Words Just So

2010-06-23T09:04:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 15)

“I hope the lock doesn’t give us any trouble.” Richard said.

Marta stood behind Richard. Rebel stood behind Marta.

Richard inserted the key and opened the door. “And the A/C’s…we’ll need to clean all of the filters before we turn them on.”

Marta hinged the screen door open. Rebel followed Richard inside.

“I’ll start bringing things from the car.” Marta yelled over her shoulder while skipping down the steps.

Rebel followed Richard down the hall to the back of the house.

The air was musty, but nothing some open windows couldn’t fix. Everything was just as they had left it. Clean, but slightly dusty from neglect.

“Thirsty, girl?”

Richard spotted Rebel’s water bowl strewn in a corner just inside the kitchen entrance. He picked it up, rinsed it, filled it, and set it back down.

“Here you go.” Richard set the bowl back into the corner. Rebel lapped at the water with hesitation.

Richard cleared his throat. Let’s get some of these windows open, he said to himself.

Marta set the last of the bags inside the front door and pulled the screen door closed. Quietly she surveyed things.

Nothing’s changed, she thought.

“Just a layer of dust, but everything seems to be just as we left it.” She said to Richard as he brushed by her. A deliberate brush, she noted.

“I’m opening all of the windows.” He said while pushing the curtains off to the side and pulling the chord to the blinds.

“Are the sills a mess?” Marta asked. Her eyes transfixed on the empty wall of shelves flanking the other end of the room.

“They are a mess. Dead bugs. Dust. These little details are going to take us days to clean up.” He said agitated.

“Don’t get agitated. I’ll take care of the inside if you take care of the outside.” She said.

“I’m not agitated…I’m just…I’m just a little agitated.” He said smiling.

“We’re not going anywhere for a while. Let’s not overwhelm ourselves so soon. I’d like to relax. I know you’d like to relax.” She said with her left brow arched and her lips pursed slyly.

Richard walked up to Marta and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Hungry?”

“Very. What time is it.” She asked.

“It’s almost 11:30. I’d say walk, but let’s take the car. Grab a bite and then pick up some food and wine and whatever else we’re going to need.” He said.

“Should we take Rebel?” She asked.

“I guess we should. Just for today. Until she’s used to the house again.” He said.

“You don’t think she’d be fine if we left her chained up out back? It’s shaded and it’s not too hot today. I mean, you don’t think she’d bark the entire time, do you?” Marta buried her head into Richard’s chest.

“Let’s see.” He said.

Richard scooped up Marta’s chin and gave her a lingering kiss.

Richard pulled his lips away and sighed. “Rebel. Come on…Let’s go!”

Rebel ran into the hall and looked for Richard.

“Come on, girl.” He said.

Rebel followed Richard out the back door.

Marta walked down the hall, poking her head into the kitchen. She leaned inside the back door. Richard had the chain hooked up to Rebel. She lay under the large shade tree, her head on her front paws.

“I think she’ll be fine. Can you bring out the water bowl?” He said.

Marta retrieved the bowl and brought it outside.

“Yeah, she’ll be fine.” She said.

“She knows where she is.” Richard said while taking his wife by the hand and leading her back inside.

Marta closed the screen and Richard locked the back door.

“We’ll have dinner outside tonight. I’ll clean things up out back while you get things settled in the kitchen.” He said.

“I like that idea.” She said.

“Did you get everything out of the car?” Richard asked while peaking his head inside the bedroom doors.

“Everything okay? Yes. I. Everything’s inside.” Marta said anxiously.

Richard left their bedroom door open, but closed what used to be Hanna’s.

“Rooms are fine. Both are empty. Both. Let’s go get some lunch.” Richard said smiling.

Marta ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back. She stood not breathing for a second, released her hair and exhaled. “Let’s go.”

2010-06-21T12:49:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 14)

Richard knocked and wait.

Not what I imagined at all, he thought.

The hum and buzz from the air conditioners only exacerbated the haze, heat and humidity that the mid afternoon sun had brought.

Richard looked at his watch. Sweat glistened on his forearms which were turning pinker by the minute. He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket, but there was no signal. Too many trees, he thought.

“Shit.” He said.

…

Marta lay curled in the center of the bed. A catnap had turned into full REM sleep.

…

Richard pulled the books from his car and stacked them on the porch next to the front door. He’d leave a note.

M—

I knocked and waited, knocked and waited…

Where? Are? You?

Driving now to find a signal for my phone. Not too far though.

Hope this note finds you soon…

—R

…

Marta ran back inside to retrieve her phone. No signal.

“Shit!” She said.

She would have to walk the few blocks up to the main street and hope for a signal.

I’m such a fucking idiot, she thought, but Marta couldn’t help but smile at the turn of events. Things like this ALWAYS seemed to happen. Richard would have to get used to it.

Marta’s phone buzzed.

Incoming
Richard Lemon

“Richard?”

“Marta?”

