Train Ride

  Amy had painted herself on a dark blue background which gradiated to black. The dark background gave Amy an ethereal glow.

  Her dark auburn hair was beautifully coiffed with ringlets touching her milk white shoulders, a veil tucked into the top of her hair.

  Though Mom was puzzled as to why Amelia would paint herself in a wedding dress, she was nonetheless pleased by the portrait.

  Then she realized it was one of the wedding dresses she had found in the extra storage room, and the one Mom had personally liked best: the embroidered rosebuds along the neckline and bodice, so full of hope and promise.

  “Breathtaking!” Mom said, loudly enough for anyone to hear her. “I can hardly wait to get this framed and hung on the mantle above the fireplace, Amelia!”

  Mom simply couldn’t take her eyes off the smiling young bride. It occurred to her to wonder if this may be Amelia’s way of telling her she had met someone and gotten engaged? Could it be that computer genius she had met several months ago?

  “Amelia!” Mom called. “Do get up out of bed and come into your living room at least!” Mom replaced the painting onto the easel. “Oh, I mean your studio!”

  She noticed the painting of Celia on the floor behind the easel, propped against the wall, as well as the painting of a blond woman she didn’t recognize sitting next to it. Amelia had truly done a magnificent job on the portraits: both women exuded a preternatural glow that shone from within. Her daughter had captured that light and it oozed from those canvasses.

  Mom also noticed that each woman wore one of the wedding gowns she had found in the extra storage room.

  Mom smiled. So Amelia had been inspired by those wedding dresses after all.

  “Amelia?” Mom called out happily. When there was still no answer, Mom winced and walked into the kitchen, calling out her daughter’s name.

  But Amelia wasn’t there.

  Mom walked down the hallway, glancing into the bathroom along the way. As she approached the door to Amelia’s room, she said, “Amelia, darling, it’s way past time to be getting out of bed, don’t you think?” She pushed open Amelia’s door only to find an empty room.

  “Amelia?” Mom surveyed the room. For once, it was clean, with bed made, clothes in the hamper and carpet vacuumed.

  Almost instinctively, Mom opened the doors to the walk-in closet. She flipped on the lights in the staging area.

  Though it would have been strange if Amelia had been sitting there in the dark, it would have been no surprise to Mom. The girl was, after all, an artist; creative by nature and subject to an artist’s whims. It wouldn’t surprise Mom - not in the least - to have found Amelia sitting atop the apartment with easel, paints, brushes and stool, painting whatever she could see from up there.

  But Amelia wasn’t in the staging area. She wasn’t sitting before the mirror in the dark, wearing the wedding gown or anything else.

  But the door to the extra storage room stood ajar.

  Mom walked up to the door and uttered a small cry of disappointment.

  The wedding gowns were hanging on the portable metal rack inside the storage room door. Mom pushed on the door but it wouldn’t budge. It was still blocked by something inside the room. She started to reach inside the door and remove the wedding gowns as she had done before.

  She sighed. “Oh, bother,” she muttered. “I suppose she put them in there for a reason.” She sighed again and pulled the door shut. “I just wonder where the girl could be?”

  Mom walked the apartment from the bedroom to the living room area. She noticed Celia’s cell phone on the coffee table and the tousled blankets on the sofa.

  Celia must have stayed over and the two women were probably out for a morning stroll.

  Apparently Amelia had either forgotten her promise to her mother or she simply wasn’t up to the task.

  Mom sighed. “Oh, well. I’ll just leave her a note.”

 

  My Darling Amelia -

  What a beautiful and unique self-portrait. I’m taking it, darling. Father and I will pay you for it, but I must have it. I am going to have it properly framed for display and then put it above the fireplace. You must come and see it when you get the chance, love.

  Celia’s portrait is equally beautiful. You have truly outdone yourself. But who is the blond woman? I’ve never seen her before and I don’t think I recall your mentioning a blond friend. Oh, well. I’m just curious. All right. I’m being nosey.

