It just sat there on the window ledge. Croaking
it’s mating call to anything that could hear it. I appeared to be the sole
individual hearing its guttural summons echoing throughout most of the common
area and into the office. It has the habitual annoyance of over powering
everything I do to block it out and I’m beginning to feel the urge to mate with
it myself. I walk out onto the screened in patio, the sound of every animal and
creature in the throws of mating compulsion are all uniting in chorus.
Following the little path between the
building and the fenced in retention pond that constitutes as water front
property, under the glow of a fluorescent beacon it sits upon its windowsill
balcony. If it was female I could have called it Juliet. With a flick of my
fingers my love torn companion is air born into the ragged bushes and dead
leaves. Making my way back to the patio, the cacophony appears to be getting
louder, as if compensating for the loss.
The rising sounds of the world grow louder
and louder; closing in on myself and filling my head with nothing else. The
discernable cries of the distinct animals are becoming one whole thunderous
rumble, my head is ringing with its overwhelming force and it’s closing in on
me in, not only from the darkness but from within me as well. The gnarled trees
within the fenced in pond move toward the building, as if the space between us
is shrinking, without taking a step, growing larger to encompass everything.
A light is turned on inside, it distracts
me and I see Mavis walking to one of the dinning room tables. She’s carrying an
arm full of books and papers, a thick brown and green comforter draped over her
head. Everything around has returned to the ongoing mating rituals and the
dense air encasing the world; all quaint and normal and safe within their
boundaries. And then there is Mavis, a pudgy middle-aged woman with a child
like contour to her face.
Her smile portents to an innocence that may
or may not be there, depending on who diagnoses her; she uses it well when her
devious manipulating back fires and her explanations get no sympathy. I watch
her, sprawling her belongings onto the table, taking a seat with the comforter
still draped over her head, she wraps herself with it and begins separating her
papers and books into neat piles. I walk back in, and prepare for the
inevitable.
“What’cha doing Mavis?”
“What?” She pokes her head out of the
comforter, looking as if I had just spoken to her in a foreign language or she
somehow didn’t hear what I had said. “Oh, I can’t sleep in my room tonight.
There is poison in the air and it’s gotten into my room.” She pulls the cover
over her head once more.
“What
poison?” I ask.
“The stuff Chris used to clean the counters
tonight. He uses too much of it and I’ve told him thousands of times he can’t
use that stuff because he sprays it all over the counters. I need fresh air. I
can’t sleep in my room. It smells really bad.” She ends with that deceptive
smile and a pseudo-geisha giggle.
I attempt to explain to her that there was
no smell of poison or chemical cleaners in the air. I explain to her that had a
cleaner been used in the kitchen it would not affect her in her bedroom. All in
a reluctant but calm and endearing tone, attempting to defuse the situation
before it escalates.
“Oh, it gets into the air conditioner and
then to all the bedrooms. I can smell it. That’s all that matters.”
“You don’t smell it here next to the
kitchen?”
“No.” She’s looking around for answers; you
can almost hear the marbles clanking about in her head. “Because, you know, the
air conditioner sucks up all the smell.”
“You know the rules about being out here
after bed time.”
“Oh, please, I just want to read and I
can’t sleep. It’s cold in here. Can I get some ice water?”
“No ice water and I like it cold in here.
I’m sure it’s a lot warmer in your room.” I make my way back to the office.
“But I’ll die in there!” Her voice trailing
behind me.
“Yeah, I know, but you still have to go to
bed. You got five minutes to clean all that junk you brought out here and head
back to your room.” I sit down at the computer and jiggle the mouse to get it
going again.
Mavis comes sulking to the office, her head
down, attempting to use that child-like innocence. I click on the screen to
bring up the desktop, the boss’ grandson on his second birthday, his face
smothered in frosting.
“Donald…”
She accentuates the syllables like a five year old. “Why can’t I stay in the
dinning room? You know Jesus says that when you want something you should take
it and I can’t sleep because Gerty is always talking in her sleep.” Gertrud is
her roommate; a 55 year old who’s slowly decaying with the AIDS virus.
“Because
its bedtime and you know that and you should be in your room.” I pull up a Word
document on the computer and begin to type at random to appear busy.
“Well can I tell you something?” She moves
into the office and starts to close the door.
“Wait! No. Were not doing this tonight, not
again, were not having some heart to heart about your dog, or about the bible,
or about the fact that it’s the anniversary of your mom’s death. Step back. Go
on.”
“That’s not fair. I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll tell you what’s not fair is what your
mom’s going to say when I call her in the morning and explain to her how you’ve
been acting these past two weeks.”
She lowers her head once more and heads
back to the dining room. Within minutes she storms back past the office
carrying all of her belongings and heads for her room, slamming the bedroom
door.
Air escapes my lungs in an involuntary
sigh. My love torn companion has returned to the window ledge and his swampy
serenade begins once more.