“Hi! I’m so sorry—“

“Are you home now?”

“I was home—I didn’t hear the door. I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m walking towards the boardwalk.”

“When you get there, stay put! I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Okay.”

“Okay—bye.”

The phone clicked. Marta stood dead center in the middle of the boardwalk, facing the ocean. She hoped that Richard would see her standing there, trapped inside the sea of moving people. She closed her eyes, hoping more that it would drown out the drone of chaos and noise. Eventually she heard only the seagulls and the waves.

Richard took Marta by the hand.

2010-05-11T18:31:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 13)

That first summer at the house together was the most brilliant of all.

Marta swept the front porch and wiped down the Adirondack chairs. Their paint a washed out and peeling slate gray. She brought out cushions, one for each seat. Both sewn by hand, by her, using fabric she had found in the old chest that sat at the foot of her grandmother’s sleigh bed. Now her sleigh bed. She had stuck her fingers no less than three times, drawing blood. Swearing and wincing, but happy.

A wicker table with glass top that her grandfather had won for $2 at auction stood regal with glass top between the two chairs. On top, a white embroidered hankerchief, another relic of her grandmothers, lay beneath a large glass vase, spilling over with blue and green hydrangea from the back yard.

All that was left, a good polishing of the front windows and a wipe down of the front door while she waited for delivery of the new mattress set.

Richard was on his way. A two hour drive that seemed to last forever. A promise he was looking forward to. A pile of books in the passenger seat, a stuffed duffle bag in the back. Sunblock from a convenience store purchased along the way. He looked in the rearview mirror and grinned. He had just passed the last mile marker sign for Rehoboth beach.

A delivery truck eased up to the curb in front of the house. Marta burst out the door, wedging it open with an old brick salvaged from who knows where or when. Just another quirky prop dignified by her grandfather. It had a permanent place inside the front door, nestled in the corner.

The driver yelled to his helper at the back of the truck. Marta gestured using a nod of the head that they were in fact at the correct address. The helper flung open the back door to the truck, jumped inside, and slid both mattresses to the edge. The driver grabbed and pulled the set while the helper jumped out. They both charged up the front steps following behind Marta.

They pulled the old mattress from the bed, discarded the plastic from the new set and plopped them haphazardly into place.

The helper lifted the old mattress and charged back out the front door. The driver handed Marta a paper to sign while he grabbed the packaging plastic.

He nodded and took exit. Marta followed, said thank you, and waved goodbye.

They had come just in time. Richard would be there any minute.

Marta went back inside, putting the brick back into place, locking the front door behind her. She turned all of the air conditioning units on in the house and ran into the bedroom to make the bed.

New sheets. A light blue fitted and top. Four new firm pillows. The quilt her grandmother had made for Marta’s 25th birthday. An additional throw draped over the end of the sleigh bed, just in case. It was always cold at night with the air conditioning cranking against the shore humidity.

Marta took one final look around the room. Everything was in place. The furniture polished. New curtains hung. Another vase of hydrangea on the dresser.

The air conditioner sprung into another cycle. Stuttering at full force. She almost didn’t here the knocking at the front door.

2010-04-26T07:34:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 12)

“I can bring those up front for you.” Richard said.

Marta looked towards the front of the bookstore and then back at Richard who stood smiling, hands extended ready to retrieve the books. He was curious looking, his blue jeans were battered and splattered with paint front and back. His t-shirt, a white v-neck, splattered as well. His shoes, black Chuck Taylor high-tops, worn to the thread. He had dark hair, cut short and wind blown. What looked like two days without a shave contrast against his pale skin. There were tiny flecks of paint on the rim of his glasses.

“Okay.” Marta said quizzically.

Richard smiled, took the books and walked backward a step or two before spinning around on his heel. He smiled to himself. Marta bent over to inspect yet another book spine, pushing her dirty-blonde locks behind her ears. A thin green scarf twisted in a deliberate fashion around her neck dangled in front of her, she flicked it back over her shoulder and folded her arms. Peering back, she caught Richard's gaze momentarily. Feeling shy she looked away quickly, appearing to brush some lint from the shoulder of her dark gray tee. She stood up and slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Her gaze now locked on what was in front of her on the shelf, though her mind was elsewhere.

“These belong to the beautiful young woman over…down there.” Richard said to the man at the register quite loudly. He was looking at Marta, waiting for some eye contact. Marta looked over and smiled, then looked away again quickly.

Richard pulled a paperback from his back pocket and placed it on the counter.

“$3.00.” Said the man behind the register.

Richard pulled out his wallet and peered over his shoulder. Marta was making her way towards the back of the store. "Actually friend, can you ring up these books as well? I’d like to pay for this lot.” He said quietly while leaning over the counter slightly.

The man at the register smiled. “That will be $26 even. She’s in here almost every Sunday at about this time.

Richard tore out the copyright page from the paperback he was purchasing. “Can I borrow your pencil?”

