by Jeff Beeman
This time I try to slow down though my stomach urges me to send it down faster. I see that Mrs. Kevins-Stalhs has gone back to sewing on something. I also notice that though she is focused on her sewing, the men were focused on me. That makes me a little self-conscious so I slow down a little more and remember to hold my spoon properly. With I finish my last bit of my second bowl, I slip up and let out a little burp, to which I quickly say, “Excuse me”. That burp seemed to please everyone except baby Michael who had stopped fussing for the moment because he had become interested in watching B.B. walk around the kitchen.
Mr. Anderson says as he grins broadly, “She knows how to enjoy her food and has shown she is able to fight, you two young no-beards are lucky you only came back with minor injuries. She is defiantly a future warrior by Thor and Tyr”
Looking at him funny, I respond “What?”
“Thor is my god but I also give homage to Tyr. Thor is the god of healing, thunder, lightning and protection of mankind, while Tyr is the god of war. Not all of us follow the Christian God. I am what is called by them a pagan.”
“I learned about old religions in school when I was little though I got confused with what I also learned from Sunday school. It took a while before I was convinced Jesus and Apollo didn’t hang out together at Mount Olympus on Sundays.” I admitted.
Everyone laughed.
“I do remember learning in Sunday school that I should turn the other check when I am wronged but I have had to fight when someone was going to do something bad to me”.
He looked hard at me then Mr. Anderson advised, “Don’t worry about it. Know that just ‘cause you’re female and follow the Christian god that you won’t be able or have to fight sometimes. There are quite a few historical Christian female warriors like Joanna of Flanders, Caterina Sequrana of Nice, and of course Joan of Arc, just to give name to some quick examples. Don’t let the old society make you feel like you have to be weak and helpless because you can’t be a warrior. You have history on your side that says you can be.”
This makes me smile.
“Well, I am going to hit the sack” yawned Mr. Oliver with only a slight accent. “Remember though if things change, wake me immediately”
“Get some rest, Eric, and we will” advised Mr. Kevins, “I will relieve Isabel”
“Yeah can’t sit on my a..”, started Mr. Anderson but like a whip the warning of, “Language TV!” strongly advised Mrs. Kevins-Stalhs with the same look Momma would have when Daddy and/or I had better stop what we were doing. He simply smiles and tips his straw cowboy hat to her before saying, “Why do you call him TV?” I ask after he had left through the sliding glass door in the kitchen.
“His trucker handle is The Texas Viking from Amarillo but I just call him TV for short. He admits he is not the original Texas Viking” she responded.
“When did we get here? Is this someone in the caravan’s home?” I ask.
“No, we were lucky to have found what the sergeant felt was a defensible position after Tony and John were attacked by a Boss and Associate when they went on another salvage run after you arrived.”
I must have had a puzzled look on my face because she added, “We call the moaning zombies who seem to make the normally passive ones aggressive Bosses and the passive ones Associates.”
“Oh, normally we just call them un-people. If we know more about them, then we would identify them as either Moaners or Statues” I knowingly advised.
“We?” simply asked Mrs. Kevins-Stahls.
“Daddy and...” I couldn’t go on because my throat felt like I had swallowed a rock. I didn’t want to talk anymore and she seemed to tell that was my mood because she simply focused working on her sewing.
Instead of talking, I took time to look around the kitchen. The power for the heating top and lights came from a power strip that was attached to a utility cord. It ran outside past the sliding glass door to the vehicle that they had treated me in. Besides the round table with its own matching chairs and the things I had already noticed, at hand are various powerless kitchen items, and standing in a corner was a china cabinet minus the china. I also notice that the kitchen is pretty dust free unlike the rest of the house that I have already seen.
With both of us focused intently on other things, neither of us had realized B.B. had reared up onto the kitchen island to sniff Baby Michael’s feet until the baby started laughing out loud. His reaction and the kicking of his tickled feet seemed to confuse B.B., which made him of course turn his head to the right before he went back to investigating Baby Michael’s feet, which started him laughing and kicking his feet, which confused B.B. who would turn his head to the right, then after a moment he again starts all over. His mother watched for a moment then started laughing at B.B.’s continued confusion which got me to giggling also.
I feel good about being with the living again. Maybe Bouncy Bouncy, B.B. and I had found a family to become part of.
Chapter 13
The Big Reveal
After a bit, I take B.B. outside to let him do his private business in the grassy part of the backyard. I can tell that this morning is going to turn into a bright and peaceful spring-like day. Instead of the usual smells, the air just smells warm. Hard to think about it being winter time on a day like this. Just having the sun on my hurt arm makes it seem to feel better.
