I could once. Writing had been my catharsis, my sanctuary, the place I went to find my true self.
Is this where I was? Would I find myself in the writing?
I'd lost myself. I'd become Mrs. Siggs, and somewhere along the way I'd lost Mona Lisa Harrison.
The microwave dinged. I ignored it and stared at the purple envelope. I knew what I wanted to say, but didn't quite know how to say it.
What the hell!
I'd just write it. If it sounded stupid, I could tear it up, and no one would be the wiser.
Write something!
And then, I did. I wrote a quote, two sentences I knew I would carry in my heart.
Forever.
We are not invisible because the world does not see us. We become invisible when we can no longer see ourselves.
“Jeez. That's pretty good,” I whispered. I read it out loud a half-dozen times, and spent another five minutes staring at it. Suddenly I remembered my lunch. “Shit!”
The Mac & Cheese was still warm, and I mixed it with a plastic spoon and shoveled it in like a grave digger under an overcast sky. I had two minutes remaining in my lunch break when I rinsed the recyclable plastic and tossed it into my locker.
I returned to aisle fourteen, and Annette was still smiling. I wondered if she was under endorsement with Crest. “How was your lunch?” she asked courteously.
“Fast,” I said, as we began our switchover.
“So, wanna meet outside at four?” she asked.
“How about ten past? I have to grab a few things before I go.”
“Come to think of it, so do I. Thanks for reminding me. You're really something, Mona.”
Should have stopped by last week. I was really something then, too!
“Thanks!”
“I love your makeup, by the way.”
“I got a makeover. Spent almost two hundred bucks at Kohl's,” I admitted.
“Wow. You could get the same stuff here for about half the price.”
Annette was clearly vying for Employee of the Month!
“You're probably right, Annette.”
“I am. See you at four.”
“See ya,” I said. And then she was gone.
During the next three hours, I dealt with the typical cashier issues: expired coupons, unwanted items, an infrared sensor that didn't always work properly, and customers who were sometimes unkind.
It was quarter to four when I faced my first real challenge. An elderly woman, who was cute as a button, wasn't sure she'd gotten the right amount of canned cat food. I had to print the slip, count each item, and when that wasn't sufficient, I had to unload the bags, and allow her to count each can, which she did with an agonizing slowness.
I smiled at the man behind her, and he flashed me an impatient look. When we finally got everything scanned, my sweet, blue-haired customer began rummaging around in her bag for the thirty-seven cents change she needed to make us “even Steven.”
“I can give you change,” I said, after she'd dug enthusiastically for about two minutes.
The guy behind her began to pat down his hunting vest, and I was pretty sure there was gonna be bloodshed.
“Ma'am, I can give you the change,” I repeated, and she smiled at me.
“Give me another second, dear. I know I have it.”
Great! Just my luck, a competitor for the exact change award!
“Here we go,” she said, passing me a handful of nickels and pennies.
“Um, that's only twenty-seven cents,” I barely said, and the guy behind her threw me a dime with such force it could have taken my eye out. I managed to get the cat lady checked out, and the hunter stood before me.
“Four packs of Marb Reds box, and make it quick, darlin',” he said, and I felt sweat dribbling down the slopes of my torso.
“Cigarettes are in checkout fifteen, sir,” I squeaked while holding my breath.
“Isn't that right behind you?” he asked, and I shivered and almost wet myself.
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“Can't you just grab them?”
“I cannot,” I said, and his face turned beet red.
“You gotta be fuckin' kidding me,” he said, and I noticed he'd gotten Beth's attention.
I tried to send her a message with my mind, to no avail. “You're not gonna get them for me, are ya?” the guy asked, and I shook my head.
“Sir, you have no idea how much I'd like to, but I am not permitted to do that. You're going to have to go to checkout fifteen.”
Beth, I need you!
“I'd like to stand here until the store changes its policy,” the man said, and I groaned.
“That's fine, but I get off in five minutes,” I said. He stood eying me, and I thought I saw him twitch. I wondered what kind of arsenal his vest held.