The man pulled the pencil from behind his ear, looked at the point from over the rim of his glasses, and handed it over to Richard.

Richard wrote his name at the bottom of the page along with his phone number. “Can you hand this to her when she comes up to pay?

“Will do.” The man said, sliding the pencil back into position behind his ear.

Richard smiled and handed the man $30. “Keep the change.”

Marta felt her face grow flush as the man at the register explained what Richard had done.

“I can’t accept that. Please, I’d like to give you the money for them. Maybe if you see him in here you could pay him back for me.” She pleaded.

“He’s in here almost every Sunday. Really surprised you haven’t run into him before.” The man at the register said trying to contain his smile.

Marta brushed her hair back behind her ears and placed the books into her canvas bag. She looked out the window, almost searching, and then back at the man behind the register. “Okay, thank you.

“Wait, Miss…I forgot to give you this.” The man said leaning over the counter.

Marta took the folded piece of paper and opened it. “What is…oh..OH…Richard Lemon…”

Marta looked up at the man behind the register. His arms were folded. He looked delighted in his knowledge.

2010-04-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 11)

4th of July weekend. Rehoboth was to capacity. The boardwalk sagged and squeaked with each flip flop, sandal and bare foot. People were packed like sardines on the beach, pacing back and forth from the water. Seagulls foraged near trash cans and abandoned blankets. It was 98 degrees. The haze and humidity kept most under cover or in the water.

It was an accident.

Marta and Richard pitched their umbrella halfway between boardwalk and shoreline. Low reclining lawn chairs set up on either side of the pole. Towels lined up, one, two, three, with Hanna’s in the center, held down with coolers and shoes.

The lifeguards were busy blowing their whistles and directing swimmers. The waves were brutal, the undertow strong.

Hanna knew better.

“One more trip down to the water—knee high only, little one—and then you have to eat.” Marta yelled after Hanna.

Marta opened the cooler and pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Hanna had made for herself.

“Our daughter is quite the chef.” Marta said.

“She’s the only nine year old I know who can grind coffee beans.” Richard said smiling.

Marta set the sandwich on a paper towel along with a cluster of red seedless grapes.

Richard looked up and surveyed the coast.

“I don’t see her. I’ll be right back.” Richard said.

“I’m sure she’s not far. She knows it’s time for lunch” Marta said.

Marta stood up and followed Richard down to the water with her eyes. The crowd in the water was moving in towards the beach. The waves were high, crashing on backs, toppling people right and left.

“RICHARD!” Marta yelled towards her husband.

Richard turned to see his wife running. Her arm outstretched, her finger pointing, her face frantic. He turned back towards the water and ran, but waves would prevent his pursuit.

“HANNA—HANNA!” Marta screamed.

A lifeguard barreled down the beach into the water past Richard.

Marta pushed desperately against the waves towards her husband. The lifeguard yelled for them to go back to the beach. Hanna lay lifeless and unphased by any attempts to resuscitate.

2010-04-14T13:40:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 10)

There was a silence wrapped around the two as they strode around the park towards the tavern. Marta locked her arm around Richard’s. They each took turns ducking under low hanging branches while traversing random pieces of sidewalk forced skyward by ancient tree roots.

“It’s so quiet. I love it like this.” Marta whispered.

Richard looked at his watch. “Just think, tomorrow at this time we’ll be at the shore.”

“That trumps city quiet any day.” Marta said.

It was a handsome crock of assorted olives and a crusty baguette, shared and consumed greedily, that fueled Richard and Marta’s appetites. Then, duck confit with pommes puree for Richard and whole branzino with fingerlings and sautéed spinach for Marta. But, it was a shared bottle of Malbec that finally brought color back to his wife’s cheeks.

“No rush.” The waiter said as he placed the check on the table.

Marta looked at Richard and smiled. “I’m going to use the restroom before we head out.”

“Oh, I see.” Richard winked.

Marta felt flushed, full and happy. Dabbing cool water on her cheeks in the bathroom she finally recognized the face she saw. It was the lighting, she happily noted.

Richard was ready when Marta arrived back at the table. The check had been taken care of. Most customers had cleared out except for a few holding out at the bar. By all accounts it was still early, but being a Sunday, the rush had already come and gone.

The couple waved to the owner as they slipped out the door. Richard put his arm around Marta and they made their way down the hill towards home in silence.

Marta focused on her to do list. The endless chores and food shopping while Richard would caretake the yard and let the neighbors know that they were back in town. Rebel would be under foot, running from room to room, sniffing and poking around. It would be almost perfect, she thought.

2010-03-28T15:06:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 9)

Mounds of laundry quietly dispersed throughout the afternoon. Suitcases were brought out from closets to air. Bathrooms were cleaned, linens changed. The refrigerator emptied. The all day affair had left both Marta and Richard physically exhausted.

“I’ll put the trash out Monday morning…Before we head out!” Richard yelled up the stairs.

