So there it was. Sixty cases with nothing to be done and fifty three with something to be done and what was he going to do about that? “Hi, Maury. How’re things?” It was only Karen passing through in search of conversation. “Just fine, Karen. Janet’s gone on a break. Probably find her in front of the coffee pot.” He turned back to his work, not noting the curious look she gave him and that she did not leave. He was just deciding that this family’s move from one apartment to another probably did not mean the Food Stamps had to be changed, when he felt a cold hand on his neck. “Karen, your hand is as cold as ice. I thought you were looking for Janet.” “I’m looking for you. Janet said you had some story about a balloon.” “Not a balloon. A blimp. Where have you been to get your hands that cold?” She held up a paper cup. “Coke. Janet thinks if we pester you enough you’ll get us a ride in the balloon.” “Not anymore. I don’t work for that company now. I work for this company. This company has a lot of hot air but no blimp to put it in.” “Naughty, naughty. Don’t you like your job? You just got here and fed up so quick?” “Just a little on edge is all.” He was thinking that if her coke cup were full of vodka and orange juice he would coax some away from her and recover quickly from this late morning lethargy. “You see, these pieces of paper never stop coming. Unlike some things.” “That sounds like a nasty. Is it?” “Not at all.” He was wishing she would get lost. Instead of leaving, she sat down at the desk across from his. “Ed’s thinking about splitting up.” Maury was thinking that he might just file all those pieces of paper and start fresh next month. After all, it was already so late this month. The only difference in filing and not filing was that rather than trying to fool himself he would be acknowledging the real lack of time to get it all done. It was an intelligent approach. Then he thought to ask, “Who is Ed?” “The guy I live with. He bought me the Mustang.” “A Mustang?” “You never noticed that beautiful red car that always sits just off the dirt in the last parking space?” Now Maury did remember and how the bright red made him shut his eyes if the sun caught him off guard and shone on it. “Yes. I remember now. Someone pointed it out to me. I think it was Janet. I’m pretty sure. About a month ago was it?” “Yeah, and now he’s threatening to take it back and put me out. Gee, I just got there. I haven’t even unpacked all my clothes.” “Why is he upset?” “I don’t know.” Karen rotated the empty coke cup. “It couldn’t be anything I did. I just got there.” She hunched over looking down at her shins. “Maybe he’s tired of me already.” “I thought you just moved in.” “I did.” She got up and stood ruefully staring at him. “No balloon ride, huh?” Maury shook his head. “No balloon so no ride. Should’ve been around five years ago when I had access.” “Whatever. Well, see ya.” When she left, so did Maury’s last shred of energy. Not even filing seemed to be sufficiently without stress. In a flurry, he grabbed a Kleenex and dusted the desktop. He put all the little pieces of paper in one pile and the eight and half by elevens in another. He centered the stapler, the hole-punch, the calculator and the phone. He was out of breath. He needed a cigarette. Not in the left or right pocket of his sweater. What the hell? Ah . . . there between the phone and the stapler. Settled back with one leg on the pullout and one stretched in front of him, he inhaled until his lungs said “that’s it for you, fella.” Then began a long coughing fit in the middle of which Janet and Karen showed up. While they watched him, they debated whether to get water or pound him on the back or leave him alone to cough it out. The length of their debate resulted in leaving him alone to cough his eyes bleary in full view of those two voyeurs. When he had recovered, he took another puff of the cigarette and turned away from the ladies to his desk where he attempted to become engrossed in the whereabouts of Abner McGhee the recently skedaddled husband of Emily McGhee, mother of five and happy to be shed of Mr. McGhee. Janet interrupted. “No balloon ride?” Maury turned an amiable face to Janet. After all, she had the power to refuse to answer his frequent questions about what to do with all that paper on his desk. “Hey. I must have given you the wrong impression. That story was from over five years ago. I no longer have access to the blimp. I sure as hell would take you girls up if I could, but I can’t.” He cleared his throat. “Janet, are you busy or could you help me with this case a minute?” As he hoped, Karen took that as her cue to leave. Janet was obliging and the day went smoothly with Maury asking as little as possible and Janet providing answers by the volume. When it was time for him to leave, he walked over to her desk forgetting that he had a cigarette in his hand and was annoyed by the newest studied reaction she had developed for whenever he came to her desk with a cigarette – she pretended not to see him.