by APRIL ASHEIM
"What can I do?" The woman tilted her head, shuffling from one foot to another. "If you need your tarot cards read I know someone who will do it for free."
John blinked and decided not to ask what a tarot card was. "Look. I’m not calling the police on you. You seem like a nice person and I still think we can work this out. I got two estimates. Both were around eighteen hundred dollars."
"Eighteen Hundred dollars?" The woman’s jaw dropped and her left eye began to twitch. He had seen this same expression when the local judge had ordered Pete to undergo his third paternity test of the year. "Where am I going to get eighteen hundred dollars?" Her eyes moved up and down the aisles as if bags of money might suddenly fall from the sky.
"Give me your name and number. I will call you and you can pay me a little bit each week. Okay?" He tried to sound reassuring. She paused and nodded, relief spreading across her face. He handed her a pen from his back pocket and she scribbled her name on the back of a receipt from her purse. Spring Ryan.
Of course a girl like this would have a name like Spring.
"I’ll be calling you," he said, handing her back the can of tomatoes. She took his offer and he felt a small shock as he touched her. "I hope your spaghetti turns out good."
"Oh, it won’t. I spend most of my cooking time with a broom handle aimed at the little button that turns off the fire alarm. But you have to try. You never know how things will work out unless you try." She took the tomatoes and smiled apologetically once more. Then she walked down the aisle and disappeared. John had half expected her to fly. Even though he had only talked to her for a few minutes, he knew that she was nothing like the people he had known back home. He looked at the name and number scribbled haphazardly on the receipt, and then folded it up and placed it in his wallet.
John went home and made himself a burger on the stove top. He did the math over and over again in his head. He finally decided on a figure. If he asked her for 20 dollars a week he would see her for a total of 90 weeks. He turned on the TV and watched Cartoon Network, one of the hundreds of channels his new cable service offered him, and fell fast asleep in his recliner. His dreams were a mixture of things, images from back home, the people he had met at his new job, and a pretty, blonde woman whose hair hung in her face and who could not remember what she wanted to eat for dinner.
Spring was still shaken from her run in with John Smith. Phoenix was such a large city that the possibility of meeting him there, miles from the scene of the crime, seemed incredibly slim. Of course, Lanie believed that there were no coincidences. "It’s fate," she’d say, shaking her cigarette. "You got karma you need to pay back. You can’t run from karma. Trust me, I tried."
"How was your trip to the grocery store?" asked Sam, tapping his foot and looking at his watch as she stepped through the door.
"It was good," Spring replied, unloading the tomato sauce and diet coke from her bag. She read Sam’s face. It was the same look he gave her when she forgot to shave her legs.
"You didn’t want spaghetti?" she asked.
"You were gone for over an hour and all you got was diet soda and a can of stewed tomatoes?" He rummaged through the brown paper sack to see if he had missed something.
"Oh, I didn’t mean to be gone that long," she said. "It took me awhile to remember what we were having for dinner."
"Pookie," he said, drawing out the word. "We were going to have meatloaf and mashed potatoes and gravy tonight. Remember? I mentioned that to you this morning before I went to work." He picked up her cellphone from the table and handed it to her. "And if you’d remember to take this little gadget with you, we wouldn’t have these problems."
Spring gritted her teeth. Maybe Lanie was right. Maybe Sam was an alien from the planet where potatoes were extinct, and so he was eating as many as he could before he was beamed back up. "We had mashed potatoes last night. We always have mashed potatoes."
"That’s because mashed potatoes are good. That’s why everyone in America eats them. I know you grew up kind of...different...but normal people eat mashed potatoes."
Spring shot Sam a look but he didn’t seem to notice. "I guess I can use the tomatoes in the meatloaf."
He gave her a quick hug and kissed her forehead. "Thank you. I really do appreciate it. Now I’m going to go read in the bathroom for a while. Let me know when dinner is served."
Spring began defrosting what she hoped was ground beef in the microwave. It had been in the freezer for so long she couldn’t tell anymore. She shrugged. Once it was in loaf format it probably didn’t matter what it had begun as.
"I don’t know why that man wants potatoes for every G-damned meal," Lanie said, materializing from nowhere. "No wonder he’s so G-damned unhealthy looking. Anyone who lives on nothing but tubers is going to get sick." Lanie pulled the peeler from the gadget drawer and stabbed at the eyes of the potatoes as if they belonged to Sam.
"Mother," Spring said, rinsing each potato that Lanie peeled. "You don’t need to concern yourself with what Sam does and does not eat. Let me worry about it."