Marta stood frozen, analyzing herself in the bathroom mirror. Shallow fine lines trailing across her forehead, thinning skin on the back of her hands, age spots masquerading as freckles. When did this happen, she thought.

“It’s the lighting”

Marta jumped back, knocking her elbow against the door frame. “Fuck! You scared me to death.”

“You should have seen your face just now.” Richard laughed.

Marta laughed, rubbing her elbow. “Oh well, this is going to bruise.”

Richard flicked off the bathroom lights. “I think we’re done. All that’s left is to pack things up, maybe a small load of laundry in the morning.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I think we should get cleaned up, maybe head over to the tavern for some dinner. The fridge is empty.”

“Okay. I think I’m going to lay down for a bit if you want to shower first.”

…

The sun drifted and waffled while the curtains swayed gently with the breeze. The smell of hyacinths in bloom. Marta lay on the bed, entranced by the light and the warmth, the subtle fuzz of Richard in the shower. She defocused causing the room to blur around her, only turning her head once more to squint at the clock before closing her eyes to sleep.

…

“It’s okay, you can sleep.” She said while stroking her daughters hair.

…

“Hey…” Richard cupped one of Marta’s feet in his hand. “Did you fall asleep?”

“Just for a moment.” She said while sitting up in bed, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Marta transitioned her thoughts quickly and rose from the bed.

“I won’t be long.” She said while collecting some clean clothes to change into after her shower.

Marta pushed past the breeze that was flushing through the house now. No longer gentle, but hurried and furious. The screens in the windows bulged and whistled. Spring felt bipolar and restless, like the city. She couldn’t wait to abandon their current reality and set foot on the shore.

Rebel followed Richard as he went from room to room closing windows and drawing blinds. Popping in to survey Hannah’s room. A quick and quiet peak. The blinds were already closed. He opted to leave the door open. Rebel walked in, did three circles on the rug in the middle of the floor and lay down.

Richard tapped on the bathroom door, careful not to alarm his wife.

“Yeah?” Marta said while rinsing the shampoo from her hair.

Richard peaked into the shower. “I have a better idea. Let’s leave tomorrow morning.”

Marta turned off the water and gave her hair one final twist to ring out any excess water. Richard handed over a bath towel.

“That is a better idea.” Marta said while wrapping the towel around her body.

2010-03-24T13:42:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 8)

“Maybe she’ll hear the phone and come inside?”

“Maybe you should hang up the phone and step out onto the front stoop.”

“Of course. Sometimes I forget what I’m doing.”

“I’ll ask her, if you want.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll ask her. It’s okay.”

The sun reflected through the windowpanes of the blue door. Marta felt the glass and took a deep breath. She unlocked the door and turned the knob slowly. Looking back, Richard caught her glance. Marta took another deep breath and opened the door.

The air outside was cool, but the stoop radiated the morning sun.

Marta cleared her throat. “A blessing and a curse…getting full sun like this.”

Ms. Grace looked up and smiled. “It is a nice day, though. The trees help a bit.”

Marta cleared her throat once again. “Mr. Lemon…Richard…Richard and I were wondering if you wouldn’t mind collecting our mail over the next week or two.”

“Of course, dear. Are you two headed to the shore?”

“Exactly…day after tomorrow.”

“The house needs you. The air will do you good.”

“Thank you, Ms. Grace.”

Marta spun around, checking the mailbox before going back inside. Hesitating slightly when she heard Ms. Grace say you’re welcome. Only turning slightly to acknowledge before closing the door.

“When did I start calling you Mr. Lemon?”

Richard looked up from the frying pan and smiled.

“I referred to you as Mr. Lemon to Ms. Grace.”

“Hungry?”

“I think I could eat, actually.”

“I love how easily the mention of food distracted you just now.”

Marta smiled. Her appetite was coming back.

Richard pulled two plates from the cupboard and handed them over to Marta. “There’s coffee, I’ve got toast going…some fried eggs here, warmed leftover potatoes…and, yes, there’s even bacon. I hope you’re that hungry.”

“Well, I know whatever I don’t eat, Rebel will be glad to help. You pulled this all together while I was outside.”

“Yep, I pulled this all together while you were outside.”

Marta smiled again and pulled two forks, knives, and a spoon from the silverware drawer. She followed this with mugs for the coffee and glasses for water. The routine felt good. The small act of breakfast made her feel connected to her husband once again.

"Remarkable." Marta said under her breath.

2010-03-23T19:11:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 7)

Marta woke with a start. With swollen breath and tear glazed eyes she nestled into her husband. It was the only thing that would calm her breathing and steady the dizziness that she was feeling.

Richard turned onto his back and pulled Marta closer.

“You’re okay.”

Marta took a deep breath.

“I’m okay.” She whispered.

Richard pushed Marta’s hair back from her forehead. It reminded him of the fine hairs frayed out from a violin bow, so fine and delicate. With his thumb, he wiped cool, salty tears from her flushed cheeks.

“You’re okay.” He said once again, kissing the crown of her head.

