Merrily In Tragedy: Book One (Merrily We Live 1)

by Emalea Dickerson

  I would complain to my landlord but he is never home. The house and grounds are taken care of some nameless people he hired who I almost never see. I get a discount on rent for watching the property while he is away.

  Being as far away as possible is my landlord’s only staying power. I have never met him in person everything in regards to his ‘employees’ is handled by the town’s only law office which doubled as the town’s only salon. I’ve lived in this apartment since shortly after I came to town. It was the only place I could find, or afford. I didn’t really look at many other places…any actually. I was getting the one thing I really needed…privacy.

  *

  I had been staying at the VA which made me feel bad…I wasn’t a veteran of anything…I was barely even a person most days... it was the only place I could afford. I had a room to myself and in this town the VA was a combination of clinic and YMCA. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but it beat living out of my car like a ‘gypsy vagrant’ which… I was told… a bad thing.

  I tried to make myself useful when I was there. Making beds, scrubbing toilets, and even occasionally helping with meals. I side stepped the inevitable questions about myself by implying I was taking a year off of school and ran out of funds.

  One of the countless old men who hung around the downtown area asked if I was looking for a place to live. He was being friendly and just a little bit nosey. But I knew he didn’t mean anything by it.

  I discreetly brought up a limitation in funds. It was an embarrassment to admit that I couldn’t take care of myself. To be fair I was pretty consistently bad about caring about anything.

  Surprisingly…I was directed to a restaurant that was newly opened and currently hiring. He acted if my lack of employment was only a short setback. I politely listened to the old guy chatter on.

  I had gotten a long story, how ‘a cousin’s brothers something or another had a place just outside of town and was looking to rent’. He even wrote down the contact information taking a worn leather notebook from his shirt pocket. He printed out the directions in a neat tight hand.

  I was also told upon parting that it was refreshing to see a pretty lady in town. It wasn’t creepy at all…which was creepy in its own way. I was relieved that old men didn’t give me panic attacks during casual conversation anymore.

  This town seemed to be governed by old men who sought out old businesses. They often expressed their desires to escape their mysterious and tyrannical wives. I saw very few young people anywhere along the Main Streets. Not anyone even close to my age…not young…but not old either.

  I was grateful for the respite from my generation. I was grateful for the kindness of these ‘old men’ who chatted at me without the need for me to contribute to a conversation. They respected my privacy. They never asked me any real questions about myself. They always seemed to somehow know exactly what I needed…even before I did.

  I learned the hard way that if something was ‘just outside of town’ it was at least twenty miles. Twenty miles of undeveloped land… broken up by the occasional pasture. Wherever this great rental was I wouldn’t have neighbors.

  I glance down at the piece of paper in my lap rereading the directions as the road winds past more pastures and spots of overgrown wooded areas. It seems like this place is awfully far away from the beaten path. In such a tiny town that told me a lot.

  The roof of the stone house came into view first. It seemed to be tiled and perfectly maintained. The house itself looked like an old mansion built out of the limestone that was found in a lot of ‘historical’ buildings around here. Nestled in the corner of a generous yard was a tall garage built out of the same stone. It looked quiet and empty.

  I pulled my car up to the garage and got out. The sound of the car door closing echoed across the yard and several birds took flight. The air was clean smelling of healthy green growing things. It was cooler in the shade of the garage.

  I could hear the beating of my own heart in the stillness. I looked at the woody forest growing around the perfect lawn. The forest looked back. It was comforting…welcoming me here. This place…was simply perfect. Standing next to what would be my apartment…I felt…for the first time…safe.

  *

  I took as much time as I could before the kettles hissing lets me know it was time to get out. Drying down quickly I killed the heat on the kettle and I bent down to snag my clothing from under the sink. There isn’t enough room for a dresser so I use the space I have. My wet towel went flying into the basket as I ripped open a packet of Earl Gray with my teeth and dropped it into a mug. The water is perfectly hot and I leave the tea seeping as I get dressed.

  Jeans and a work shirt are pretty much all I own and I top it off with an oversized black faded hoodie. The hoodie is a XXXL and I picked it up in town from the VA. I don’t really care that it is a tent as long as it is comfy. The only attention I pay to my clothing is that it fits as well as expected…it covers my less than desirable scars…and that the clothing is clean without too many stains or holes. Time for me to get motivated and start my day, I really don’t want to start my day.

  Slipping socked feet into slightly damp work boots isn’t the best feeling in the world. It’s early and I want to enjoy the only real benefit I have from living a ways from town. I grab my tea gingerly from the counter and head outside.

  The deck is bigger than my apartment and it is where I spend most of my time when I am not sleeping or working. As a bonus I have an upper and lower deck. Potted plants line the entire railing most are starting to shrivel in the cold. There must be over thirty plants now. I would have to wrap most of them before the real cold came.

  Not a single pot contained something useful…they were mostly flowers and things with pretty leaves. I had wanted to make something lovely grow. I had resisted the urge to plant something practical in my second hand pots. I had wanted the plants for myself…to enjoy alone.