"You’re getting sick too," Lanie said. "You keep losing weight. And another thing," Lanie continued. "How the hell can you love a man who doesn’t eat pig? Pigs are nature’s perfect animals. Who the hell doesn’t eat pig?"
Spring rolled her eyes. They had been over this before. "It’s for his religion, mother. He can’t."
"Well I don’t see why Muslims can’t eat pig. Seems silly to me. How long is he going to keep praying to Allah anyways? I thought he’d be through with this phase by now. I’m not trying to tell tales out of school..." Lanie leaned in conspiratorially. "But are you sure he’s practicing his religion right? Some of the things he does seem...odd. I’m pretty sure Muslims don’t need to shave their underarms to enter Paradise."
Spring shrugged. "When it comes to Sam, I’m not sure of anything."
"He should be a Krishna. At least he wouldn’t have to shave his head," Lanie snorted. When Spring said nothing, she changed the subject.
"Heard from Trevor lately?" She asked, placing a pot of water on the stove.
"Not this again," Spring whispered, looking around to see if they were being watched. "If Sam hears you talking about Trevor, he’s not going to let you stay here."
Lanie tossed all four potatoes into the pot. "It’s your house too, missy. He might pretend to be Mr. Fancy Britches, but I know how little bankers make. Remember, I was married to one."
"He was a bank robber, mother, not a banker. And a bad one at that." Lanie pretended not to hear. "Anyways, Sam still pays half the rent. And he doesn’t like for me to talk about Trevor."
"That’s because he’s jealous of him. He knows he ain't got dick on Trevor."
"Mother!"
"It’s true," Lanie said. "If you faced facts you’d know I was right."
"Trevor left me. Remember? You’re the one who said you get one chance at true love."
Lanie slouched and Spring knew she had her. "What about Jason then? You didn’t love him but at least you got laid."
"I can’t believe you’d rather have me shacking up with the tilt-o-whirl guy than with Sam. I’m not you, Mom."
Lanie huffed. "How are we supposed to make gravy?" she grumbled, rummaging through the spice shelf. "You have no seasonings at all."
"With this." Spring foraged through a cupboard, tossing aside cans of creamed corn and pumpkin, and produced a packet of instant gravy mix.
"Does his majesty know you use this stuff?" Lanie asked, dumping it into a saucepan. She added water and stirred, scraping a metal spatula across Sam’s nonstick pan. Spring snatched the spatula away and offered her a plastic spoon.
"No, and he won’t, either." Spring shot Lanie a warning look.
"So the gourmet doesn’t know you been feeding him common fare. Shocking."
Spring swallowed. There was no perfect time and this was good as any. "I got even more incredible news. Sam asked me to marry him. And I said yes."
Lanie dropped t
he saucepan and gravy splattered across the kitchen.
Fifteen
"I’m going to see Trevor," Spring told Debbie and Sarah as she raced through traffic on their way to the event. "Am I being dumb?"
Sarah leaned over from the backseat. She was wearing the condom costume, which produced a weird waffling sound as the latex met the leather of her car seat. Her voice was muffled but Spring could make out most of what she said. "If––love––Trevor––you––talk to––him." Sarah exhaled and sank back into her seat, fanning herself with her gloved hands.
Spring accelerated, barely missing a minivan that was teetering into her lane. "Fuck my life."
Debbie spoke. "Spring. Honey. Look at you. You’re nice. You’re pretty. You’re a hell of a lot of fun. There are going to be so many men who want to be with you. Honest. Have you considered that neither one of these guys are the right ones for you?"
This was an easy statement for Debbie to make. Debbie probably had her pick of men with her quirky good looks, sense of humor, and her upper-class background. "No offense, Debbie but your parents were wealthy. You get to marry pediatricians or podiatrists or whatever the hell Roger is." Spring smiled in Debbie’s direction to let her know that there were no hard feelings. "I’m the child of traveling scam artists. What kind of man wants a woman like me?"
Debbie patted her hand. "A man who wants an adventure."
They arrived at the event and parking was a nightmare. People had lined up with chairs and sleeping bags the night before to reserve their spots for the parade. Cars were crammed into every available space. Teenagers held up signs that read Parade Parking Five Bucks. Spring handed one of the girls a five dollar bill and was escorted to a small lot four blocks from the main route.
"It’s hot in here!" Sarah said, her voice a series of broken words through the costume. Spring felt bad that she had to endure that.