  But do please let me know when you are ready to tackle that extra storage room, darling. I’ve no idea how large the room may be, but wouldn’t it be better to have an art studio unto itself? Then you can spread everything out.

  Call me, darling.

  xoxoxoxo

  Mom.

  Ravings

  There is a face

  in the oak tree;

  its eyes are hollow black,

  its mouth a cold slit

  and it is watching

  watching.

  Is it the face of a guardian

  protecting us from harm?

  Is it that of a vagrant

  lost and looking for home?

  Or is it an entity

  with cruel intent?

  I cannot tell.

  The face hides there

  within the leaves

  and moves

  each time the wind blows.

  Wait!

  The face has gone.

  I swear to you

  it was there.

  Snow

  I stood on tiptoe to find Bonnie. There she was, halfway down the meat case headed for the dairy section. Those blond spiral curls were spottable in any crowd but were not necessarily the reason Bonnie was easy to see. Nor was it Bonnie’s height towering her over surrounding patrons. She was flamboyant in carriage and demeanor. She was surrounded by an aura of natural beauty, an aura which exuded an enjoyment and fulfillment of life even as it consumed an enjoyment of life.

  “Wait up, Bonnie!” I called out. Shoppers scowled at me as I maneuvered the shopping cart through the obstacle course of elbows, knees and shopping carts.

  I received less positive attention when I was with Bonnie. This attention resulted from the very fact that I was with Bonnie: a droll, ordinary woman tagging along in the shadow of the Goddess Athena. Most of the attention directed towards the two of us together was the perplexed and questioning glances of people wondering about the contradictions in our personalities. Bonnie and I were equally perplexed by the reactions of people towards us.

  I caught up to Bonnie, leaning over the egg case for the eggs, her bottom half protruding into the aisle. I leaned over so only Bonnie could hear my wisecrack. “Stick that thing out far enough, somebody’s gonna grab it and throw it in their grocery cart.”

  Bonnie came out of the egg case laughing. It was not a ladylike laugh; it was a laugh that traveled up from her diaphragm and burst forth from her. The laugh was neither undignified nor unpleasant. It was a rich, throaty sound echoing Bonnie’s obvious exuberance in everything around her.

  “Yeah, well, I’d just like to see ’em try and scan this!” Bonnie slapped her ample bottom as I trembled with quiet laughter. Bonnie always claimed she was five pounds overweight. The only place I ever saw it was in the rounded curve of her backside.

  As Bonnie opened the lid to inspect the eighteen eggs within, I said, “We haven’t seen the first snowflake yet. What are all these people doing here?”

  “They’re stocking up on bread and milk.” Satisfied that no eggs were broken, she placed the carton into the front section of the shopping cart.

  “Like they could subsist on bread and milk for three days,” I scoffed. My exasperation mounted as a woman reached around me to grab a gallon of milk from the adjacent milk case.

  “According to the weatherman, it may be longer than three days, Tyger.” Only Bonnie called me Tyger.

  “You know the weathermen in Atlanta. They’re right about one percent of the time.”
/>
  Bonnie reached around me for some milk. “Yeah but that one percent is a real doozy. Remember the blizzard of ’93?”

  “Okay. Except for that one doofus who said it wouldn’t stick, the weathermen were right about that one.”

  Bonnie laughed and grabbed the front of the cart to maneuver through the throng of people. “They say this blizzard will make that one look like powdered sugar.”

  “What’s left on the list, Bonnie?”

  Bonnie grinned. “Anxious to leave, Tyger?”

  I shifted in my leather jacket. “You know how I feel about crowds, Bonnie.”

  “Just some sugar for Mom and some sodas for the boys.”

  “Mara isn’t going to have the boys for the weekend?”

  “What? And be snowed in with her own kids?”

  “What about your brother?”

  Bonnie rounded the corner of the sugar aisle almost colliding with a harried male shopper. The man was about as tall as Bonnie with salt and pepper hair, beard and mustache. Judging from the fit of his winter coat he was, as Bonnie would say, “pleasantly put together.” As I watched the two exchange apologies the expression on the man’s face was one of sheer delight at speaking to this attractive blond woman exuding such positive energy. Bonnie barely gave him a passing glance. She was more concerned with completing her grocery errands. As Bonnie maneuvered us up the sugar aisle, the man ogled after her. That is until his female companion caught up to him.

