Intertwine

by Angie Merriam

  Now she sat down at her kitchen table for a rest and while she was resting, it occurred to her that the preacher might have told her he’d visit today. She wasn’t sure she was remembering that right and it worried her. But she had the stack cake ready, and she could make some instant coffee if he came by. She did need to change her clothes though; she had flour and baking powder all over her apron and some on her housedress. She got up to head toward the bedroom; suddenly, she felt weak and dizzy and was afraid she might faint. She sat back down abruptly and was surprised when she broke out in a cold sweat. “Why, Lord have mercy…..what on earth is wrong with me?” When the symptoms gradually went away, she relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well…” she said out loud. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.” She rose from the chair, started toward the door to the hall and her bedroom but she suddenly found herself short of breath and so tired….so very tired. As she slid down the wall to the floor, she thought she might’ve gotten up out of the chair too quickly; after all, she wasn’t young anymore. She sat there on the linoleum for a few minutes; as she waited for the weakness and dizziness to pass, she saw a paw reach through the kitty door and feel around, flexing nonexistent claws, a head and then a large ginger-colored body slinked through the opening.

  Once all of him was in the house, the cat stood still staring at Nannie sitting on the floor and if cats could have an expression, Nannie felt sure his was one of surprise. He eased along the wall to his food and water dishes, keeping her in sight, but not making direct eye contact. As he lowered his head to nibble delicately on his dry food, she was sure she was still present in his peripheral vision. He finished his snack and lapped up a bit of water to cleanse his palate; the ritual of cleaning his face with licked paws began, and he studiously avoided looking at her, but she was sure she was keeping an eye on her.

  “Oh, Cat, if only you could dial a phone. I think I’m in a mess of trouble here.” Nannie sighed and eased herself down into a prone position on the floor, pressing her hot face against the cool linoleum. She knew she was trembling, and she was disgusted at her weakness. “For heaven’s sake, snap out of it, old woman. The preacher’ll be here in a while, and he’ll see to you.” It frustrated and frightened her that she wasn’t sure if he was really coming that day or not. She flattened herself out on her back and folded her arms under her head for a cushion. The shortness of breath and weakness were just as real, but the dizziness had abated a little. “I’ll just rest here for a minute, and I’ll be fine. I just overdid, cooking in this hot kitchen.” The kitchen wasn’t especially hot, and she was shaking with cold, but she refused to pay attention to that.

  “Maybe I just need to rest a bit. I did scrub the bathroom this morning.” She looked at the cat for reassurance but he had decided that his toilet was finished, and she saw the stub of his tail exiting through the kitty door. “Yes, that’s it; that is it, isn’t it, Lord?” she asked, looking up toward the ceiling. She often talked to God out loud; that was one of the nice things about living alone, not having someone think you’re off your rocker if you think out loud. “I’m not ready to go yet; I feel like you have more work for me to do here, but if you’re ready for me, just let me know. The ladies’ Sunday School class will just have to get along without me.” She chuckled to herself, knowing that the minute she was gone, her best friend and sometime bitterest rival, Carol, would jump into the role of teacher that had been Nannie’s at the Church of the Most High God for thirty-five years. Carol had just been waiting for an opportunity to show Nannie up. “That’s not a very Christian attitude, old woman,” she scolded herself. “Carol will make a fine Sunday School teacher. She has that big, booming voice,” she chuckled. “No one’ll fall asleep in her class, I can tell you.”

  The laughter in her voice died away and she became reflective. She remembered when she’d moved into this old house – it was 1950, and she had just married her husband. She sighed, “Oh, Harv was fine, Lord. He was handsome and kind – kinda quiet, but strong, and he loved me good. Oh, yes, he did.” She remembered holding him in her arms with yearning. “I loved that old man till the day he passed. He was ever’thing to me. He was a good daddy to our children, and a man of faith and constancy.” Nannie felt tears trickle down her face and find their way into her ears. “I’ll be glad to see him if you’re ready for me to, Lord. Let him know I’m coming, will you? He startles kinda easy,” she laughed. The laughter was choked; she felt a little strangled, like she’d sipped hot coffee, and it’d gone down the wrong way.