  A green porch swing and its frame run alongside the upper wall of the garage. The green fabric rain cover slightly battered. I had fished the swing out of a dumpster. Most of what I own is used or has seen better days. I head down the wooden stairs to the bottom deck.

  It isn’t even a true winter yet and the temperature keeps shifting… typical Missouri weather. The locals have a saying…

  “If you don’t like the weather…just wait a day...”

  There is more space on the ground floor with plenty of room for a card table with a rickety wooden bench that served as chairs.

  I have a charcoal grill at the end of the deck and I used it as often as possible. No time this morning to light it up and enjoy the outdoors. More potted plants take up the rest of the deck space. I don’t do pets so I plant. I don’t ever want to be responsible for another living breathing thing again.

  *

  I woke to the sound of construction outside my apartment. Dressing quickly in my typical jeans and a tee shirt, I decided to see for myself what was happening. I had wished I had a little notice that there were going to be workers here early. I never had notice before…but there is always a first time.

  After getting in late I tried to sleep as much as possible before repeating my usual schedule. I walked over towards the ruckus to look at what was happening. It was the least I could do…keeping an eye on the place didn’t really require me to do anything.

  There was a dump truck pouring gravel along the driveway. A large haul-away was parked to one side of the house. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before now. The set-up would have been loud. One of the grounds-people was pitching old gardening ‘junk’ from the back of the house.

  There looked to be a small mountain of stuff piled haphazardly across the lawn. I wondered when it had all been dragged out of the house. I hadn’t heard any noise or notice any of it when I had gotten back from work last night.

  Large ceramic and glass pots were being hurled into the bin shattering like a gunshot in the morning air. The guy doing the work seemed to have re
al enthusiasm… smashing the pots one at a time.

  He was getting a lot of momentum when he swung them down to their end.

  I noticed that there were lots of empty pots lined up behind him…waiting to be destroyed. Most appeared broken or cracked but were still lovely. I thought it was a waste to throw them away. They were an eye catching multitude of colors. The patterns looked so unique each one different.

  It hurt my heart to see them shattered. They only needed attention. I knew I could fix some of those cracks and the damage didn’t appear that bad. They just needed…someone to want them.

  “Can I take those pots?” I called to the worker pointing wildly at the remaining stacks.

  He halted mid-smash and took a good look at me. He must have decided that I belonged here. Who would want to be in the middle of nowhere first thing in the morning? Establishing that I belonged in the middle of his domain he gave me a long look over.

  There were at least fifty pots that still needed to be thrown out and he gave me a satisfied smile. This was his lucky day and he was going to be saved some hard work. He must have spotted the sucker in me.

  “If ya haul them yourself an pitch the rest ya can” He said politely enough.

  He threw the last pot he held into the bin. It was lovely with little blue birds painted all over it and I winced when it broke. I walked over and hefted a heavy gray pot with lovely greenish butterflies painted along its borders. It was awkward to carry and it hurt my back to lift. It didn’t occur to me to ask for help.

  I carried it back to my apartment with a small smile on my face… I wanted to save them all. I had wanted…I had wanted…someone to love the broken things.

  *

  Setting down the mug of tea I reach behind the bench where I stash my bird seed. Flinging a few handfuls out onto the lawn I sit and simply soak up the view. This time of day there is a heavy chill in the air and my wet hair steams. The birds are used to my presence by now and they swoop down to enjoy their free meal.

  I can hear the faint whispers of other critters waiting for me to leave along the trees edge. I never saw anything directly… but ‘they’ must be out there in the shadows of the trees. I could hear them moving around softly with the occasional whip of a tree branch and rustle of low hanging branches.

  Sometimes at night I could spot golden eyes reflected in my headlights when I came home. There was only ever one set and a lone animal in the woods wouldn’t spook me. I never looked for it…I didn’t know the first thing about tracking. I was content in my silent acknowledgements.

  I don’t begrudge the wildlife its hesitation, I hesitate with me too. It is so quiet and I take the time to drink my tea saluting the woods occupant with an up raised glass. I listen to the movement of the trees and chirps of the birds… catching my breath… before heading back out into the world. Not for the first time… I think I am crazy.

  *

  I don’t know how long I stayed on the outcrop…long enough that I was spent inside and out. It didn’t feel that I had endured enough… that I was soaked and frozen from chills…It just wasn’t enough.

  I could hear humming echoing across the walls and dripping waters. I had a weight across my chest and blinking saw feathers. Spotted gently like the top of a white fawn they were lovely. I tentatively touched one. The grime from my hands stained the perfection. I pulled myself…even farther into my mind…into the crazy.

  The feathers softly covered me… keeping me safe and the humming continued...increasing in intensity. When the feathers pulled back I saw something…large and bright…blinking twin orbs of gold.

  I thought that perhaps it finally happened. I had finally gone mad with grief and loneliness. I had acceptance in my heart that I must have succeeded. I was finally finished with surviving.