  “Watch where you’re going,” she snapped. She noticed he didn’t respond right away and followed his gaze as it followed Bonnie’s attractive figure. This woman’s face, too, carried an appreciative expression. Many women would trade their bodies for Bonnie’s attractive pear-shaped one. This woman, short and plump, dour of face and negative in thought judging by her actions thus far, would have traded her own body and everything in her grocery cart to have Bonnie’s shapely figure. It was no surprise when this woman’s admiring look was quickly replaced by envy. “Watch where you’re going,” the woman repeated, “and not where she’s going.”

  This was the typical reaction of people upon encountering Bonnie. Her good looks brought to one’s mind a fresh spring morning in a rustic log cabin beside a lake. Her oval face was not unblemished but there was an ethereal glow about it. The glow that most women could not attain with the use of makeup came naturally to Bonnie. Her positive attitude in the face of adversity enhanced the luster of her appearance. Both sexes admired and appreciated her beauty even though the female of the species harbored a twinge of jealousy for it.

  As we continued up the aisle, I glanced back over my shoulder. The man was now watching me, a look of bewilderment on his face.

  This, too, was a typical reaction. I had once been likened to a street hood by someone with not so favorable a disposition towards me. Oddly, men were jealous of me. They could not understand why someone like Bonnie would rather be good friends with the likes of me than lovers with the likes of them.

  “Hey, Bonnie, where’s your brother going to be during this big blizzard?”

  Bonnie elbowed her way between people and carts to grab a five pound bag of sugar. “He said he got some work to do out of town.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  Bonnie shrugged as she resumed guiding the cart. “Why should I? He’s no better parent than Mara.”

  “So just you, your mom and your nephews.”

  “That’s about it.”

  “At least you know they’ll be safe with you and your mom.”

  Bonnie’s stride skipped a step. She didn’t respond or turn to look at me, but I knew the expression on her face. The sadness in her eyes and grim countenance were familiar to me.

  “I’m sorry, Bonnie.”

  Bonnie turned and smiled at me; a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s okay, Tyger. I just still miss her.”

  Bonnie maneuvered our way up the soda and chip aisle. She grabbed two two-liter bottles of soda and placed them atop the pile in the cart. “Done.”

  “Great! Think you guys will be able to survive on this?” I waved my hand over the stuffed cart.

  “If not, I guess we’ll cook up one of Mom’s cats.”

  I laughed. “Cat stew, for sure!”

  Bonnie’s feigned light-heartedness pierced my skin.

  “If it’s okay, I’ll go outside for a smoke while you check out, Bonnie.”

  ***

  I tapped my cigarette against the flip-top box in my hand. The slight chill in the air was enough to soak through my faded blue jeans. An unexpected gust of winter air tossed debris across the shopping center parking lot creating a whirlwind in the corner of the l-shaped building where the grocery store met with the video rental store. In addition to these two businesses there was a locksmith, a pizza place, a Chinese restaurant and a nail salon. The small video store appeared to be as busy as the grocery store. Two people walking around the far corner of the store to the woods in the back caught my attention. I watched as they rounded the corner, and then cupped my hand around my lighter as the flame kissed the end of my cigarette.

  I opened the driver’s side door, leaned into the car and flipped the ignition switch to the auxiliary position. It wouldn’t go any farther without the keys. I dialed the radio to a rock’n’roll station.

  As I stood against the back of the big older model Mercury Cougar, I caught my reflection in the glass front of the video rental store. My figure lacked the attractive attributes of womanhood, resembling, instead, a matchstick. There I stood, my faded jeans flapping slightly about my frame in the winter breeze; a black cable-knit sweater beneath a black leather jacket; black leather boots; my short-cropped brown hair tossed in whatever direction the wind blew and a cigarette dangling from my mouth. The description of street hood was not only apt; it was well-deserved.

