The Universe is a Very Big Place

by APRIL ASHEIM

  Lanie resisted the urge to roar. She wasn’t going to get into this with the girl again. Instead, she grabbed Spring by the elbow and pulled her up onto the floor. "You’d think you’d be excited to see all these new places. Most little girls don’t get to sleep in a different room every night. You two are the luckiest little girls in the entire Universe. Right, Chloe?" Chloe nodded and lay on the bed, wriggling into her jeans. She had been making the rounds through the concession stands lately and Lanie hoped she would not need new pants any time soon. "Now hurry up. We have to hit Flagstaff before the snow."

  "I hate the snow,” Spring mumbled. "When I grow up I’m living in a house where I sleep in the same bed every night and there is never, ever any snow."

  "Be boring then,” Lanie said. “And see if I care."

  2005

  Sam was frazzled. "What do you mean you lost your keys again? Didn’t you put them in the key cup I made for you?"

  Lanie watched the scene from the dining room table as she sipped her coffee. Spring scrambled around the living room, pulling cushions from the couch and flinging them in random directions behind her. Sam followed, dusting off each cushion and placing it back into the sofa.

  "No, Sam. I didn’t put them in the key cup. I don’t even know where the key cup is!"

  "You lost the key cup?" Sam ducked to avoid one errant sofa pillow but was hit by another. Spring shot him a look and walked towards the center of the living room. She spun three times, her hair flailing out around her, a pale yellow fan of silk. Lanie missed being that young, when her hair had shone with moonbeams. Too many years of wigs and Ms. Clairol had zapped all of the luster from her own locks. But then Sam said something and the wistfulness was gone. The best thing about being old was that she no longer had to put up with men’s crap. Lanie raised her cup to the Universe and slammed it back onto the table with the word KEYS defiantly pointed in Sam’s direction.

  Sam twitched and Lanie hoped she was about to witness his nervous breakdown. But Spring, in a moment of inspiration, patted the front of her pants and laughed. "I found them! I forgot I stuck them in my jeans!"

  Sam wiped his brow in relief and Lanie grumbled, her entertainment over for the night.

  "Mom, we’re going to a movie," Spring said, kissing Lanie on the cheek. Sam looked as though he might follow suit but Lanie gave him the evil eye and he pretended to tie his shoes instead.

  "Okay, you kids have fun."

  As they made their way out the door they argued over which movie to see––Spring wanting an adventure flick while Sam hoped for a romantic comedy. When they disappeared from the driveway, Lanie sighed in relief. She took a final swig of coffee and looked at the ugly mug before tossing it into the garbage can. Sam must have taken a ceramics class taught by monkeys. "Alone at last." Lanie wriggled out of her dress and let it fall onto the floor.

  Oh sweet freedom! If only Spring and Sam weren’t such fuddy-duddies, with their books and their Nationalistic Public Radio, she could walk around naked anytime she wanted. She was going to hate living here, she could tell. This place lacked the freedom that Chloe’s house offered. Chloe didn’t care if Lanie covered herself in peanut butter and belly danced topless as long as it didn’t interrupt her stories.

  Lanie pulled off her bra and kicked off her underwear, aiming them in the direction of Sam’s bookcase. Her bra draped itself over a copy of Animal Farm and her panties ended up someplace in the Civil War section. Liberated at last, she strutted around the house inspecting her surroundings. Though she had been to Spring’s home many times, this would be the first time she was staying.

  The house was clean. Too clean. That was all Sam. She hadn’t raised Spring that way. Germs were a good thing. They helped the body build immunity against things like the Asian Bird Flu and the plague. It was not only the cleanliness that bothered her. It was the knickknacks. Everywhere. Crammed into every available cubby hole and shelf. Sam was a collector. Of crap. He was also a labeler apparently. Every section of the shelving was neatly titled. She read one: Bobbleheads of the Great Nihilist Writers. She leaned in to inspect them. Oh, Bejeezus! The Nietzsche bobble gave Lanie the creeps.