  The phone on the counter began to ring again. She relaxed a little; if her children were calling, they would know she was in trouble because she hardly ever let her phone ring without answering it. They would come and check on her. It rang and rang and rang; she had never let her children install the answering machine they had argued about with her for years. She didn’t understand how it worked and she always felt it wasn’t polite to make people talk to a box when they wanted to talk to you. So the phone rang on.

  “Well, for heaven’s sake,” she grunted and tried to get up, but her head was swimmy, and she just couldn’t do it. She managed to drag herself back to her chair, but the chair was an old cane-bottomed one she’d had for years, and it was a little wobbly in the joints. “Just like me,” she laughed, and again, her muscles went weak. She was able to get back against the wall, and she began to grow calmer but no less annoyed at the continued ringing of the phone.

  Eventually, the ringing stopped, and she thought, ‘It must have been a sales call. No one I know would let the phone ring that long, even if they thought I was on the commode!’ Then she was glad she couldn’t get to it; she hated sales calls. Southern courtesy demanded that she listen to the spiel they delivered and turn it down politely, and that aggravated her. She hated being forced to speak to people she didn’t know, and she hated even worse not being able to help people. Her children thought she was ridiculous for listening to the telemarketers, and they encouraged her to just hang up on them, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She always thought they might have children to support, and that the least she could do is listen, even if she couldn’t afford to buy anything they were selling.

  The smell of the stack cake tantalized her, and she thought if she could just get up off the floor, maybe she’d have just a smidge of it until the preacher came. There was a pressure in her stomach, and she thought maybe she’d forgotten to eat that day. Since it was a Saturday, the Meals on Wheels didn’t run, and she usually just made herself some instant oatmeal for lunch. Frustrated, she really couldn’t remember. “That’s why I feel so puny. I didn’t eat!”

  The paw reappeared through the cat door, swatting the rubber piece aside and the long ginger body followed the paw. This time the cat sniffed at the few pieces of dry cat food in his dish, ignored the water entirely, and walked calmly over to Nannie, still seated on the floor. He pushed his head against her hip, insisting on a petting. When she didn’t respond, he looked indignantly at her and pushed again, this time against her leg, then turned, flipped his tail so she could see his rosebud, and settled down beside her, purring loudly and grunting with the effort.

  Nannie reached down and stroked his bristly fur. He didn’t shed too bad, but every time she swept the kitchen, it seemed she swept up more ginger-colored fur than anything else. She had considered trying to use the fur for something; may to make a nest for the hummingbirds that frequent the feeder she’d hung for them from a nail on the eave of the house. She’d hung it high enough so the cat couldn’t reach it, and had used fishing line to keep the ants off the sugar-water-filled bowl.

  The phone began to ring again, and Nannie thought she really ought to try to answer it. It was all the way across the kitchen on the far counter, and she wasn’t sure she could get there. She didn’t want to crawl there – it would be terrible if the preacher looked in the back door and saw her dragging her bottom across her kitchen floor – but she was sure she couldn’t get back up again…
at least until she could rest some more. The feeling of fullness in her chest was starting to subside a little, and she thought maybe she could get into a chair and just scoot it across the floor. She knew that would damage the linoleum, and Darcy would give her heck about it, but what was she supposed to do? The phone kept on and on and it was starting to make her head hurt.

  With great effort, much groaning and puffing, she managed to drag herself up into a kitchen chair. Resting, she thought if she could get close enough to the counter, she could maybe scoot the chair close enough to the phone to reach it. She swept some loose grey hairs behind her ears and tried to rise from the chair, leaning on the sink. Her limbs were weak, but she was able to rest on her forearms and elbows enough to reach out to the phone. By the time she had mastered this movement, the cursed thing had stopped ringing. Letting out an aggravated puff of air, she collapsed back into the chair, leaning forward to cool her hot cheek against the stainless steel of the sink.

