Corinna Turner is a Lay Dominican with an MA in English from Oxford University, and lives in the UK. She has been writing since she was fourteen and likes strong protagonists with plenty of integrity. She used to have a Giant African Land Snail called Peter with a 6½” long shell—which is legal in the UK!—but now makes do with a cactus and a campervan. You can find out more at www.IAmMargaret.com.
Contemporary
2
RECREATION
by Cynthia T. Toney
The old lady’s house was the eyesore of the neighborhood. That was saying a lot, considering it stood surrounded by others with paint peeling in scales and lawns littered with trash. One of the oldest neighborhoods in our south Louisiana town, it was home to my friend Darrell and me.
Tight friends through middle and high school, we wore out countless pairs of athletic shoes walking those scalding streets, mostly to and from the community recreation center in summertime. First morning of freedom after graduation, we headed to the rec center again like we did every summer.
“Elijah. There she is,” Darrell whispered over my head, poking me in the ribs with the sharpest elbow I’d ever known. “Everybody says she’s crazy.”
I glanced at the white-haired woman sitting in a hard chair on the front porch. “So this is why we came this way instead of our usual? To see an old lady? And she doesn’t look crazy to me. Just old.” I stole a second glance. Her dark eyes met mine, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she continued to watch me as Darrell and I strolled past.
Darrell snorted. “She never says anything. Just stares at you.” He bugged out his eyes to mock her. “Even if you speak or nod your head.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s crazy.” I flexed my fingers. Her skin color was lighter than mine, although my arms and legs had been darkened to brown by the sun. We had similar high cheekbones and eye shape. Could she be half Vietnamese like me?
“I wonder if she has any money stashed away in that shack,” Darrell said under his breath.
I shot him a look. “Don’t even think about it.” I added seriousness to my warning by jutting my bottom teeth.
At the rec, Darrell and I stripped down to our swim trunks. Each summer, the pool not only kept us cool but also kept Darrell and me out of the kind of trouble some of our former friends had fallen into. I kept an eye on Darrell anyway. He had only his mom and younger brother at home and didn’t go to church anywhere. I’d invited him to St. Matthew’s a few times and for dinner with my family afterward. He’d accepted twice but probably to feed his stomach, not his spirit.
On our way back home, Darrell insisted we pass the old lady’s house again. He was certain she’d do something crazy to prove him right.
She’d vacated the porch, so I scrutinized her house and yard for signs of crazy. Green mold covered the white painted siding several feet off the ground behind scraggly bushes and tall weeds that reached her darkened windows. A rusted mailbox sat crooked on top of a post that looked as if the next storm might blow it down. No trash lay in her yard like at the houses on either side, though.
A shiver ran through me, and I jerked my eyes toward the nearest window. She could’ve been standing in the dark at one of her windows watching me survey her property. She’d think we were out to rob her for sure.
I squinted but couldn’t see beyond the grime covering the windowpanes. Poor old lady. If I had to look out at the world through that grime every day, I’d be awfully sad. But alone, how could she clean windows and do all the other chores around her house? Mom and Dad, I won’t let it be like that for you when you get old.
In the evening after dinner, I propped up in bed to read from my Bible. It had been a while, with exams and graduation and all keeping me busy the past few weeks. I flipped through the New Testament and came across verse 6:2 in Galatians. “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”
My heart raced as if the apostle Paul had spoken directly to me. I raised my head. What kind of burden did he mean? Were helping my parents and keeping Darrell out of trouble all the good for others Jesus intended for me to do? The old lady’s image on her neglected porch flitted across my mind. For the first time, I wanted to ease a stranger’s burden.
The next morning, I phoned Darrell and woke him up. “Mind if I meet you at the pool? I have some chores to do first.” Not a lie.
Darrell grumbled but said okay.
I set out on foot an hour and a half early. Knowing Darrell, he’d take the shortcut instead of using the path by the old lady’s house since I wasn’t with him, but I wanted to allow plenty of time in case he didn’t. He wouldn’t understand what I needed to do or why.
I slowed my pace as I neared her house. She sat on her hard chair on the porch, gazing at the sky. Instead of stopping on the street to speak to her, I stepped to the sidewalk and placed both hands on her chain-link gate. It rattled and drew her attention toward me.
My mind stumbled, and I babbled, “Um, hi, ma’am. Excuse me. I, um . . .” Why hadn’t I planned what to say?
She glared at me a few seconds, and then a sort of recognition lit her face. Like she finally noticed what I had noticed before.
Maybe she did have the same racial mix as me! I cracked a little smile.
“Have I seen you at church?” She leaned forward and squinted.
I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. “Um, I don’t know.” I swallowed. “Saint Matthew’s?”
She nodded. “Want some iced tea?” she asked in a small voice.
Her invitation startled me speechless, which was probably better than my brilliant attempts at conversation.
After a second, I found my voice again. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Come in.” She waved me forward.
“Thanks.” I unlatched the gate and trotted up the short walk to her steps.