  Lanie trotted down the hall to her new bedroom and recovered her fanny pack. She sucked in, fastening it around her waist, annoyed that the little plastic end parts hardly met anymore. From it she produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She almost lit one up but remembered Sam’s stupid rule about smoking inside. She curled her lip as she recalled his last scolding, him standing there wagging his finger at her like she was a bad dog that made a no-no on the carpet. She took her smokes and her lighter out to the back patio. It smelled like Sam––cabbage and desperation. Lanie removed the patchouli air spray from her pack, pumped three times, and sniffed the air. Better.

  She didn’t like Sam. Didn’t like his walk. Didn’t like his talk. Hated his smell. Come to think of it, there was nothing she liked about the man. His bald, lumpy head with its protruding moles resembled a potato. And he was skinny. God, that man was skinny. How could anyone who ate as much as Sam be that skinny? And he was only thirty-two. At least that’s what he claimed. As soon as Lanie learned how to use the internet she would look him up, find out his true age, and tell Spring so she could have a real reason to leave him.

  Lanie tapped the ash from the cigarette and watched a bead of sweat glissade its way from her shoulder to her wrist in a slow rolling motion, skirting its way around the hairs that she had only recently acquired. Damned getting older. She was growing hair everywhere, except for the places she needed it, like her head. And the hairs that she already had were grayer than an Oregon morning. The sweat bubble slid across her index finger and plopped onto the cement with a satisfying splat. Though the sun was setting it was still so hot that the sweat bubble sizzled when it hit the ground and dissolved within a few seconds. She was proud of that bead. Well-earned. She looked around, disappointed that no one was there to witness it.

  Lanie inhaled a deep lungful of nicotine and held it for five seconds, pretending that she was hitting a bong. The first puff was always the most delicious. It sent tentacles of pleasure coursing through her body, snaking down her torso, spreading into her limbs, fingers, and finally toes. The Surgeon General had gotten it all wrong. Tobacco wasn’t bad for you. The Indians smoked it and they were as healthy as the horses they chased the white men on. What was bad for you was the pesticides they put on vegetables. The produce company was using cigarettes as a smokescreen...so to speak. Lanie laughed out loud and took another drag.

  Where was she? Vegetables. Potatoes. Oh, back to Sam. The man changed religions as often as most people washed their underwear. A little over eight months ago he had converted to Islam. Now he ran around in baggy pajamas and prayed all the time. Before that he had been a Jehovah’s Witness. Luckily he stopped that nonsense when he realized he didn’t get birthday presents. And before that he had dabbled in Buddhism. Lanie thought he was going to keep trying until he eventually found one that would allow him into heaven.

  "Why in heaven’s name are you with him?" Lanie had asked Spring one day while they were out shopping for potatoes. Not only did he look like a potato but he ate them by the bushel, an act that no one found ironic but Lanie.

  "After Trevor left I was a mess, remember mother?" Spring answered. "Sam was there for me. And it’s nice to feel normal for once."

  Lanie huffed. Just because Spring was pushing 30 with two kids didn’t mean she had to settle for fall-out boy. As for Sam being normal, well if he was normal then she was Judy Garland. Besides, who in their right mind actually wanted to be normal? While most people spent their lives trying to carve out some kind of individual niche for themselves, Spring preferred to be one of the nameless masses. Poopy.

  Lanie inhaled the last wisp of her Winston. The sky was beginning to darken and she couldn’t wait for the night to release her from this heat. She'd read somewhere that there were places where night could last for days. Maybe she should move to one
of those locations. It might help with the hot flashes. If she ever got a car. She shifted in her chair, lifting a breast to scratch beneath it. A mosquito must have taken a nibble while she had been smoking. A quick movement caught her eye, distracting her from the itch. Across the backyard and over the five-foot wooden fence that separated Spring’s home from those behind her, Lanie was pretty sure she caught a human head staring at her. Why, I’ll be, Lanie thought. A peeper! Lanie smiled. It had been a long time since she had been peeped.

  Lanie dropped the cigarette onto the ground and watched the ember fade away. It was a struggle to extricate herself from the chair but at last she made it, her voluptuous bottom jouncing as she rose. She stood on tip-toes, craning her neck to see over the top of the fence. The peeper was nowhere to be seen. “He’ll be back,” she said and fanned herself as she swayed seductively into the house. “They always come back to mama."