  The wings beckoned me to follow and lead me out… in a dazed state...I followed. I was dizzy and pained from small wounds that were intentionally inflicted with my carelessness. When the night air hit my face at the exit I began to cough roughly. I had been choking for too long. I had been shell shocked for too long. I had…just tried to end…me.

  It was stupidity to have gone alone at night. I would have died in there and never been found. I hadn’t been trying to live…I had just been looking for a better way to die. It took a long time for me to pull myself together enough…to go home.

  I thought when I had gotten out that it had been a hallucination…from the lack of air. The exhaustion from climbing for hours… I knew it wasn’t. I knew as I tried so hard to just ….get it all together…and go home.

  I knew that I had seen something. I tried so hard to work it all out. I shook with shock and the realization that I didn’t want to die anymore. That something didn’t want that end to come for me either.

  I knew that I had seen something. I knew that something had kept me safe and lead me out. I knew that something watched out for me. I knew that something cared enough to find me. As the sun began to rise I knew that I was going to just take some time to accept...that something had kept me safe.

  There were hoof prints circling me when I finally could breathe. I had held together long enough to figure out how to work my arms and legs. I stood up gingerly and in pain from sore muscles and old wounds. I stared down at the prints on the ground. I would have to be an idiot not to recognize a hoof print. Who doesn’t know what a horse shoe looks like?

  I did the only thing I could do at that point. I went back to my apartment…I knew that I was crazy and I accepted it. Maybe this was what crazy was…just calm acceptance. Filthy I sat on my bed and called work…My boss was furious I had been missing for three days.

  *

  Driving to the main road early in the morning is always interesting. At least it hasn’t snowed yet. Not that I mind the snow… I just don’t like driving in it. The gravel beats against my car and I don’t care. A few more dents and dings aren’t going to depreciate the value of my mode of transportation. Its best days were back in the 80’s and the fact that it is running on a hope, prayer, and regular oil changes is all my knowledge of cars in general.

  It takes me twenty minutes to get to the Diner once I hit a paved road and I pull in just when my heater kicks on. I switch heaters vents to blow on my feet. There is really nothing worse than soggy boots. Just when my toes are getting unbearably hot I pull my wallet from the glove box and get out of the car. I never carry a purse.

  The parking lot is mostly empty as I head over to the back door entrance. The Diner’s building is gray in the morning light but by noon it will blind drivers. It is covered in some shiny metal and a lot bigger than it looks.

  The back door is solid steel and off white with a little peephole. I bang my fist on it hard enough to sting. Just three good solid whacks and a step back so I wouldn’t get smacked by the door. There used to be a buzzer, I was told at one time, but it has been broken for years. It had infuriated the previous owner when people used it so he never had it replaced. The new owner didn’t care.

  “Who’s it?” A muffled voice called out.

  It is a testament to the door that you can never really know who is saying what. That is part of the reason why the door swung open immediately after the question.

  “You really need to check the peephole before opening the door.” I said.

  Nodding at the sometimes cook, sometimes busboy, part-time front of the house manager as I enter the building. Calling Jacob a busboy is a kindness he was in his mid or late 50’s but wiry and quick. Calling him a manager will get a scowl and the worst job in the restaurant…scrubbing toilets. His hazel eyes were crinkled with smile lines. His body said that he was used to hard labor and he was as much my friend as anyone could be.

  “Ah did check it. An since I didn see a head Ah knew it was ya… Lee.” He said pausing at my name like most people do when you live in Noel, Missouri. I think I was the only Lee in town that was a girl. “Besides… ya the only one wo’d be ere early like… the sched’ say.” Jacob crossed his arm
s defensively under his chest, “Ya ain’t my boss by na way” he finished.

  It made me laugh…the indignation in his voice. I really liked and appreciated Jacob. He downplayed how smart he was as often as he could. People underestimate him but he is a kind man…deep down under the bristles. As if anyone would ever dare to boss Jacob. Not even Isaac did that and he was basically a ‘god’. At least in his own business he was.

  “True that” I said moving past him into the back of the kitchen.

  It was bitter cold in here until the grills and boilers got fired up. It was even colder in the kitchen than it was outside. This was fantastic in the summer… but today it was almost frosty.

  “Then again I try to respectfully correct my elders. You know that Isaac would fire you if he caught you opening the back door without making sure first” I said.

  I pulled my hoodie over my head and hung it on the hook next to the back door, slipping my wallet in my back pocket. It was easy to respect my ‘elders’ most of them just talked at me without ever saying anything.

  “Huh” he snorted walking away. “Make som coff” He said.

  “Yep” I said.

  Tying on my apron I headed past the kitchen to the server station. I clocked in and got the big pots going. Everyone will be a lot happier if I made the coffee. It never occurred to me that Jacob was capable of doing it himself.

  I just did it out of reflex and self preservation. Jacob’s coffee could choke a goat. I enjoyed making Jacob’s day a little easier…though after years of working with him I didn’t know anything real about his life.

  People really started rolling in at quarter till eight. I’d been working for more than an hour and didn’t notice the time. At least I didn’t have to unload trucks today. No deliveries were scheduled and if I had to lug boxes all morning there is no way I would make it through my shift.