She pushed against the chair’s arms as she rose from it. Smoothing her baggy grey t-shirt over black pants, she said, “I suppose you’re not planning to rob me.”
My face warmed, and I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”
“That’s good, because I don’t keep money in the house.”
“I don’t blame you.”
She turned her back on me, and we entered through an old wood front door that didn’t hang straight on its hinges. The hinge at the top needed tightening.
“I could fix that door for you.” When she turned her head to look, I pointed to the faulty hinge.
“That would be nice.” A smile spread across her face for the first time, and she waddled into the kitchen.
Clean but faded and scratched furniture surrounded me in the living room. Should I sit? Without knowing what she expected of me, I waited standing up, taking in statues of saints and the Blessed Mother on tabletops and shelves. I was staring at a huge ornate crucifix on the wall when she returned with the tea.
I accepted one of two glasses in her outstretched hands.
She nodded at a sagging plaid sofa, and I gently sat down on one end of it. It creaked. I took a sip of tea and hoped the sofa would hold.
“Where’s your friend?” She chose a nearby matching chair.
“You mean Darrell? I’m meeting him at the pool.” Although it wasn’t necessary, I added, “At the recreation center.” That was dumb. She would’ve known about the only public pool in town.
She raised her eyebrows, wrinkles erupting on her forehead. “Do you enjoy swimming? It’s a wonderful sport.”
I nodded as I swallowed more tea. “It’s a good thing in the summer. I try to swim in the mornings before I go to work at the hardware store. I just graduated from high school.”
“What will you do after the summer?” She sipped her tea.
“Community college. In two years, I plan to go to a university if my grades are good enough.” Why was I sharing this personal stuff with her?
“What will you study?” She set her glass on the table next to her chair, as if to better concentrate on our conversat
ion.
“Right now I think maybe architecture or construction engineering.” I’d made a footstool for Mom out of scrap wood the hardware store provided.
She laughed, a light and musical sound. “You can start with my front door.”
So I started with the front door. Then I moved on to cabinet doors and loose knobs and drawer handles. Then wobbly closet shelves.
It became a regular thing over the next few weeks, my helping Miss Vivian. It was our little secret, although each time I asked myself why it should be. Was I embarrassed for Darrell to know I was doing something nice for a stranger?
For yard work, I arrived two hours before I was supposed to meet Darrell at the pool, so I could shower at Miss Vivian’s and change clothes. She helped keep my secret by washing my dirty yard clothes to use the next time. Soon her yard was free of weeds, the grass cut, and the shrubbery trimmed.
I didn’t complain about being tired. I accepted the sandwiches and gallons of iced tea she served. And the cake. I came pretty close to asking Miss Vivian for an extra piece to take to Darrell, but then I’d have to tell him about her.
On the phone, Darrell got too curious about why I had so many chores to do each day before meeting him to swim.
“Are you punished? Come on. Fess up. What’d ya do?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine. I’ll walk with you today.”
We took the route past Miss Vivian’s house without discussing it in advance, as though we’d always gone that way.
Darrell stopped short in front of her house and stared. “Look at that. Somebody finally cleaned up that lady’s yard and cut the grass.”
“Sometimes all it takes is somebody who’s willing to help—” I snapped my mouth shut before her name slipped out.
He smirked and kept walking.
“Darrell, what’ll you do when summer’s over?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Keep working at the Burger Palace? I’m not interested in community college. I wouldn’t even know what to study.”
I’d learned that the usual reason for Darrell not wanting to do something with me that cost money was his lack of cash. “If it’s money you’re worried about, it’s easy to get a grant based on your family income.”
He squinted into the distance and shrugged again. His mom couldn’t have been earning enough money on her own to pay for his education, but maybe I’d hurt his feelings.
“What do you like to do—something you could get a certificate or degree for in a year or two—that would get you a good job when you finished?”
He scrunched his lips and shook his head. “It’s dumb.”
“Come on,” I said softly. “What is it?”
He sighed. “I’d like to build cars.”
All these years I’d known him, and he’d never told me that. “So, why don’t you study welding or something in technical school? I could help you apply for financial aid like I got.”
He finally looked me in the eye and nodded. “Okay. Are you still starting college in August like you said?”
“Yeah.”
He grinned. “Look at us. Next thing you know, we’ll be dating college girls. Maybe I’ll see how much that old lady pays to get her yard done, so I can get fitted up real nice.”
“Maybe you oughta build some muscle first by doing your own yard.”
He swiped my head with his open palm. Only I wasn’t kidding.
Bleach and water and a scrub brush got the mold off the sides of Miss Vivian’s house. I cleaned the windows inside and out until they sparkled in the sunlight. The exterior of the house could use a paint job, but how would I keep house painting a secret from Darrell?
“I’d like to paint your house, Miss Vivian, but I’d need to hire a helper.”
Her eyes brightened. “I can pay a helper.”
That evening, I called Darrell to come over. He was in for a surprise.