  Lanie stood beneath the living room ceiling fan, letting the cool air blast over her body. Parts of her wiggled and jiggled, still reacting to the sudden rousting. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway sent her scurrying back into her house dress. "Fuck!" she said, looking around the living room. "Where the hell’s my underwear?"

  Five

  2005

  Spring barely had the chance to open the door before Debbie handed her a sticky note. Kimberly Welz, the head of the communications department, had summoned Spring into her office. "Good luck," said Debbie. Kimberly was new to management and had already earned a reputation as a pain in the ass. Last week an unsuspecting Fed Ex delivery man had gone in and no one had ever seen him come out. Spring was half-tempted to check the broom closet for bodies, but hadn’t gotten up the nerve.

  Kimberly’s office sat by itself at the end of a long corridor, past the janitor’s closet, the copy room, and the family restroom. A world unto its own. Here Kimberly reigned, monarch of none so far. But that was about to change. As Spring crept down the dark hallway she wondered if her insurance covered beheadings.

  "Spring, good to see you." Kimberly said, running her fingers through her glistening black hair. Jane had ordered the entire building feng shui’d over the weekend and there were now mirrors everywhere and Kimberly was taking advantage of the opportunity to preen. With the new, energy-efficient, fluorescent bulbs installed, and the walls now pasted with mirrors, Teens in Trouble reminded Spring of a carnival fun house, the one attraction she was always afraid of during her youth.

  "Yeah, good seeing you again, too," Spring lied. She and Kimberly had started at Teens in Trouble on the same day three years ago. In that time Kimberly had been promoted twice. The quickest rising star in the company, Jane had quoted in the annual newsletter. During that time, Spring had only managed to bumble from one cubicle by the water cooler to one closer to the main entrance, a godsend on those days she flew in late.

  "Sit down, please." Kimberly plopped into her leather office chair and motioned Spring towards an uncomfortable wooden chair on the other side of the desk. Between the women sat a flat-screen monitor and an army of porcelain cats arranged in a neat line, their feline faces turned smugly upwards. "I wanted to talk to you about your marketing plan," said Kimberly, pushing her monitor aside. The cats looked at her expectantly.

  "My marketing plan?" Spring was confused. This was the first she had heard of a marketing plan.

  "I need you to put together a list of places where you and Casey will be doing community outreach. Churches. Schools. Parades. That sort of thing."

  "But I thought you were in charge of that."

  Kimberly laughed. "Me? Oh God, no. I’ve got real work to do. You came up with the mascot idea. You come up with the marketing for it. It’s bad enough I have to babysit you."

  "What about Meg? Isn’t she going to help with this?" Spring began to panic. It was bad enough she would be escorting the condom. She wanted no part in figuring out where to escort him to.

  "Budget won’t allow for much more with the PR people. Besides, Jane and Meg aren‘t speaking right now. Lover’s quarrel, you know?" Kimberly sighed, twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers.

  Despite Spring‘s dislike of Kimberly, she felt a tremendous urge to touch her hair. It was the most magnificent hair Spring had ever seen––shiny, lustrous, a black-widow’s blue. Spring was sure she didn’t use store brand shampoo on her hair. Nothing but salon quality for that bob. Probably no home haircuts either.

  "You can get Sarah to help," Kimberly added. "I’m sure she has some ideas."

  Spring pursed her lips in agitation. Sarah was the most uninspired person in the company. She could be the spokeswoman for apathy...if she cared enough. Spring sat for a moment, her hands folded in her lap. "You know, Kimberly, I’m, well, happy you all thought of me for this. But...I just...I’ve been working with the girls now in a support role, and I think I’m doing some good there." Spring closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

  "First off," Kimberly corrected her. "...I didn’t think of you for this. I don’t think of you ever. Got that? Secondly, I can’t handle you moping around this department. Kimberly-land is happy-land. So take your sad little face and spray-paint a smile onto it if you have to. I won’t have Jane thinking it’s a torture chamber down here." Kimberly turned her chair away from Spring, towards the large window behind her. "The marketing plan could be fun for you. For once, you get to be the master of your fate. You are being proactive rather than reactive." Kimberly swiveled to stare at a motivational poster on the wall; a picture of a tree with the words Give Them Roots written prettily on the bottom. "I didn’t want you here either, my dear. But my hands are tied. This is coming straight from Jane. We have to make it work." Kimberly spun her chair towards Spring and gave her a full once over.