It was only moments later, the sound of calm rhythmic breathing echoed against his chest. Richard took a deep breath, careful not to pull his resting wife from sleep.

…

The sun glared through the bedroom windows. Marta was still nestled into Richard. The morning light and small symphonies of snoring were pulling her awake. She looked over at the clock, it was almost 8:30.

Marta pushed back slowly from her sleeping husband.

“Morning.” Richard said shielding his face from the sun-drenched room with his forearm.

“Morning. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry. You can’t help having nightmares…bad dreams.” He said, trying to lighten the moment so as not to let his wife recede back into that frightful moment.

“Can you get some time off?” Marta got up from bed and pulled up the window shades. The light stirred Rebel into a sleepy stretch.

“I can.” Richard pushed himself up in bed. His wife was acting curious.

Marta knelt down onto the floor in front of Rebel and rubbed the dogs belly.

“I think we should get away. Go to the house. It needs to be opened up and given a good scrub. I really want to get out of town. I want to go back.” Marta was scrunching her face, fidgeting nervously with a hangnail. Too nervous to look her husband in the eyes, worried about what he would say.

“Yes.” He nodded and smiled.

“Yes?” Marta’s bottom lip quivered for a moment. She took a deep breath and smiled.

2010-03-22T13:22:00.000-07:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 6)

“You always get strawberry.”

“You love strawberry.”

“I don’t like it so much anymore.”

“You don’t like it so much anymore?!” Richard grabbed Hanna from behind, lifting her up over his shoulders.

“I don’t like it so much anymore.” Hanna said matter of fact while tugging on her fathers ears.

“Well, what do you like so much?” Richard asked, taking his daughter’s hands into his, holding her steady.

Marta took one final lick from the sugar cone and threw it into a nearby trash can. Rebel whined.

“You can’t have ice cream, Rebel…right daddy?”

“We need to start thinking about dinner…and poor Rebel needs a drink.” Marta said picking Rebels’s sagging leash from the ground.

Marta pulled Hannah’s knit cap from her jacket pocket and handed it to her daughter. Hanna pulled the hat over her head and resumed holding her father’s hands.

The walk from the boardwalk back to the house was quiet. Hannah watched as seagulls dove in for their dinners of scattered french fries and bits of hot dog rolls. Rebel, exhausted from a day running on the beach held back, dragging her tired paws, thirsty and ready for sleep.

The steps leading up to the house were dusted with sand. Marta had meant to sweep that morning, but as always, time for these small details always seem to get lost.

“Duck” Richard said to Hanna before crossing through the front door.

“Duck” Hanna repeated.

Richard lifted Hannah down from his shoulders. The little girl ran into the kitchen, pulled a chair up to the sink, rushing to fill Rebel’s empty water bowl. Marta ran over to the chair to steady her daughter and take the bowl before the water had a chance to splash out onto the kitchen floor.

With the help of her mother, Hannah jumped down from the chair. Her favorite thing. She felt as if she were flying, soaring weightless for a moment through the air.

Hannah ran past her father.

“Go get cleaned up…” Marta yelled after her daughter.

“I’m exhausted. How does she have all that energy?”

“You got me.”

“We’re just getting old.”

“I can’t argue there.”

Marta straightened Richard’s collar.

“Should we walk or take the car.”

“I’d say pile into the car, but I could really use a glass of wine or two.” Marta smiled.

Richard smiled back. “We’d better walk then. I wouldn’t mind something to take the edge off myself.”

“What edge?”

“The gotta-go-back-to-work-in-a-week-edge.”

“Oh, that edge.”

Marta fiddled with Richard’s collar again before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

2010-02-19T11:24:00.000-08:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 5)

With each quiet step Richard took, Rebel took two. First to the hall closet were Richard stowed away his jacket and satchel. Next upstairs. Richard stopped briefly in front of the bathroom door. The shower was running. Finally down the hall to the front bedroom.

Richard opened the door and stepped inside. The air lay heavy with dust and memories.

‘Rebel, sit.’ He said quietly.

Rebel was used to this routine, but didn’t sit. Instead she let out a low and quiet wine.

‘Come.’

Rebel walked up to Richard.

‘Good girl. Now sit.’

Rebel sat and watched Richard as he went to the windows. Richard raised the shades. First the front left, then the front right. The glass was dotted with drizzle. Outside, committed joggers and people with umbrellas went about their business while others scurried inside with newspapers or briefcases covering their heads.

Richard turned to exit the room when he noticed the green scarf, one that Marta had knit, hanging from a hook mounted on the wall. He walked over and took it into his hands. It was skinny and long. It smelled sour, like the room.

‘Come.’

Rebel followed Richard out of the room and down the hall to the master bedroom.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed with scarf in hand, waiting for Marta. Rebel lay at the foot of the bed, head drooping over her paws.

‘You’re home early.’

Richard looked up. His eyes had been closed, his neck bent. Meditating through the time until Marta would appear. He was clutching the scarf.