In my room, Darrell squinted at the mention of my plan. “How much is she gonna pay us?”
“She’s gonna pay you. I’m doing it as a favor.”
He took a long step back, crashing into my desk chair. “What? Are you crazy?”
“You use that word a lot. And no, I just want to be nice. She’s got nobody to help her, and it doesn’t look like she can afford to hire somebody to do everything she can’t do herself.”
“Wait a minute.” He held up his hands, palms outward.
I clenched my teeth.
“Have you been doing all that stuff around her house? The yard work and all that?”
“Yes.”
“For nothin’?” His jaw hung open.
I nodded and held my breath for Darrell’s reaction.
“Sucker!”
I breathed again and held my head high. “It’s called being generous.”
Darrell sighed and glanced at me sideways. “Look, you’re my friend, and I’ll help you—help her—for nothing.”
“Seriously?” A slow grin spread across my face.
“I can’t let you make me look bad.”
So it was Darrell who surprised me the most, instead of the other way around.
After we finished painting the exterior of the house and I accomplished more inside, Miss Vivian asked for less labor. When I thought about it, she hadn’t actually asked for much to start with. Most of the projects had been my idea.
“I thought maybe we could do something different today.” She held two fists in front of her, palms down.
I grinned. “Whatcha got there, Miss Vivian?”
She turned her wrists and uncurled her fingers, presenting rosary beads in each hand.
“Oh.” I attended Mass as much as any Catholic teenage boy, but praying the rosary? That was for girls. Mom had long ago stopped trying to get me to pray the rosary with her at bedtime.
Miss Vivian handed me one of the rosaries, a brown one made of wooden beads. “This was my brother’s.”
I sighed. She looked like she had her heart set on praying together. “Okay. Where do we do this?”
“We should face the crucifix on that wall. Let’s kneel in front of the sofa.” She groaned as she lowered herself to her knees, using the sofa seat for support.
I got down on one knee and then the other.
“Besides praying for peace as Our Lady of Fatima asked us, what would you like to pray for?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. “That Darrell stays out of trouble, and I get a college degree.” But I had many things that needed praying about. What about my parents? I was so lucky to have them, and I should thank God each and every day for them. But it had been a long time—years—since I’d prayed daily. Did God send me to Miss Vivian to help her, or the other way around?
“Those are good intentions.” She patted my arm. “I’m praying for guidance in making an important decision.”
“Okay.” Sounded like she had a secret, too. What could Miss Vivian have on her mind?
“Let’s begin. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
So we prayed, “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, . . .” And we prayed at least twice a week for the rest of the month.
One morning, I arrived at Miss Vivian’s freshly painted red door with my dad’s old digital camera. I wanted my parents to see what I’d accomplished, and wouldn’t Miss Vivian enjoy getting her picture taken with an actual camera? I’d have prints made for her to keep, with her posed in every room we’d fixed up—and outside, too. If only I’d thought to take some “before” photos.
All was quiet at the house. Usually I didn’t even need to knock on the door. She’d open it as soon as I stepped up, like she’d been watching for me. I peered through one of the windows where the curtains were parted. She wasn’t there.
Well, she had the right to go on an errand or something without telling me first, didn’t she? Maybe it had something to do with the big decision she had to make.
I’d catch her next time. It would be nice to get to the pool early, anyway.
But she wasn’t home the next time either. A week went by, and my summer break was near an end. I’d have to start classes soon. Maybe I’d check with one of her neighbors. Someone was bound to know where she was and when she was coming back. I knocked on a few doors but got no response.
The following day I noticed a sign in her yard, three houses in advance of getting there. “For Sale,” it read, with a real estate company logo, an agent name, and a phone number on it. I knocked on the door of a neighbor whose car was parked in the driveway.
“Do you know where Miss Vivian is and if she’s all right?” I pointed to her house.
The young mother holding a baby on her hip frowned. “I’m sorry, but that lady passed away.”
My heart felt loose, like it did the first time I jumped into the deep end of the pool. I took a backward step away from the neighbor’s door. “Thank you,” I mumbled, my voice shaking.
My heart sank into place like a rock, aching in my chest. How could she be dead? She never talked about being sick. Never complained. Why hadn’t I asked about her health? She must’ve been old enough to be my grandma. I stomped and kicked the dirt in the neighbor’s scrappy yard.
I walked to the rec center numb on the outside and sick in my gut. Miss Vivian had sneaked into my heart and become special to me, and I didn’t even get to tell her goodbye.
Darrell was already swimming when I arrived at the pool. He got out and met me on the side. “Man, what’s wrong? You look like you lost your best friend, and I know that can’t be right.” He grinned and wiped water from his eyes with his fingers.
“Miss Vivian died,” I blurted. I swallowed, fighting tears. I’d never cried in front of Darrell and wasn’t about to start at eighteen.
His mouth dropped open. “Oh, wow, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, unable to speak for fear of sobbing.
Secrets Page 4