What just went before:
"Hey, I got your text," she said, smiling at me. Then she looked down, shrugged, and moved into cheerful-neighborhood-mom mode.
"Hey, Tyler! Looking forward to hanging out with Jonathan? Oh, look at Chelsea with her arm around him. What a great big sister."
Chelsea smiled a picture-perfect smile, but I wondered if she thought she was being flattered.
"Oh, thank you; you are a life-saver..." I said. "...this is. better than I'd imagined."
Kissed Chelsea on the head: "Be a good girl."
Then, as soon as I was out of sight of my waving Chelsea, I decided to just run across the frosty grass, who cares if I am early.
And I was early. I knew it. All that had only taken fifteen minutes. Now what would I do with myself? It's the waiting that just kills you in these situations. So I locked the back door, locked the front door, and used the chain, too. Made some coffee, because why not? Dug around for something to eat - in this case, very-sweet cupcakes from Tyler's 5th birthday party.
And then fretted.
*************
he bang, bang, bang on the glass made me jump straight up like a frightened armadillo.
I didn't expected him to go around to the back door!
Then my eyes righted the situation - it was only Shweta.
Slow down the breathing, slow it down. Deep breath. Drop your shoulders and relaxing.
Walking over to the door, all the while.
I slid the door noisily open in its track.
She must have seen me agitated, because she said, "Oh, so sorry." before she asked, "Can I have the toothbrush?"
"Huh, what?"
"For your dottter."
"Oh! Yes.. Chelsea's toothbrush - no, Annie's - is purple. Be right back."
I darted to the bathroom, darted back, toothbrush in hand.
I looked her carefully in the eyes. "You should be alright until school?"
I wanted to say, "It's an emergency... even if you need something, please don't come by here."
"Yes, of course."
"If there's anything else... please don't - oh, here, let me give you her backpack."
I grabbed the backpack up and handed it over... It's Barbie one year, Frozen the next. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
"Oh, and money for her lunch."
My breathing was still heavy.
"I'm - just worried... there's a guy... a man.. who is going to come around here. And he's not a nice guy."
"Ohh... oh, oh... I see. Should we call the police?"
She looked down.
"No.. no; I've... got a plan."
And it will be fine by the time things are light out. It will surely be fine by then. He'll go away before it gets light.
"those who get drunk get drunk at night," I silently reminded myself.
"Thank you so much for doing this." She retreated with the backpack and toothbrush.
I watched her go for a few seconds, then slid the stubborn glass door closed with a thud.
Turned around and walked back to my coffee.
What could I do? What do you do when the waiting's like this?
*************
Well, apparently what I do is spill my coffee when trying to pour it up. It was like 2 in the morning, so I was able to excuse myself pretty quickly.
I reached for that one towel with the day of the week embroidered on it to clean it up. "Friday." Huh. It had definitely not been Friday for several days.
At least it wasn't one of the pretty towels my sister-in-law had given me.
Former sister-in-law.
"Not for any yucky stuff that will stain," she said, smiling, when she gave the set to me.
And they were nice.
But of course, what would be the first thing I would do when he left? Wipe up something that was fit to fix an amazing stain in it with one of them!
And then of course I immediately regretted it, because why would I be trying to get back at her?
She'd done me no wrong and been generally kind.
So I scrubbed it out - with great effort - and now there was a faint stain that you only noticed if you already knew it was there.
A secret reminder than an ordinary observer wouldn't comment on; only I knew.
Then came the knock on the door and his loud, bellowing voice.
"Shari!"
"What?" I hollered back, although I had every right to be there and he had none.
I came and stood by the door.
"It's only natural that a father should want to suu-suh-see his kids," he said, speech slurring in the end like an old hound dog dragging a broken leg in the dirt.
"It's 2:30 am."
"I was up with the baby!"
"So you get to see one of your kids."
"I'm tired and I'm hungry and I have no idea what I'm doing so stop harassing me with your logic!" he said.