‘Where did you find it?’

‘Hanging in her room.’ Richard said smiling, but only slightly. Worried that Marta would start crying, or worse, remain silent.

Marta sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on Richard’s.

‘I remember when we found her. Hanna took her scarf off and tied it around Rebel’s neck. We told her not to, but she did it anyway. I got upset…because she was a stray…I raised my voice a little, but you put your hand on my shoulder and…so I took a deep breath…and well the next thing I know, we’re packing a stray dog into our car and Hanna can’t stop smiling.’

Leaning into her husband, Marta fell silent.

2010-02-05T06:53:00.000-08:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 4)

How can anyone concentrate? She thought.

A city helicopter had been circling overhead for the last 15 minutes. Traffic?

Marta sat at her laptop trying to formulate thoughts, but tragically the results were often highlight and delete.

Rebel lay underfoot. Occasionally Marta would take her stockinged feet and rub the dogs side. Showing her pleasure, Rebel would roll over slightly to expose her belly.

The day was winding down gently, the sun withdrawing from the front room window, receding into the late afternoon hours. Marta looked at her wristwatch. It was almost 4:30. She hadn’t accomplished a thing. Her back was sore. A headache was imminent. Richard would be home soon.

Marta rose from her desk and peered outside. Activity around the park was picking up despite the fine mist of precipitation slowly turning the sun bleached sidewalk to a muddy khaki. Joggers with iPods, groups of kids passing through on their way to a corner store, dogs on leashes and mothers taking their babies out for a stroll. She looked at her watch once more, 4:35.

The breath of activity outside was a welcomed distraction after a day spent mesmerized by static type waiting patiently behind a flashing cursor.

Her stomach had been growling for the last half hour, but she made no attempt to quiet it.

She needed a shower and glass of wine…a bottle of wine, she thought.

Marta doubled-checked the lock on the front door and powered down her laptop. If she hurried she would be out of the shower with hair dried before Richard got home.

The flood of water turning from cold to warm to hot felt good on her hand. Awareness. Another distraction. The soreness in her back was subsiding. The headache wasn’t exploding. There was just the present moment flushing beneath the surface. Her body suddenly felt less rigid. Wondering if this feeling would last, Marta exhaled. A slight shiver. She would fight to hold onto it for as long as she could.

2010-01-30T16:08:00.000-08:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 3)

If it hadn't been for the slightest of wind Richard would not have noticed the mist of rain now falling. His head was bent, his eyes following the ground in front of him, his mind someplace else entirely.

"Hey mister, you got a quarter?" The boy asked. He couldn't have been more than eleven, walking across the street with a crew of children a head taller and most likely a year or two older.

"Huh?" Richard looked up confused, his eyes refocused when he turned his head to follow the blur from which the voice came.

"You got a quarter?" The boy asked again.

"No. Do you?" Richard responded. A smile, his first that day, stretched out his jaw like a comforting yawn. He inhaled deeply, finally noticing the dots of precipitation on his glasses.

The boy smiled back, sheepishly, but kept walking. There was no use in pursuit.

Richard watched as the boy quickened his pace, catching up with the group heading into the park.

"Hello, Mr. Lemon." Ms. Grace said smiling. Her eyes remained on Richard while she brought what appeared to be a cup of tea up to her mouth.

"Ms. Grace...It's starting to rain." Richard held his hand up and looked skyward.

"Little rain never melted anyone." The old woman said and took another sip. She looked up from her mug and smiled.

"You in for the evening...I saw your wife this morning. Right after you left, she had Rebel out for a walk. Didn't get a chance to say hello...I guess the poor dog was in a rush." She said.

"Yes, in for the evening...the weekend...I'm sorry about Marta, she's had a lot on her mind lately. Trying to finish up a paper..." Richard trailed off.

Ms. Grace smiled. "I was just happy to see her outside getting some fresh air. The dog was sure happy."

"Good, that's good." Richard responded. His smile seemed a bit cracked now. Ms. Grace had seen this look before. She new his mind was in limbo. He hesitated with her and with the idea of going inside his own house.

Like a clap of thunder, far off in the distance, Rebel's bark ached to penetrate the blue door.

"Well, someones happy you're home." Ms. Grace winked and smiled.

Richard hung his head down for a second, letting out a deep sigh. "You know...that door is five feet away, but it feels farther. I don't know...it's hard to explain"

"No need for explaining. Now get inside before it really starts to pour." With one final pull from her mug of tea, Ms. Grace rose and spun around to go inside.

Richard pulled the house keys from his pocket and unlocked the blue door.

2010-01-27T06:29:00.000-08:00

The Blue Door...continued (part 2)

Marta is relieved when she sees Ms. Grace gone from her stoop. She hurries, though Rebel is not quite finished getting his daily news, sniffing and marking anything that he can stretch his hind leg to.