As I give him his privacy, I look around and find I had missed the ladder leaning against the house when I first looked outside of the bedroom window. I am tempted to climb it, but change my mind because of my arm. Instead I walk away from the house but stay in the backyard, therefore hidden from anyone on the street, some old habits won’t be ignored. Mr. Kevins and Officer Salazar are up on this side of the roof peak. Looks like they are talking so I try not to bother them. Instead I go over to look at the container on two wheels. My nose when tells me I get close that it carries gasoline and I see from the pool of wet next to the wet right tire that while my back was turned, B.B. has claimed it as his own.
There is a noise from the roof which brings my attention back that direction. Officer Salazar is making her way down the roof to the ladder while Mr. Kevins adjusts himself and what looks like a rifle with a scope, like Papa used to deer hunt, behind the roof peak. I quickly go over to hold the ladder to hold it still with my left hand so the officer can get down safely. As she starts down the ladder, while I look up to watch her come down, our eyes meet. For a moment her expression is surprise, followed by another emotion before the shadow of something forms the normal mask she wears. She comes down and just ignores my presence as she goes around the corner. In a second, I hear the sliding glass door open and shut. I stand next to the ladder for a moment thinking about what I had just experienced. The second brief expression looked similar to what Daddy would have when he thought about Momma. The last one, the mask, was like when the Daddy had the Magnum out. I don’t feel that Officer Salazar hates me or has been affected by The Bad but there is something about me that makes her dark. I think about it for a bit but can’t figure it out. In moments like this, Daddy would say there wasn’t enough known facts to put the pieces together. He would see facts as if they were parts that make up a mechanical clock. When he had enough pieces, he could see how things affected each other and made the clock work. I instead see things like picture puzzles, so in this case I have to find the lost pieces to clearly make out the picture. B.B. trots over with what seems a relieved look on his face and ready to follow me again, so we go back into the kitchen.
As we enter, Mrs. Kevin-Stahls greets us by saying, “Just in time. I need to see how your new arm wrap fits, so I can make final adjustments”.
So that is what she has been working on, something for me. I am so surprised by this all I can do is mutter a small, “Thank you”.
Slowly she helps me out of my current wrap then works on getting the new one on. It fits better and seems overall a really good job. After looking it over and testing how it fits, she helps me take it off as she
says, “I need to make some small adjustments but things seem to be on the right track.”
After writing some things on a small note pad and putting my old wrap back on me, she leads me to the round table and has me sit on a bunch of books that are on a chair that faces away from the table. There are four pots with steam rising on the table. Once she has me situated on the books, she says, “Okay, now for what I hope will be a treat, I am going to wash your hair.” I am dumbfounded and can only mutter “Thank you” again.
“I have a couple we can use, are you allergic to any type?”
“I am allergic to sulfa only, but M...” I catch myself before I say Momma was allergic to a lot of different flower scents. I feel the deep sadness forming near me so I quickly ask if she has any fruit scented shampoo which luckily she does.
She goes to the floor cabinets next to the stove and brings back a big metal bowl which she puts on the table directly behind me and next to four pots that have water. Supporting my back, she has me lean back and then uses two of the pans to get my hair thoroughly wet. Then with one hand, she is able to put the shampoo on my hair and begins to lather it up. I have had my head washed before by Momma when I was a little girl, but that was a long time ago. It is strangely relaxing to have someone else do it for me and to smell shampoo, strawberry I think, again is what I suppose people mean when they say “Heavenly”. After a bit she has me sit up. She takes the time to refill the first two pans with water and then puts them on the burners. I take the moment to ask, “Why do I make Officer Salazar unhappy?”
This causes Mrs. Kevins-Stahls to stop and look me over with her blue eyes as if she is trying to figure something out but also I get the feeling I may have a piece of the puzzle revealed. “Why do you feel you make her unhappy?”
“I see it mostly in her eyes. It may not be me but maybe I remind her of something that happened or someone.” I replied with a growing sense that I was on the right path.
She continues to study me for a moment, then turns her attention back to the pans on the burner before simply saying, “She is not mad at you” yet there is a stiffness that I can now see in her shoulders.
“Something bad happened.” I more state than ask. For another moment, she stares at the pots on the burners, then says without looking at me, “She had a daughter your age.”
“Is there anything I can do to not make her not feel unhappy?”
Looking over at me, Mrs. Kevin-Stahls just advises me to “Give her time”, to which I just nod yes.
The rest of the shampoo treat goes without conversation. Again we focus on other things than talking.