“Janet . . . “His voice was hesitant in spite of the fact that he always tried to sound casual when he was being affronted by her smoke avoidance. “Yes.” She answered without turning her head. “I won’t be in tomorrow. I’ve notified the desk and Walter.” Walter was the supervisor. “Good.” Nothing more from the mean little woman. Only “Good.” Why wouldn’t she at least look at him? Only “Good” and it didn’t even mean that. “Okay, Janet. See you.” “Okay.” Her little act was so perfectly contrived that she did not even move her head as he walked away and glanced back at her over his shoulder. Driving home he felt no release of the tension that developed whenever he had to pay for the transgression of smoking at Janet’s desk. He found it hard to believe that she could really be bothered so much by something that everyone else did. All that hooey about her hair smelling like smoke and having to air out her clothes. Of course, Walter – another non-smoker – always said the same thing, but Maury thought Walter would probably agree with anything Janet said. Maury suspected they were sleeping together. When Maury opened the door leading from the garage into the house, an amalgamation of aromas registered in his nostrils as stew and hot peaches. He was immediately hungry and glad to be home where Ella would welcome and love him. She never got upset if he smoked or even had a chew as long as he spit outside. He went straight to the kitchen where he was surprised to find that Ella was not there. He called into the basement, but there was no answer. Taking the stairs two by two, he jogged upstairs into the bedroom, the bathroom, and the sewing room calling Ella’s name. There was no answer. Hearing the house’s silence and the loudness of his voice echoing against nothing and no Ella, he was afraid. He paused by the upstairs hall window and looked out. Ella was stretched out on the grass by a row of yellow Party Girl miniature tea roses. Her head was under the bushes and she was not moving. He opened the window and yelled down to her, but she still did not move. Maury’s legs were too unsteady to go down the stairs as fast as he had gone up. He had to hold on because his eyes were blurring and a ringing in his ears was disorienting him. The sliding door would not budge until he realized he was pushing against the jam instead of pulling on the door. Then he was on his knees beside Ella and he was crying. “Maury. Maury, don’t cry.” Ella reached up to touch his face and was patting his hair. He could hear her and feel her but now he could not see her – only an image of her inside his head and she was lying dead under the yellow miniature roses. How could he forget that Ella was dead? The smell of stew. Where had that come from? He ran back into the kitchen. This morning, before he left for work, he left the stew cooking in a crock pot. There was another crock pot cooking peaches from their peach tree. His daughter Rachel had given him those crock pots after Ella died. Outside again, he laid himself down on the spot where he had found Ella’s body. Two years ago and he was still imagining that when he arrived home from work she would be there. It was getting worse. Even though he knew he was doing it, it became less and less possible for him to remember that Ella was not in the window waving goodbye, was not working in the garden all day or shopping or baking pies or sewing. She had always done those things. Supper had always been cooking when he came home. Fresh roses had always been clipped and set all over the house. But she had only been dead for two years and the cooking and the baking and the sewing and the flowers had gone on for forty nine years. How did God expect him to make it through the day without her? He was making it through though, wasn’t he? Ella had been dead for two years and he was making it. He went to work every day. He left food cooking in the crock pots. He wasn’t starving. Sometimes, though, he was afraid because he would forget to remember she was dead. Why did he forget to remember? Maury sat up, looked at the place he had just warmed the grass and remembered when he had found Ella lying there with the clippers in her hand. He could not see her now nor feel her hand on his head, but he remembered how it was to take hold of her hand and feel how cold it was and how it felt to speak to her all the words of love he could pour out in that moment hoping that even though she was already gone, the words would follow her and she would not forget him. He had run his hand through her hair and wondered that it felt the same as when she was alive, but then her hair was already dead wasn’t it? He had read that somewhere. Hair is dead. Then hatred for Ella had filled him and made his heart pound in his temples. How had she dared to leave him after making him love her so, making her his life? She knew he was on his way home. He had called and told her, “I’m leaving the office now.” Why didn’t she wait for him? Wait to die? Didn’t she love him? Had he done something wrong? “Please, Ella. Don’t be mad at me.” He cried again, the way he had that first day, screaming and pounding the grass, striking out at the rose bushes and cutting his hands. “Don’t die, Ell! Please don’t die!” As always, a quiet came over him, the sound of his own voice calling him back. Later, when he was sitting at the kitchen table eating his dinner, he wondered how much longer it would go on that he would forget she was dead and have to remember again. Why couldn’t he just remember and forgive her. He did forgive her. He realized that his grief was actually the consequence of a broken vow. When they were very young, together with others, they had made a vow to end their lives when they felt themselves to be no longer useful. That was the main idea. Maury and Ella had later modified the vow and promised to die together by their own means before death could separate them unexpectedly. The phone rang. “Maury Greene speaking. . . . Excuse