A busy morning, the street is filtering one car after another through the green light, leaving Marta to grow ever more anxious to cross, until she spots Ms. Grace in a third floor window. A watering can in hand, she’s feeding the Christmas cactus that sits off center in her watching window.

...

“These are buy one get one free.” The cashier says smiling, pointing at the listing for boxed oatmeal on the receipt.

“Oh…really? That’s okay, I just need the one.” Marta responds nervously.

“You sure? You don’t have someone you can give the extra box to? Maybe the old person who watches out their window, keeping an eye on things in your neighborhood. We all have someone like that.” She says.

“Thank you, but I don’t want to hold up the line.” Marta says, looking back and smiling at the people who are growing more agitated by the minute.

“Well, if you change your mind, you have until the end of the sale. Just take your receipt to the customers service…” Marta snatches the receipt from the cashier, nods her head in understanding and walks out of the store. She has no intention of going back in to redeem her extra box of oatmeal. She crumples the receipt and tosses it into a trash can.

...

The cars have slowed. The light is red once again. Marta looks up one final time to the third floor window. Now empty.

“Come, Rebel.” Marta pats her leg twice, a signal for the dog to cross.

Rebel sits at the bottom of the stoop, the leash slack as Marta unlocks the blue door.

“Come on girl.” Rebel takes his command slowly.

Finally inside, the leash is unhooked. The dog heads for his water bowl. She takes a few laps before finding her spot on the rug under Marta’s desk.

2010-01-26T12:34:00.000-08:00

The Blue Door

Marta is drinking her first cup of coffee of the day. Her husband is preparing to leave for work. He will trudge up hill the 1.7 miles to work wearing his Eddie Bauer earth tones and sensible Bass walking shoes. His name is Richard. Not much is said as he pours the remainder of his coffee into the sink, petting the dog’s head once before throwing his brown leather satchel over his right shoulder.

“It’s supposed to rain.” She says.

“Maybe I should take the car, but it doesn’t look like rain.” He responds dully.

“Whatever you want.” She says without looking up or seeming to care.

“I’ll see you later.” He says, waiting for a response.

The blue door shuts behind Richard. Marta looks up to say goodbye, but she is too late.

Marta stares at the blue door. Sitting in front of her laptop doing research for a paper, she has barely touched the now cold toast with butter, cinnamon and sugar. Her second cup of coffee, sits hot, far too close to the edge of the desk. Her lips, thin, drawn and in a perpetual frown. Her cheeks, deflated, almost sallow. Her eyes, bloodshot.

The dog pushes its cold wet nose against Marta’s dangling hand. When she doesn’t respond, it walks to the blue door and stares back at her. She lets out a small yelp, sniffing and scratching, trying to get her attention.

Marta wakes from her concentration. She has no desire to walk the dog, but the fresh air will do her good.

Seeing Marta rise, the dog now sits quietly wagging her tail. Her eyes follow Marta around, watching as she puts on shoes, scarf, coat, and hat.

One more gulp of coffee before hooking the leash up to the dog’s collar.

Marta opens the blue door. The dog springs out.

“Rebel!” Marta yells.

The dog freezes in place, slightly dancing as Marta locks the blue door.

The next door neighbor, Ms. Grace is sitting quietly in front of her own door. A pack of reds with a beat up orange lighter sit beside her. Her salt and pepper hair, straight as straw and cut short, splays out from under a very old knit hat. She’s wearing her dead husbands black and white flannel coat, the one with the paint stains. It still smells of his favorite cigars. The grocery list she gave him, the day of his stroke, still sits folded in the left pocket.

The old woman looks at Marta and smiles, but Marta’s turns her back quickly, pretending not to notice.

“Come on, Reb.” She says, standing at the curb looking both ways, waiting for the traffic to part.

2010-01-13T10:43:00.000-08:00

Rabbit Fur Coat

The time for the market could be afforded. I slipped out at half past lunch into the frigid January air. Under cover of building overhang and parking garage, a wonder of what the sun might feel like flushed my cheeks. The sting of 35 degrees stung thighs enrobed in brown corduroy.

The market wasn’t mobbed, but a bit flustered with shoppers and those who garner mid-day meals from salad bars.

A small sack of oranges, strawberry jam, dark chocolate, bread, capers, some smoked salmon.

The reusable sack was placed on the belt before anything else. 15 items or less. It moved with purpose, quietly.

The cashier girl wasn’t familiar. Her golden locks, that of the boxed variety, hinging on mullet status, was bundled in the store’s uniform and what appeared to be her own red sweatshirt. She wore Jordache jeans. Her glasses looked a bit euro, in that mod/young/hip sort of way, at least for this particular market in this part of town.

The surrounding neighborhoods are peppered with Russians. The females, especially easy to spot. They dress as if ready to hit the clubs at any given moment.

“How are you?” She asked, pulling the first items barcode over the scanner. I detected the accent I was expecting, but she spoke English well.

“Good, thanks.” I responded brightly.

Each item was held delicately while being placed in front of the scanner. Then each item was delicately placed in the reusable bag.