Not only do I get a shampoo but she also towel dries my hair and tries to brush it out. My army of tangles will not be defeated. After several painful attempts, she puts the brush down and informs me with a hint of embarrassment, “I am going to have to cut your hair because it is just too tangled.”
Solemnly I reply with what Daddy, my uncle and Godfather all would say, “It is what it is.”
All this time B.B. was watching sleepily but once the hair cutting started, he was fascinated to the point he wanted to eat the hair that was cut off. This got him promptly banished from the kitchen to the backyard. He took it pretty well but I could tell he was thinking about something.
By the time she was done, I was about to get as fussy as Baby Michael who luckily was strapped into his car seat considering how crazy his angry dance had gotten.
“I need to get this kitchen cleaned up and make something for Tony and John. Would you mind reading to Michael? It normally calms him and will buy me some time to get things started. I can then feed him and put him down for a nap” innocently asked Mrs. Kevins-Stahls.
Such a simple request should not fill someone with dread but she hit me with my Kryptonite, reading out loud. Reading out loud and having dyslexia doesn’t go well for me. My own voice distracts me so all the lessons to deal with my dyslexia go out the window. So here I am after having this nice person do all these things for me ask me for what would be considered a simple favor. As my uncle would say, “Just smile, nod yes, and fake it”, so I smile, nod and plan to fake it as long as I can. She gives me such a look of relief, I feel bad about the faking-it part of the plan. She quickly goes to her backpack to pull out the book I am going to read to Baby Michael. I take a look at the cover and find it is titled “Am I a Dumb Bunny”. Wow, not only do I have to read out loud but the story is about a bunny who questions how smart they are. This writer E. U. Gene better get this right or Bouncy Bouncy and I will start complaining about the quality of books Baby Michael is exposed to.
Carefully Mrs. Kevins-Stahls helps me off the chair with the book and on to a stool next to the baby who is still on the kitchen island. I work to position the book so he can see the pictures as I read. This stops him from fussing but earns me a sideway glare that looks like he is thinking, “What do you think you’re up to?” I smile at him, clear my throat and begin.
“The breeze blew gently through the trees next to the babbling river”, I begin but his mother unexpectedly corrects me by saying, “That is burbling, dear”, all the time still looking like she is focused on fixing some food.
“Oh! Is this his favorite book?”
“Yes, I have read it both to him and to my classes so many times I have it memorized.”
“Oh really” comes out of my mouth but I was really thinking to myself, Jiminy Cricket...this sucks like boiled cabbage with meatballs. Oh well the show must go on they say.
Clearing my throat again I start where I left off while Baby Michael just watches me with an impish look of glee in the prospect of the upcoming train wreck.
“Burbling river. Sitting on a rock next to the river, a sad looking bunny watched the flowing water and asked himself, “Am I…a dumb bunny?”
Turn the page
“At that same time, a cat named Monkey was strolling down the Road to Somewhere as he whistled a happy tune he had learned during his visit to France. The Road to Somewhere crossed over the river thanks to be…”
“Are you sure that is be?” prompted Mrs. Kevin-Stahls.
I look over the sentence and see it should be a instead of be. I make the correction without comment, “a red wooden covered bridge.”
Turn the page
“With his keen bearing”
This time I can see from the corner of my eye that she looks over at me before saying, “That word is hearing, not bearing.”
I close my eyes, fake a smile and go back at it, “hearing, the cat named Monkey heard sad sniffles coming from the river. He thought it was strange that the river was gurgling happily on the left side fo”
Having stopped her work on the food, she simply says “of”
My face feels like it is turning red and it really doesn’t help that the baby has put his foot in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, though if his grin gets any bigger he is going to swallow his whole head. “of the bridge but seemed sad on the right side.
Turn the page
“Being careful not to trip and fall into the river since he was not ready for a bath, the cat named Monkey moved down form”
Now standing next to Baby Michael opposite of me she quotes from the book, “...from the Road to Somewhere to the river bank where he saw the sad little bunny. Honey please stop reading for the moment and let me get something.” I look up and just nod yes. She goes back to the notepad she had written notes about my brace and removes a clean page from it. With that page, she tears it into four pieces, then writes a single letter on each page. Moving back to the kitchen island and arranging them in front of me she asks, “Please humor me and read this word out loud.” I look at her for a moment but can’t tell what she is up to, so I read out the word the four pieces of paper spell out, “MEAL”
“Very good”, she replies with a smile. Then she removes the scrap of paper with the letter A. “Now read the new word out loud, please”. I look at it and say, “MEiiL”. Before I can correct what I realize
was the wrong word combination, she simply states, “You’re dyslexic”.