  My mind’s eye conjured a likeness of Bonnie standing beside my own reflection. I barely reached the chin of her five foot ten inch frame. The scenario before me summoned a cloud framing my own projection while Bonnie’s image was bathed in the winter sun; a sun which enhanced Bonnie’s natural glow while casting the merest backlight upon my own self-deprecating image.

  I shook myself out of this reverie and stood beside the driver’s door. I couldn’t see my reflection from there.

  It was amazing that Bonnie and I got along. I was the town bully in third grade when this new little blond girl challenged and overthrew my authority.

  We’d been there for each other ever since. Bonnie stuck by me through my two year stint in jail for selling cocaine. I went with Bonnie to the funeral of her three month old niece.

  It was an accident. That’s what the report said. The truth of the matter was that Mara was doped up and driving. She spent six months in jail for the death of her infant daughter. Mara’s father bought time off for her. It was the way things worked in Mara’s family.

  Bonnie hated it when her nephews spent time with their mother. They always came back home with cuts and bruises and cigarette burns — accidents. Sure, kids are always falling down, falling off of things, applying lit cigarettes to their arms. Happens all the time.

  The trouble with someone like Mara is that there’s lots of suspicion, but little proof. Bonnie once consulted a lawyer about getting custody of her two nephews. The lawyer informed her she would need to prove Mara an unfit mother and the court system needed more than a few cuts or bruises or cigarette burns to make a case stick against the natural mother.

  “Snowdrifts as high as nine feet in some northern and midwestern states. And that weather front is headed our way. Overnight lows in the lower teens. Bundle up, y’all.”

  I switched off the radio as Bonnie walked out of the store.

  “You know you can smoke in the car,” Bonnie said. “It’s too cold to be standing out here smoking.”

  “You don’t smoke,” I said. “So you know I won’t smoke in your car.” I squatted down and rubbed my cigarette butt out on
the pavement and put the butt into my cigarette pack. I helped Bonnie put the bags of groceries into the trunk of the car.

  “Ya ever feel like we’re a married couple, Tyger?” Bonnie teased as she slammed the lid of the trunk.

  “Ya mean we’re not?” I shot back. “I thought there was something funny about that judge that married us.”

  Bonnie laughed as she slid behind the steering wheel. It was good to hear her laugh, even at an old joke.

  As I slid into the passenger side of the car, Bonnie switched on the ignition. From the radio blared Murder By Numbers by The Police.

  “Aw, Tyger,” Bonnie groaned as she laughed and changed radio stations. “You and your rock’n’roll.”

  “Aw, Bonnie,” I groaned back as Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “I Feel Lucky” filled the interior of the car. “You and your dang twangy country.”

  Bonnie laughed and put the car in gear. “Do you know them, Tyger?”

  I followed Bonnie’s gaze. The two people I had spotted earlier going behind the store walked across the parking lot.

  “Nope. Not familiar to me.”

  Bonnie pulled the car out of the parking space. “I’m glad you don’t go back there any more, Tyger.”

  I shifted my position in the seat. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  ***

  I hung my leather jacket in the closet off my foyer. My apartment was small but neat. The small kitchen across from the closet was rarely used. The living room contained a sofa, two chairs, a thirteen-inch color television set, a coffee table, a stereo system and two full floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Off of the living room was a bedroom with attached bath.

  I switched on the stereo for some music.

  “This weather front isn’t just going to pass through. It’s going to pull up a chair and stay for a while. And it’s going to get cold, folks. Temperatures are expected to dip into single digits with wind chill factors in the negatives before it’s all over with.”

  The voice of the announcer was smooth and silky but I was tired of weather reports. I switched off the stereo and sat on the sofa in my living room.

  The saving grace of my apartment was the sliding glass doors which opened onto a balcony. The granite edifice of Stone Mountain was framed within the glass of the doors. On clear days with the azure blue sky behind it, the mountain loomed monumental; a spectacular homage to the cooperation of man and nature.