  "While we’re here, I might as well bring this up." Kimberly stood, moving towards her to inspect her more carefully. "I’ve been watching you in meetings. We need to do something about your clothes. I know in the counseling department they are a lot more lax about dress style, but here in the communications department you have to dress like a professional. You can’t wear those rags to work anymore."

  Spring looked down at her flowered skirt and brown peasant shirt. "These are not rags!"

  "That’s debatable."

  "What would I wear, then?” Spring saw nothing wrong with the skirt and, in fact, had three more identical to this one. True, the flowers were faded and there was a hole or two where a hungry moth had once fed. But she loved them.

  "That’s your problem." Kimberly tilted her head and a curtain of hair fell across her eyes, a signal that this conversation was about to end. "And I expect you to have it figured out by the beginning of next week, but here are a few tips. Stop shopping at K-mart. Don’t sew your own clothes. And take someone with actual taste with you when you pick things out." Kimberly sat back in her chair, crossed her legs at the ankles, and began typing. "We’re done."

  "Bitch." Spring muttered as she closed the door behind her.

  "No tears?" Debbie asked as Spring re-entered the lobby. The sun shone through the windows, catching itself on the various mirrors and bouncing around in a prism-like fashion. Spring squinted to avoid blindness.

  "More like seething hatred. But she hasn’t broke me yet."

  "That’s good. We can’t afford another casualty." Debbie pointed to a handmade sign tacked to a bulletin board behind her. Kimberly Casualties This Week: 2.

  Spring laughed and felt a wave of affection for the woman. Debbie dared to poke the bear everyone else threw honeycombs at. "They are going to make you take that down."

  "That’s fine. But I will have my laughs till they do, right?" Debbie turned towards the sign and put an x through the number 2 and drew in a large red 3. "For comedic effect," she explained, turning back. "Not that anyone here appreciates good comedy." Debbie capped the marker and jotted down something in her day planner. "Hey, since we’re both engaged I thought maybe we could get together soon and talk about weddings
and such. Have a girl’s night, you know?"

  "I’m not engaged."

  "How old are you again?" Debbie asked, seemingly mystified.

  "Thirty."

  "Oh," Debbie said. "Sorry to hear that."

  Six

  John stood in front of his pickup truck, all his earthly belongings tied up in the truck bed under an old tarp. Before him stood his family and friends––the majority of the community––all of whom had come to say goodbye and to wish him luck in his new life.

  "I can’t believe you’re going," said his mother, grabbing hold of him, her press-on nails digging into his back. Tears ran down her cheeks, etching rivers through her pancake makeup. Standing there before him John realized what a tiny woman she was and he was surprised he had never noticed. She always seemed so big, strong and capable, but as he hugged her goodbye he realized she wasn’t Superwoman after all.

  "It’s not forever, Mom," he said, standing back to look at her. He could see the roots of her hair, grey with the beginnings of grow-out. She spent two Fridays a month at the Samson Beauty Parlor to maintain her natural color, but time was winning the war on her head and it would have horrified her to know.

  "I got you a present," his mom whispered in his ear. She presented him with a package wrapped in pink and purple paper, probably left over from his niece’s birthday party last week. His mom, a proud Scotch-Irish woman, wasted nothing. No wrapping paper, bow, or even tape was discarded. Each was placed in an old shoe box ready to serve again at a moment’s notice. His family had been recycling long before it was fashionable.

  "Open it now," his auntie called out from somewhere in the crowd, and his brothers elbowed each other good-naturedly. They were obviously privy to the contents of the package. John smiled and nodded, turning his head away from the sun.

  "Ah, thanks, Mom. I can never have too many pairs of underwear." John waved the stack of white Fruit-of-the-Looms in the air, bringing laughter from younger members of the crowd and nods of approval from the elders. His mother squeezed his arm.