Oh, my God!
I'm going to get killed at checkout fourteen in WalMart.
I have a husband I'm falling in love with again, almost two hundred bucks of just-opened beauty products, and an unused gift card.
Talk about bum luck.
“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” I heard a male voice say, and I relaxed with such force I almost crapped my britches. The bass voice belonged to Gary Simons, a retired police officer, who provided security for WalMart, Monday through Friday.
“Sir?” Gary repeated, and I stopped breathing, and willed my intestines to be still.
“Not without my smokes,” the man said, and the security guard moved in closer to me.
“Mona, I'd like you to wait over there with Beth.” Gary didn't have to ask twice. I ran to Beth as if she'd just chosen me for dodge ball.
“You okay?” Beth asked. It was obvious she cared, and I felt sad I'd only been her friend for six hours.
“I'm scared.”
“Me, too,” she whispered.
We stood there as Gary escorted the hunter, sans his cigarettes, from the store.
Now, not a lot of people get escorted from WalMart. We cater to all kinds, and there's pretty much something for everyone in our store. I didn't think I'd ever seen anyone get escorted from WalMart, but part of me hoped there was a “no return” policy when one did, and the hunter would never return. At least not on my watch.
“Why don't you cash out,” Beth said. “You only have two minutes.”
“Thanks. I need to pee,” I said, and she smiled.
I cashed out as quickly as I could, peed like a race horse, collected my things from my locker, and called Tom.
He answered on the first ring. “Hi, honey. How are you?”
“Rough day. I had a bad customer. Security had to escort him out.”
“You all right, Mona?” he asked, and something heated up in my lower region. It wasn't sexual; it was comfortable. Somebody cared if I was all right.
“Yes. I'm okay. I was scared, is all.”
“I'm sorry that happened to you. Everything else going okay?” he asked.
“Not really. One of my co-workers died Monday.”
“It wasn't Beth was it, cause I'd feel like a real schmuck if it was?” he asked, and I chuckled weakly.
“No. Edith Purnell. I don't know if you remember her, but she was my aunt's friend. Aunt Ida and I used to go visit her every Thursday night.”
“I do remember her. Short lady, gray hair, lived in a little trailer, right?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry, Mona,” Tom said.
“Thanks. I'm sorry, too. She was a really nice person. She's actually the reason I called. Do you remember when you said, 'anything you want, Mona?'” I asked.
“I remember.”
“Did that include a cat by any chance?”
“I don't see why it couldn't. I like cats. I always wondered why we didn't have one.”
“Well, Edith had fourteen. Her nephew is trying to find them good homes.”
“You should take one.”
“Tom?” I said.
“What's that?”
“I
was actually thinking of two cats. It's gonna be hard for them, you know, with moving, and with Edith gone, and maybe they'd be less lonely if I took two.”
“Wow.”
“Or, one's good,” I said, and my husband laughed.
“That's not what I was wowing. Welcome back, Mona. That was the girl I remember, with a heart of gold, who'd do anything for anyone. I'm glad you're my wife.”
“Me, too,” I whispered.
Ten
The Second Amendment gives Americans the right to bear arms.
This doesn't mean everyone should.
By ten past four, I had blown the entire WalMart gift card, a freshly-laundered twenty, and seven wrinkled one-dollar bills on a fresh supply of Little Debbie snacks, a new set of coffee mugs, and all the paraphernalia necessary to care for a cat.
Annette was waiting out front, and drove us to the trailer park where Edith Purnell had lived. Bernie Purnell, Edith's nephew, met us at the front door. He held it while we stepped inside, and I reached out to hug the young man I hadn't seen in years.
“I'm sorry, Bernie,” I whispered, and unable to speak, he smiled weakly. “Bernie Purnell, Annette Lasky, another of your aunt's co-workers.” Annette held her hand out and Bernie took it and shook it warmly.
“I'm sorry about Edith,” Annette said softly. “We all enjoyed working with her.”
