone makes me jump from the perfect slumber. For a brief moment I’d forgotten I’m back in Cincinnati.
“Hello, Aunt Grace.” I try to wrap my head around my surroundings.
“I swear you are psychic just like your mom,” she says.
“No, Aunt Grace. Caller ID.” I don’t know how many more times I‘ll have to say that before she gets it. Furthermore, my mother wasn’t close to being psychic, and I don’t know why Aunt Grace says that.
“You need to come right away.” She sounds suddenly desperate.
I look at my watch. “It’s six p.m.”
I’d rather have my eyelids turned inside out and propped open with toothpicks before I drive to her neighborhood just before darkness closes in. My heart is heavy once I realize where I am.
“Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas anymore.” I frown looking out the window next to the bed.
“What? Who’s Toto?” she asks.
“No one.” The words fall meekly out of my mouth.
The first phase of dread, loneliness and depression sets in. I knew it was inevitable. My Hyde Park high seems to have deflated like a soufflé.
“I need you. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” She pleads.
“Why do I need to come right now?” I ask and continue, “What’s so important?”
“I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can’t you please come?” She is convincing.
I reach for my running shoes and put them on. There is no reason to push for more information because I know I won’t win.
Wilson is outside watering the front lawn. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” His eyes peek over his sunglasses.
“Getting toothpicks,” I shout, then stop and turn around. “You have any toothpicks?”
He pats his pockets. “Nah, fresh out.” He continues watering the wisteria vine with a questioning look on his face.
I flash him a smile, and jump in my car—only to zoom back to the other side of the tracks.
A haze looms over the city. That’s one thing this city hasn’t cleaned up. My eyes water and my nose itches. The valley of allergies is what everyone calls the Ohio valley. I fell prey to it when I was younger and now.
I say a little prayer of gratitude for Daylight Saving Time. I have at least an hour before dark.
Uncle Jimmy is sitting on the stoop watching the traffic go by. “Hi, Uncle Jimmy.” I smile looking for a nod, or a wave, or something to show life.
He doesn’t look up. His gray thinning greasy hair is plastered to his head. With a hint of annoyance, he asks, “You gonna be stopping by all the time since you live here?”
“Lucky you. You never know which way the wind might blow me.”
I want to tell him to shave his ass, but I don’t think he would like that. Besides, Uncle Jimmy never fit in with us Italians, as he puts a stress on the I. He always rolled his eyes at our big family functions. Italians love their families.
We had to ignore his comments out of respect for Aunt Grace. She was good at reminding us. “Now, now, Jimmy doesn’t know any better,” she’d say. “He’s an orphan.”
“Umph.” Is all he can muster up? Never once can I recall a time when he was even a bit positive.
I burst through the door. “Aunt Grace?” I find her in the bedroom. She’s there, wearing a long curly red wig.
“Hi, Aunt Grace.” I hid my laughter, looking at her real hair matted down the side of her face.
“Like it?” She twirls her fake hair around her finger.
“Feisty.” I smile because she looks like one of the hookers who work on this side of town. For all I know, she stole it off one of them.
“Good. Because that’s the way I am feeling.” She is preoccupied, staring out the window. She sits like a bird perched on the window-sill. “I guess you’re wondering why I wanted you to come over.”
I look around the room. There doesn’t seem to be any emergency. The apartment is not on fire and the cockroaches are still running around. Everything is in order.
“Antonio is going to be in the area selling those knife sets.”
I slump to the bed. She’s back to playing match-maker.
“I want to invite you two over for tea.” Her gentle demeanor suddenly turns tyrannical as she sees something outside the window. Her foot catches the edge of the chair as she jumps up, sending it to the floor.
I look out the window but the only thing I see is a happy whistling woman walking her cute poodle. Uncle Jimmy leans over to pet the sweet little dog. The dog obviously knows Uncle Jimmy by the wagging of his tail.
I always heard a dog’s heart is connected to his tail. This dog’s heart must be very happy by the looks of his tail-wagging.
“Aww, look at the cute dog.” My smile faces just as Aunt Grace shoves me out of the way of the window.
I fall down to the ground, catching myself but sacrificing the lives of two cockroaches under my right hand.
I get up just in time to watch Aun
t Grace grab a brick from the pile stacked up next to the window. “I’ll teach that bitch for whistling at my husband.” Her arm is like an automatic machine gun whirling those bricks onto the street, but fortunately missing her target.
“Grace!” Uncle Jimmy screams, shielding the whistling woman from the bricks. “Stop that now!”
He ducks just in time before the latest brick zips past his head breaking and shatters against the pavement.
“That’s right.” Aunt Grace cries out to the woman who’s now on the run. “You better get out of here. And stop flirting with my husband.”
I’m paralyzed with fear. What the hell have I just witnessed?
“Damn you, Grace!” Uncle Jimmy calls up as he watches the lady run as fast as she could.
Aunt Grace doubles over in laughter. She is so proud of herself.
“Poor dog.” She points out the window still laughing. “Look! She’s running so fast, that dog is choking.”
Pure satisfaction illuminates her face. “Now, back to tea.”
“Aunt Grace, what just happened?” I don’t know whether to get the hell out of here before the police come or call them myself.
“That slut has been after your Uncle Jimmy for weeks,” Aunt Grace explains. “She thinks she’s something walking that little dog and whistling while Jimmy waits for her to pass. She’s enticing my man. She needs her own man.”
She walks back to the window. I stand behind her looking at the woman Aunt Grace refers to as a “slut.”
“I showed her whose prince he is.” She slams the window shut.
The woman looks perfectly normal to me, in her black jumpsuit and tennis shoes pounding pavement down the street.
Stunned, I watch Aunt Grace. I don’t know what she sees in my uncle. Uncle Jimmy is no prince. Maybe a jester, but certainly not royalty. But then again, I guess maybe he’s her Bo.
And did this moment constitute an emergency?
Chapter Fourteen