  She rested there a good while, thinking about what might happen if she were going to meet the Lord. She was fairly certain the children would sell her house, probably before the first clump of dirt had hit the top of her coffin. They had never liked it, said it was too small for visitors – she always chuckled a bit at that – and that they didn’t understand why, if she liked such a small space, she didn’t just move into an assisted living apartment like her friend Carol. The truth was, since her old man had died, Nannie had grown used to being alone, and she liked it. Except for Darcy’s Saturday obligation and the preacher’s visits, she enjoyed the silence of her own company. When she needed someone to talk to, she just conversed with the cat. He was a very good listener.

  A dull ache started in Nannie’s jaw and throat and spread down her arm. She began to be afraid. She knew the symptoms of a heart attack – her own father had died at the table after complaining of indigestion and gas from the greasy pork chops her momma had fixed him for supper. She was afraid – oh, not so much of dying, but of laying here till someone bothered to come check on her. She didn’t want the preacher to be the one to find her. Not in her dusty housedress and flour-covered apron. “Lord,” she croaked out, “Lord, don’t let me go like this. I ain’t in no shape to meet you and my old man.” She knew she was right with her Maker; she’d been washed in the blood of the Lamb most of her life. She just didn’t want to meet him right now. Not with the kitchen a mess, her clothes a mess, and a stack cake that needed to be covered and put in the Frigidaire.

  The phone began to ring again, and this time she felt hope with each ring. She struggled to reach to her left and finally was able to touch, and then move the phone near enough to grasp it in her one good hand. The other had gone strangely cold. She flipped it open and in a near-whisper said, “Yep?”

  “Momma, how many times have I told you it’s rude to answer the phone like that,” Darcy grumbled. “What if it was somebody important calling you? They’d think you were some kind of white trash. Oh, never mind,” she hurried on, “the real reason I called you is ‘cause I can’t carry you to the Piggly Wiggly today. I’ve got a meeting with my ladies from the Junior League, and I clean forgot about it. You can wait till tomorrow to go to the store, can’t you?”

  Nannie took a breath to speak, but managed only a strangled sound.

  “Oh, Momma, for heaven’s sake, it’s only one day,” Darcy groused. “Besides, you know you hate to go anyhow, and you can’t be out of everything already. I’ll be there tomorrow around noon, and we can go then. All right?” Without waiting for a response, Darcy pressed on. “Okay, then, well, I’ll see you tomorrow. I have to go. Bye, momma.” She hung up while Nannie was still trying to marshal her thoughts into a cry for help.

  Nannie dropped the phone and slumped back into the chair. The cat leapt onto the counter and rubbed his muzzle against Nannie’s hand. She petted him absently. She guessed that it wasn’t in the Lord’s plan for her to be able to ask Darcy for help. Likely she’d have thought Nannie was exaggerating anyhow; she paid little attention to her mother’s complaints of ailments. Darcy was of the opinion that human frailties to be should be dealt with as mind over matter, and she had very little patience with what she considered her mother’s weaknesses.

  “Well, Cat,” Nannie said softly, rubbing his velvety-soft ears, “I guess the time has come. I know you won’t understand this, but you been pretty good company for me, and I hate to leave you. You have plenty of food and water, but please don’t mess around my stack cake. I reckon the mourners will want that.” Once again, she laid her cheek on the cool counter and closed her eyes. The pain had subsided a little, but the numbness in her hand and the ache in her jaw were constant.

  *****

  “Miz Miller?” the young, handsomely dressed preacher called through the screen door. “Hello? Miz Miller? Are you there, ma’am?” He glanced at his watch, only an hour till the UFC title bout on Channel 76 – his only guilty pleasure – and he was only making this visit because the old preacher was feeling ill. “Miz Miller?” he called once again, then turned to go. As he stepped down off the porch, he thought, ‘I’m sure as heck not gonna miss my show to visit with some old biddy who doesn’t even like me.’ He climbed back into his dark-blue SUV and drove away.