“Thank you,” Bernie said. “Now, I gotta tell you, the cats are a little freaked out. My mom took four, and I'm taking the two orange kittens. Everyone else still needs a home,” he added, appearing anxious to change the subject.
“I'd like to take one,” Annette said.
“Two for me,” I said, and Bernie looked at me. “I don't want them to be lonely.”
“Two for me then, too,” Annette whispered, and Bernie smiled weakly. His cat problem was lessening, but his grief was not. He'd begun to cry again, and he turned and disappeared into a narrow hallway. Annette and I just stood there.
He returned a moment later. “I think Aunt Edith would have wanted you to have this, Mona.”
Bernie handed me an old picture. It was me, with Aunt Ida and Edith. I was Mona Lisa Harrison then, a girl unsoiled by adult responsibilities, unmarred by lost hope. I traced the outline of the old me, amazed by the connection I felt to the stranger in the photo.
“Thanks, Bernie.”
“You're welcome. Hey, this is gonna sound a little weird, but do either of you know who Mandy Patinkin is?” Bernie asked.
I couldn't help but smile. “He's an actor, and was on a show called Criminal Minds. It was one of your aunt's favorites.”
“I didn't know,” Bernie said, sounding heartbroken.
“Why do you ask?” I said, a bit hesitantly.
“Meeting Mandy Patinkin was on Aunt Edith's bucket list.”
“Wow. Bernie, this might seem a bit inappropriate, but may I see the list?” I asked.
“Sure.”
Bernie left the room and returned a moment later with a notebook adorned with animated cats. He opened it and handed it to me. Edith Purnell had a bucket list. Meeting Mr. Patinkin took the honor of first place. I read the remaining entries.
See the Eiffel Tower (in person).
Sing a solo in church.
Go to a Broadway show.
Learn to sail.
Take ballroom dancing, and meet someone nice. (Someone who can dance.)
Own a home without wheels.
The entries were simple, and something tightened in my chest as I pondered the hopes of a simple lady.
Seven entries to make a life complete.
Had she done any of them?
I felt incredibly sad at the thought of an unfinished life, and suddenly I knew Tom was right. I needed to find something that made me feel more fulfilled, and not at some indeterminate point in the future, but now. It couldn't wait. It wasn't right to put it off any longer.
“Thank you for letting me see this, Bernie.”
“You're welcome, Mona. My aunt thought the world of you, She was always telling me how funny you were and how much she enjoyed working with you.”
I was incredibly moved. “I didn't know,” I said.
I handed Bernie the notebook, which he laid on an old piano in the tiny space that was Edith's living room. “I'll let the cats out now. I didn't know if you wanted to take them tonight, but there are cat carriers if you do, only I'd need them back.”
Cat carrier? I knew I'd forgotten something.
“I'll take them tonight. I can bring the carrier back on my way to work tomorrow,” I offered.
“Sounds good,” he replied, before walking to a door in the back of the trailer. “Brace yourselves. Here they come.”
Two black-and-white kittens stepped timidly from the hallway. They were the cutest things I'd ever seen.
“The kittens are adorable,” I said.
“I'd rather not have kittens,” Annette said, and I relaxed. I didn't want to get into a fight over who'd get which cats, but those two little buggers were so cute, I would've scrapped for 'em if I had to.
“I'll take the two black-and-white kittens, if that's okay, Bernie,” I said, and he smiled.
“Yeah, that's great. They're brother and sister. Daisy and Duke, Aunt Edith called them.”
“Daisy and Duke. Cute,” I said.
Two older cats lumbered from the bedroom and jumped onto the couch. They huddled together, and Annette sat beside them. “These two seem nice,” she said. They were beautiful, long-haired, and the white one had crystal clear blue eyes that were slightly crossed. The other was a fluffy tiger-striped, with deep brown eyes. They were both sensational feline specimens, at least in my opinion.