The final item was placed into the bag when I noticed it, the fur coat. It was not unexpected, but a happy surprise that reminded me of Rabbit Fur Coat, sung by Jenny Lewis.

“$30.14.” She said.

I handed her $31.00. While she banged open change into their compartments I allowed my mind to wonder for a bit. I retreated to the moment I first heard Rabbit Fur Coat. I started to warm up to the fuzzy quiet of that memory.

“Thank you and have a nice day.” She said while handing me receipt and change.

“Thanks, you too.” I said.

I felt a final flush of heat from an overhead heater before walking out to my car.

2010-01-12T06:31:00.000-08:00

From My Window

The Toyota looked brown under the glare. Early morning sun trickled down the alley street between the Hungarian Catholic church and the row homes on North Belnord across from Patterson Park. People were waking, starting coffee, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Frying eggs in pajama bottoms. Inhaling fresh ink and newsprint.

“Put your pants on!” yelled the young black woman to the middle-aged white man.

He was begging, pleading for her to come back to the car.

“Put your god damned pants on!” She yelled again.

“Come back to the car.” He pleaded.

The young woman walked back to the car, careful to avoid his grip. They were both under some sort of intoxicated spell.

The man struggled to pull up his pants with one hand as he tried to hold the young woman's arm.

“I want my money! Give me my money!” She yelled.

“I don’t have it with me. Get in the car and we’ll go get it.” He said.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” She yelled.

The man was still struggling with his pants.

“Put your god damned pants on!” She yelled once again.

Both doors of the car were ajar. The man finally had his pants up. The woman pulling from his grasp, ran down North Belnord.

It looked as if he wanted to follow, but his state did not allow. Nor did his bare feet, which had gone unnoticed up until now.

The man stumbled back to the car and sat in the drivers seat. Fumbling under the seat for some time before he pulled out a glass bottle filled with brown liquor. He crouched and took a sip, screwed the lid back on and replaced the bottle beneath the seat.

The passenger door still ajar.

The woman appeared once more. The man pulled himself from the drivers seat and tried to grab her arm. Successful, he forced her back into the car and slammed the door.

“I don’t have the money here. We’ll have to go get it.” He said.

They drove off.

I stood staring out the window. A feeling of disbelief. Another car turned the corner and drove past. The fog was lifted.

2010-01-11T08:17:00.000-08:00

Thing

His anxiety was picking up speed, whirling around in his head. The traffic lights, pedestrians, steady drivers looking on, avoiding, ignoring.

What was that thing in the middle of the intersection? “What the hell is that!” I recall saying to myself as I turned down the radio and observed.

My eyes intent on dissecting this thing. It was black with an appendage poofing in the cool, exhausted city air. The moon, full and high, bright against it’s midnight blue canvas. Stars percolating amidst the late autumn smog.

I scanned. Traffic light, cars…a black man, homeless, mentally ill, hesitant. A look of worry shrouding him. Wrapped up in some sort of emotional cyclone. This thing was his charge. Like a frightened animal, his steps reflecting the feeling of loss. He moved ever so slowly towards this thing.

I was mesmerized. I was worried. I was caught up in this steady moment. The traffic light seemed to be distracted as well. It was still red and the activity in the middle of it all was standing still. No car moved. Each person viewing this humble circumstance hovered on the brink of this distraction. Rooting for the man. We were all holding our breath.

The man, now rushed the thing, taking the poofed appendage by the hand. We could all make it out more clearly. It was a jacket. A poofy black jacket. His winter coat, one would suspect. He held the imaginary hand and walked it to the other side of the street, dragging the torso along the asphalt.

I turned up my radio. A mix of emotions. Giddy with laughter and agitated by the poetry lost when the hand stopped flashing and the light turned green.

2010-01-09T05:21:00.000-08:00

Morning Glory

The sun outside was as bright as the quiet inside. Floors above the street below, the Chelsea Savoy in late Spring.

My accomplice in long weekend was waking as I stood staring, mesmerized by her. A black woman in her mid-forties almost dancing, shoulders back, chin-up, proud, on the bubble-gum dappled sidewalk below. She seemed to be in no real hurry, but she looked as if she was going someplace specific.

She wore a long white t-shirt, over sized with a v-neck. It was stained. She wore clear jelly shoes. Her hair, not very long, but tied back with skews of fringe panicking about atop her head.

She disappeared after a while, but I held my gaze on the farthest of spots until someone coming from the opposite direction, a man with a full suit, briefcase and hat strode by on his way to the subway. He rounded the entrance and skipped down the stairs.

There were trees on rooftops and birds. The sky was sheer blue, not a hint of clouds. The sun reflected and angled its way back down to the street.

My eyes hungry, I saw the woman reappear. In her hand an orange creamsicle, half eaten. Her gaze and intentions loomed over this icy prize. There was nothing and no one else, not the strangers on the street or the voices in her head to distract her.

Again, I watched until I could no longer see.