  Out West A-Ways

  Green Valley was the semi-catchy name for a sort-of semi-catchy little town nestled on a deliciously mossy ledge that ran along a tawny, sun-dried series of hills out west a-ways.

  The citizens of Green Valley liked to swagger just a little - and then just a little more (it must be admitted) - when someone in a car with a license plate from Somewhere Else parked on their Main Street to do an errand and then be on their way.

  The Someone Elses never noticed, ironically, so it seems, that Green Valley was especially green. Moreover, it just so happened that all the open land of the town was always carpeted with the most delectably soft and thick green moss. Darkly rich and springy, it grew with unbridled enthusiasm. And in point of fact, an aerial view revealed a curious symmetry of all the green bits. “Like a Celtic love-knot ring,” the occasional small craft pilot liked to remark to the navigator in the next seat over, during a Sunday flyover, the worthy in the next seat over only smiled in reply as the aircraft continued on.

  All these small ‘burgs’ out west a-ways are the same, these hobby-pilots would agree, so the comment always went unreported. And since a few Someone Else’s had occasion to fly airplanes of any size over Green Valley, it remained a town near enough to civilization to be in its ken but still a bit remote.

  It did happen that most of the Someone Elses who passed through Green Valley noticed that the amiable citizens were a tad bohemian, preferring to walk barefoot whenever the opportunity presented itself. But even then, such visitors were only in town to do a quick errand or two, and soon be on their way again. They had no time to take off their shoes! That ineluctable pleasure belonged to the somewhat absorbed, semi-dreamy citizens of Green Valley.

  From showery April until it was time for the summer sun of necessity to turn its headlight glare full-on in July and August, the natives of Green Valley knew there was simply nothing better in life than a barefoot stroll on the long comforting walkways and pastures of thick green moss. With judicious waterings to assist the object of their civic pride, it was possible for their ubiquitous green moss carpet to thrive throughout the year.

  It was not that the citizens of Green Valley were an unproductive lot. It is merely that they were prone to temporarily halt their industry by stopping here and there to smell a flower, sit on a bench and dream good thoughts, watch an antic butterfly, or even window-shop a competitor’s goods - carrying their shoes in hand all the while.

  A few of the good-natured citizens of Green Valley even liked to hike up to the top of one of the near surrounding hills from time to time and hunker down on the green, living carpet beneath their feet. From such a perch one could comfortably and without jealousy, watch the furtive bustling of othe
r towns along the road leading to and past Green Valley.

  Such review always confirmed their suspicions. Not a one of those cities or towns in Somewhere Else and Beyond possessed such a distinguished green moss carpet like the one that ambled everywhere in Green Valley. No, for those constricted lives in Somewhere Else and Beyond, their streets were all too often paved and hard, their roads a series of dusty streamers marking the hurried passage of all who lived and worked within its confines.

  In the deep of winter, the good citizens of Green Valley understood that the moss they revered and reveled in was always below the cold crystal surface, sleeping peacefully, renewing itself for the thaw that was sure to come. It was left to the Someone Else’s to wonder: Would they ever see anything green again? Spring was so far away.

  Therefore, throughout the famously intense summer months out west a-ways, while the Someone Else’s in their Elsewhere and their Beyonds could never let their busy footsteps be chastened to go more gently because their summer sun was an uncut diamond blazing forth hard and unforgiving, the citizens of Green Valley reverted to their usual habit of work interrupted by barefoot strolling and garden bench daydreaming.

  Of necessity, in the less-visited Green Valley, the silky golden heat of summer flowed down like honey and cradled the hills. The spirit of the lush moss-carpet would release its magic as sprinklers jiggered and danced wetly in the late afternoon. It was left to visitors from Somewhere Else to make do with the rigors of summer in their concrete canyons.