Ten minutes later, Annette and I were on our way. I promised Bernie I'd see him the following day, and he looked marginally more put together when we left. Daisy and Duke were snuggled into a single cat carrier, hiding beneath an old, flowered dish towel, and Annette's new friends, who we'd learned were Amos and Andy, were in separate carriers in the back seat, hissing the Hallelujah Chorus.
“Jeez, they sound pretty mad,” Annette said, and I was pleased to be taking the quiet ones, although I suspected mine would be more trouble in the long run.
“They're just scared,” I said, as we returned to the WalMart parking lot.
I loaded the cat carrier into my Jeep, waved to Annette, and headed for home. I didn't have a clue what to make for dinner, so I spun the “take-out wheel” in my head, and it landed on Joe's pizza. I called my Tom and left a message.
“Hi. Can you pick up a pizza for dinner? Thanks, Tom.” I paused for a moment. “I love you,” I added softly, then hung up as I approached my driveway. I scanned the area. Not a bird in sight. Maybe they'd left.
“Awesome,” I whispered.
I made the first trip to the house, without issue, then went back for the cats. The crows were back, and my front lawn was covered with them. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I whispered, and although I hated that I said it, it was more a prayer than intended profanity.
I grabbed the cat carrier, kicked the Jeep's door closed, ran for the front door, and slammed it behind me. Behind the safety of closed doors, I returned my gaze to the lawn.
“What in the name of hell?” I mumbled.
I wondered if I should move my Jeep, and park on the street. It was already caked with so much feces, I wasn't sure more would make any difference, but I had to wonder if it was damaging the paint. The Jeep was a nice candy-apple red; I preferred to keep it that way.
I unpacked the stuff from WalMart, and realized I hadn't thought of any toys for the kittens. They sat eying me from the confines of their travel crate, and once I'd set the litter box at the foot of the basement stairs, I released them. The kittens tiptoed out, tromped around in the litter, and flew up the stairs.
“Here we go,” I whispered, following them. It didn't take me long to discover that the kittens didn't need toys. In less than a minute, they were parked on the windowsill, watching
the bird show like a couple of bobble heads.
“Glad you're enjoying it,” I said.
I straightened up the kitchen and washed the coffee mugs, turning occasionally for an update on my new friends.
I heard the front door a few minutes later, and the cats flew off the windowsill.
“Whoa,” I heard my Tom say. “Guess we got some kitties, eh?” he called from near the front door.
“I couldn't resist,” I said.
“They're cute, babe,” he said with such familiarity, it was as if the last five years hadn't happened.
“Babe?” I said, and he smiled. “You used to call me that.”
“I know.” Tom crossed the kitchen, and stood before me. He brushed the hair from my forehead, and held my gaze.
“What?” I whispered.
“It's coming back,” he said softly.
“What is?”
“The light in your eyes.”
“Tom,” I said, as he pressed his lips to mine. He lingered there for a moment, and I felt the warmth of him, the comfort in his presence.
“I waited for you. I knew you'd come back.”
“I can feel it,” I admitted. “I feel myself coming alive again.”
“I've missed you so much.”
“This might sound weird, but I've missed me, too.”
“Doesn't sound that weird to me.”
What did sound weird, was the excited mewing coming from the windowsill. “The kittens like the birds,” I said, and Tom chuckled.
“Glad someone does,” he said from near the window. “They seem to be multiplying,” he added, and I could see his horrified expression reflected in the glass.
I crossed the kitchen and stood beside him. “Jeez, I think you're right,” I agreed.
“I think there's crap on that towel over there,” he said.
“What towel?”
“The one I used to cover the pizza box.”
“Ah, gotcha,” I said. “Good thinking, Tom.”
“Thanks. Let's eat, and I'll let you know what I found out about this crow business.”
I grabbed some paper plates, and we set up shop at the kitchen table.
“So, what did you find out?” I asked, once we'd both inhaled a slice in record time.
“Well, we have some options,” Tom said. “I asked around at work, and I guess this crow thing is a fairly big problem. One of the guys suggested I call Animal Control, which I did.”
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