Well, that's impeccable logic on your part, I thought. Oh well, some points for honesty.
"This is the point in the fight where you say 'Impeccable logic, dear!' " he muttered.
Jinx! He knows what I'm thinking even when drunk.
Dammit, these are the troubles that come from whenever once you let someone get too close...
*************
"I can't stand this anymore!" he continued.
"Life sucks, Shari, it sucks. I don't know what I was thinking, and I still don't. Time is passing us by. Our little children are growing up.
They're gonna spread their wings and fly away and bypass us."
I steadily held my peace, staring at a point in the corner near the door's molding. It was covered in cobwebs, and the resident spider appeared to have wrapped up a few more surprises for an evening snack.
He rattled on, lecturing my door. But my door was shut.
"I don't even know what I'm gonna do. I have regrets, Shari, do you even know what that means? I have regrets!"
He can't see me. Even if my eyes are spurting fluid right now. Do most anything and I will shut you out. The door is shut. But don't be vulnerable.
"Are you still there?" he hollered, in his deep voice.
"I'm here." I replied, in my quieter one.
"You don't want to hear all this. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm just ranting and railing on and on. I don't know what it's all for. What is it all good for?"
And at that moment my heart smote me, because if I hadn't left the back door unlocked after gettting my neighber Chelsea's toothbrush, then I'm not even good for knowing what my own name is! I turned and looked. The metal cylinder that slid through to lock was just dangling down uselessly on its chain. Calm down, I urged myself with a silent, insistent pulse from the back of my mind. Calm. Heck, he probably won't even stop talking until he's ready to give up.
If he gives up.
All that flew through my mind before he even started up again.
"This is horrible. It sucks. I'm hungry. I'm tired. And I haven't even had a sandwich in weeks."
"Hey." I said.
"Stan. Stanley. I can at least fix the hunger problem. Everything else is ...it's like we're awash in a freaking ocean. It's beyond me. It's beyond you. It's beyond any ten good men or women. Ten of each. And army of counselors and teachers. I don't know."
I eyed the gold security chain on the inside of my door.
But I can give you something to eat. I can do that at least, okay?"
"Okay."
"Wait here. I'll be back."
I whipped around the corner to the kitchen and grabbed the cupcakes from Tyler's 5th birthday party.
Stan, of course, had not been at THIS 5th birthday party, so I smudged the number '5' to spare his fatherhood the insult.
So there it was - white icing like concentrated sweetened oil, multicolored sprinkles, and a giant dark blue smudge that used to be a number five.
Though he probably hadn't had his own party for Tyler, like he said he would.
Probably hadn't done what he'd said he would.
But heck, he was the dad.
I came back and turned on the outdoor light.
And I opened the door, just as wide as the security chain would let me.
When dawn came, it would be a cold light, blue-white through the leaves of the trees across the alley.
But now we had the electric light, making noise from some bug stuck in it or something.
And I cut the cupcake in half and squeaked the halves through, each on their own paper plate, eyes down, focused on the things I was handling.
Cars. It had Lightning McQueen on it. Dang. He'd recognize re-used kid's birthday party fare. If he noticed.
And his hands took them.
And he ate.
"Thank you," he said.
And he looked up, looked at me through the 4-inch opening of the door.
"And I'm sorry."
I looked back at him.
"I second that sentiment. Sorry, too."
*************
(I reckon each were about 10-15 minutes)
Shuram- ehh... who knows what's best... I love the idea of "freewriting"... and of the suggestion deer found somewhere of just writing nonsense until the wheels start turning again...
...but there's definitely a place for carefully-considered placement of words. So do what works, or whatevs...
Do whatcha can.
Do whatcha will.
Don't do whatcha won't.
(I know, I know; that last one's superfluous.)
Oh, yeah. I think I like the fact of this guy here engaging in his futile search.
And his first though and final thought of each day being what it is... Ahhh!