Something Old, Something New, Someone Tired, Something Blue

I'm not giving in. And, also, I'm not addressing the half empty yet. I'm full of empty promises, which I'm assuming you've already noted about my personality. I do have something to share, though. I wrote it about a year and a half ago in a fit of boredom at work, and I think that if I were to ever write a novel, this would be a portion of the first chapter. So. If you're in the mood to read on...

Glancing down, she considered the scab residing on her left knee and lightly traced her fingers across its grooved surface. The heat and humidity today were oppressive, but she was too young to notice. She stared aimlessly at the small house across the street as her fingers mapped and remapped the hardened grooves. After a moment, she leaned lazily back against the concrete steps where she was sitting and tugged down on her loose cotton skirt.

She was bored. She knew that it would be hours before her mom got home from the dance studio and considered walking down to say hello. The desire for a coke propelled her to her feet. She would go down and ask for money. In response to her sudden movement, the black dog lying in front of her lifted its head from the sidewalk.

“Come on Tippy,” she said, “Let’s go inside.”

The dog lumbered into a standing position and gazed up at her expectantly.

“Let’s go inside, Tippy.”

She tapped her hand against her thigh emphatically. The dog wagged his tail in response and took a step forward. She reached down to take a hold of his metal collar and opened the screen door behind her to guide him indoors. Rather than cooperate, he backed up lowering his head away from her in an effort to relinquish himself from her grasp.

When she let go, he backed up out of reach all the while maintaining an expectant expression. Deliberating for a moment, she opened the screen door and walked into the house returning with a thin slice of cheese wrapped securely in plastic. Standing in the doorway, she unwrapped it and tore it in half. She folded the larger half into her mouth. The dog shifted on his feet transferring all of his focus eagerly onto the remaining cheese.

“Speak Tippy.”

He sat.

“Speak Tippy.”

He pawed at the air and whimpered.

“Speak Tippy.”

He barked twice – softly and then louder.

“Good dog.”

She backed into the dim foyer of the house while offering the cheese in her hand to entice him inside. Once the dog was securely in the front hall, she wedged her lanky frame between him and the door before handing him the reward.

To exit, she had to squeeze through an opening only a few inches wide because the dog insisted on pressing his head stubbornly against her in an attempt to go back outside. When she’d managed to get out, he stood behind the screen whimpering and scratching at the woven metal – creating unpleasant scraping sounds that reverberated through the quiet house.

Ignoring this, she began to walk down the steep hill. Three days ago at about the same time of day she had run down this hill chasing her brother as he rode his bike. She’d fallen just before she’d reached the bottom and now had a thick, hard scab on her knee and sore palms. Today she was more cautious.

Reaching the bottom, she turned left onto Forest Avenue. She strolled down the mottled sidewalk enjoying the pungent shelter of the hovering dogwoods and magnolias that lined the pathway. When she reached the elementary school, she veered right to cut through the parking lot and playground. Her brother was playing basketball with the neighbors. Three brothers that her mother had coined ‘the three boys.’ She walked over to lean against a goal post wanting them to stop and talk to her. They continued their play, acknowledging her briefly with a – “Hey Kat. How’s it goin’?”

After a few moments she abandoned the goal post and walked the remaining distance across the playground until she reached the chain link fence separating it from the whitewashed houses on the other side. The gate was only thirty feet away, but she chose to shun the traditional means of exit and instead climbed over where she was, hiking her skirt up to a scandalous degree in order to do so. No one noticed.

On the other side of the fence, she paused for a moment to gaze up at the town’s courthouse. It was a four story red brick building with the yellow county jail jutting out like a tumor from its north side. The town’s only elevator and blind person both resided within this building. She had gone to visit them on a girl scout trip the prior year.

At the outing, they’d all been allowed one ride in the elevator. She’d felt her stomach plummet as it whirred smoothly to the fourth floor and couldn’t help pressing her palms against the cool mirrored walls with deep reverence. She was impressed.

“Cut it out, Kat,” her troop leader had said guiding her away from the wall by her shoulder, “You’re smudging the glass.”

Upon reaching the fourth floor, they went to the District Attorney’s office. Kat was not interested in him. Being the troop leader’s husband, she had seen him on a regular basis for several years now. More impressive was the view from his office. It provided a northward panorama of the valley patterned with the squat brick buildings that comprised the heart of her town.

“Hands off the window, Kat,” her Troop Leader admonished from the door of the office.

They weren’t allowed to take the elevator back down. She noted that the corridor of the stairs was lined in a mint green tile exactly like that of the cafeteria at her school. Downstairs they walked into the DMV office on the first floor to look at the blind man.