me? I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number. . . . I don’t care what you think. You have made a mistake. My wife is dead. She died under the rose bushes on January 21. Yes, I already said my name is Maury Greene. Yes, my wife’s name is Ella Greene. That is, it was Ella Greene. Ella Greene died. She’s dead.” He hung up. “What was I doing when the phone rang? Eating. That’s right.” He started into the kitchen but turned back and removed the receiver from the hook. The stew was exceptionally good. The carrots were always so soft and sweet when he cooked them in the crock pot. It was a wonderful tool for a man living alone. He could never thank Rachel enough. Always looking out for him, she was just like her mother even though she had three children of her own to care for. The meat was especially tender. Not even an expensive piece of meat. Discounted. He always looked for a package with a red and yellow discount label. Ella taught him that. He wondered who the hospital was trying to call. Imagine that. Someone else named Maury Greene with a wife named Ella. That was strange. Maury methodically wiped the table and rinsed the dishes. Or was it too much of a coincidence. Maybe Ella was not dead. Maybe there was an Ella who belonged to him waiting at the hospital for him to come. She was trying to wait for him so she could die. If he did not go, she could not die. He impulsively replaced the receiver on the hook and stood watching the phone, waiting for it to ring again. After a minute when it did not, he went back into the kitchen and divided the stew into small freezer containers and did the same with the peaches. The hospital had probably tried to call back and when they could not get through decided to wait awhile and try later. All the containers had been placed in the freezer and still the phone had not rung. Maury picked up the receiver to check for a dial tone. It was there. He went back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. By the time they were done, the phone still had not rung. Maury had an idea. If Ella’s things were gone, then he was right. Ella was dead. When he looked in the upstairs bedroom closet it was full of Ella’s clothes. He might have kept her clothes, but he would never keep the cold cream she put on her face at night. There was no cold cream in the bathroom. That reassured him. She was dead. The phone rang. He almost fell down the stairs but caught himself with the handrail. Before he could answer it, the phone had rung several times. “Hello.” There was only a dial tone. While he was holding the receiver, the phone rang again. He was so startled that he dropped it with a clatter on the mahogany table. Oh, would Ella ever be made if he nicked that table. Dammit! Ella was dead. She didn’t care anymore about mahogany tables. The phone rang again, but it was not the phone. It was the doorbell. He opened the door to find his daughter staring at him with frightened eyes. “Papa, are you all right?” He fell into her arms. “Rachel, I can’t find your mother anywhere. Her clothes are here but not her cold cream. The hospital called and said that she was dying and would I please come. I told them that they must have made a mistake because she was already dead.” Rachel was crying. “Papa, Mama is not dead, but she is dying. After the hospital called you, they called me and told me what you said so I thought I better come and get you.” Rachel blew her nose. “Why did you go to work today? You knew she might die. Where’s your jacket? We have to get to the hospital. We don’t have much time if we want to see her before she’s gone. Is your jacket in the hall closet?” She left in search of his jacket, looking first in the hall closet and then in the living room where she found it on the sofa. She helped him put his arms into the sleeves. “Papa, I think Mama’s dying is making you crazy. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I know how much you love Mama.” She was having trouble getting him into the jacket. Maury understood everything now. While those stupid girls were nagging him about going up in a balloon, Ella was trying not to die. She was waiting for him to come to her. What was he thinking? If he went to work, if he pretended that everything was all right, then Ella could not die? Everything else would be the same so Ella would have to be the same. He had not changed. The house had not changed. This morning he had gone to work just as always and that should have assured that Ella would be there when he came home. But, two weeks ago, he had found her lying under the rose bushes and since then she had lain in a hospital bed trying not to die and for two weeks he had acted as if nothing had changed. Today the hospital called and said that Ella Greene was dying and “would Maury Greene please come?” “Your mother’s going to leave us, isn’t she Rachel?” He thought Rachel was weeping enormous tears that covered and distorted her face but they were his tears. “Yes, Papa.” “Is your mother mad at me because I didn’t come before?” “No, Papa. Mama knows how much you love her. And Mama loves you. Besides, she could never stay mad at you.” Rachel opened the door and closed it behind them with one hand while she steadied her father with the other. Maury thought of his son. “Will Michael be there?” Rachel held him close to her and helped him into the car because he was shaking. “Yes, Papa.” “Just so your mother isn’t mad at me.”
Leaving Life Today? Tomorrow? Or Yesterday?
Copyright 2013 by Renee Foss