He was older than her parents and wore a sweater despite the repressive heat. He showed them his cane prompting Kat to maneuver closer for a look. He walked behind the counter and showed them the stamps and forms that he used for his job. He showed them his typewriter with its Braille keys. He showed them his book that he’d brought to read during his lunch hour. He let them run their hands over its bumpy pages. After her turn, she remained near him and reached out to touch the thin, white cane he’d leaned against the counter. Before she could touch it, the leader intercepted her hand and held it in a firm grasp against her side. The man read them a chapter from his book. It was about a girl their age whose daddy was a public defender in Alabama.

Afterwards, the troop walked outside and stood in the parking lot to wait for their parents. Kat had been told to walk down to the dance studio to wait for her Mom to get done with work. Before she could leave, her Scout Leader walked over.

“How’s it going at home? How’s your Mom?”

Kat fingered the unevenly sewn badges on her green sash before responding, “She’s fine.”

The leader stood for a few moments looking down at her.

“Well,” she said finally, “I’ll see you in a few weeks Katherine. Tell your Momma to call me if I can help with anything . . . Okay?”

Kat moved her foot forward an inch to step on the red ant walking across her path. Her response was a mumbled, “Yes, ma’am.”

Her mom owned the dance studio. It was housed in a tall, skinny red brick building. When she arrived, her mom was busy teaching the seven year-old ballet class. Her younger sister stood amongst them at the bar half-heartedly lifting and lowering her leg in beat with the classical music playing on the record player. Kat walked to the front where her mother stood. Her back tall and straight, arm raised in a graceful arc over her head as she directed the gaggle of distracted little girls in front of her.

“Hi, honey. What’re you up to?”

“Nothing.”

“Do me a favor and lead these girls through the rest of their warm-up. I need to prepare today’s deposit before the bank closes.”

Kat kicked the filthy, untied keds off her feet and reached out to grasp the textured metal bar. Her mom walked into the reception area and sat down behind the heavy wood desk.

“Honey, you’re supposed to be a role model. Back straight … tuck in your seat … that’s my girl.”

Kat’s older sister usually worked at the studio after school, but she was a cheerleader and there was a football game that night. After completing the bar exercises, Kat walked out to the center of the room and told the class to begin their floor stretches. Everyone listened except for her little sister, who walked into the reception area to lean against the desk where their mother was sitting.

“Other room, Lucy. Go do your stretches.”

“I don’t like ballet,” she complained.

“Too bad. You have to take it until you’re thirteen … after that, you can decide for yourself.”

Lucy sighed before walking back into the other room and sitting down next to Kat who was methodically leading the girls in their stretches until their mother reentered the room.

“Kat, honey. Come run this down to the bank for me.”

“Can I have some money for a coke?”

“Sure.”

Lucy looked up at her mother and sister standing above her.

“I want a coke, too.”

“You can have one when you’re through with class.”

Kat walked into the reception area and pulled her mom’s purse out of the desk drawer. She fished around for fifty cents and after locating it grabbed the deposit bag off of the desk and headed down the street to the bank. She considered the bank to be the most glamorous building in town. Steps stretched across the entire front of the building and were comprised of what looked to be luxurious white marble marred by soft gray stone threading throughout. Four large white washed columns decorated the front expanse and the wooden door was comprised of wide, dense oak that was heavy to open. Every time she walked up or down the steps of the front of the building, she imagined that she was entering or leaving her private home.

After exiting the bank, she crossed the street to Mr. King’s Barber Shop. Inside she asked for a coke and without a word he walked over to a cooler to remove one of the glass bottles. He opened the bottle and handed it to her. She took a sip and then handed him the fifty cents she was grasping in her sweaty hand. After taking a second sip, she breathed in, unconsciously savoring the smell of aging wood, stale shaving cream and something metallic that she couldn’t place.

“Thanks.”

“You be good now, ya’ hear?”

“Yes sir.”

For years now, probably since she was old enough to talk, they’d replayed the same short conversation, rarely deviating a single word. After taking another sip and enjoying the dim, air-conditioned interior for a moment longer, she left and went back next door to the dance studio.

She sat at the desk for an hour drawing cartoon people with a ball point pen on the scrap paper her mother kept at the desk. She took tiny sips of her coke hoping to make it last for as long as possible. Lucy told their mom on her when she refused to share.

“Luc … just get money out my purse and go get one of your own.”

Lucy walked behind the desk to retrieve her mom’s purse from the drawer. She was impeded by Kat who was blocking the drawer with her foot.

“Move your foot.”

“What?”

“Move your foot.”

“I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

“Mo-om.”

Kat moved her foot out of the way and began rotating around and around in the wheeled chair using the edge of the desk to maneuver. Lucy jerked the heavy brown purse out of the drawer and dug through it for change.

At seven, the last class ended and Lucy, Kat and their mom left, exiting out the back of the studio to the alley where the family’s tired, cream-colored Ford Tempo was parked.