"At least you aren’t part of The TIT Patrol," Debbie said, pulling at her shirt. "You think this is Jane’s way of recruiting more lesbians?"
Spring and Sarah laughed as they unloaded the back of the car. "How’d you get roped into this, too?" Spring asked Debbie.
"I’m being punished, I presume. About a month ago I asked Jane––in public––why a vegetarian like herself would carry a leather purse. Ever since, she has found new and entertaining ways to get even. Last week she had me calling local salons to try and wrangle free bikini waxes for a silent auction she is going to put on. Apparently not that many places are willing to wax hoo-has for charity."
"You wanna hold Casey’s hand, or throw rubbers?" Spring asked as they made their way towards the start of the route. Sarah hopped uneasily beside them. A young guy smirked at the trio as he passed.
"I’ll throw the rubbers," Debbie said, snatching the box from Spring. "I might even let you two walk twenty paces ahead of me," Debbie grinned teasingly.
"Gre mel fjos soolw I see," said Sarah.
Spring stopped and turned towards her friend. "What?"
"Neber-mean," replied Sarah, which Spring interpreted as never mind.
She held her hand tighter and proceeded into the crowd.
John looked out the window. The sky was the color of washed denim, a noncommittal blue interrupted by splotches of blanched white. Below, the streets were packed.
John had never seen so many people crammed into one small area in his life. This made the Black Bird Festival back home seem puny. He thought about painting the scene but the figures below churned and squirmed in and out of view, refusing to stand still for his creative energies to capture. John was about to shut the curtains and give his full attention to the TV when he saw her––Spring Ryan, the pretty woman who owed him money. She looked to be holding hands with a giant, pink pencil as she navigated the street. He grabbed his shoes, slipping into them without bothering to tie the laces, and tumbled out the door. Even in the heat, it might be a good day for a parade after all.
The parade was a three-mile jaunt downtown. Traffic cops had closed off the entire road except to event-goers and concession stand vendors. Spring gripped Casey’s gloved hand tighter as they maneuvered through the crowd. "You gonna be okay?"
Casey nodded, folding her whole body in half. Some younger kids who were laying on their mother’s lap laughed. "That’s obscene," said the mother and Spring smiled apologetically, scooting around her.
"I can’t believe this many people care about Memorial Day," said Debbie, lifting her legs to avoid stepping on an old man snoozing in a lawn chair. "I don’t even know what Memorial Day is for."
Spring surveyed the other participants. Most were veterans or somehow tied to the military. They wore their uniforms and donned swords and carried flags while the high school bands played patriotic songs. Some poor soul in a giant hotdog costume schlepped by and exchanged sympathetic sighs with Casey as they passed one another on their way to their designated spots.
"We don’t belong here," Spring said as they found their space. They were shoved in between the Widows of the Korean War, and a group of Vietnam Vets who were discussing a possible connection between Hillary Clinton and Agent Orange. One widow turned on a boom box they were dragging in an old red wagon, and began a series of twitches and jolts. The others joined her, singing, dancing, and clapping along to The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B. They walked, rolled, and hobbled forward, waving and smiling to the crowd.
"Ladies, meet your future." Debbie nodded and Spring gave her a warning look. "What? It’s not like they can hear us."
A parade official motioned them to begin.
"Okay, our turn. Let’s go Casey." Spring took Sarah’s hand and led her down the street. Sarah took baby steps in the costume, supplemented by periodic hops, but they did not seem to be making much progress. Spring could smell the vets behind her.
"We are slower than the grandmas," Debbie complained.
"Can you move any faster?" Spring asked Sarah. Sarah paused and responded with an affirmative bobbing motion. Some teenage boys on the sidewalk made lewd comments and Debbie whacked them in the head with well-aimed prophylactics.
The going was slow and sweat beaded on Spring’s forehead. She couldn’t imagine how poor Sarah felt inside the thing.
"Okay,” Spring said. "We have to get through this once. Then we protest. Take it directly to Jane if needed. One parade. That’s it." Sarah sped up, almost tripping over her Keds. Spring held on to one of Sarah's hand and placed the other on Sarah’s back for support. "Good job, Sarah. We’re getting there." The road was sticky as the tar turned to mush under the heat of the sun and the girls slogged towards their destination.
"Crisis, ladies," Debbie alerted the others. "We are running out of condoms."
"Already?" Spring had packed at least 500 into the box that morning. "How did that happen?"
Debbie’s face drained of color. "I left the box unattended for a minute. I think the grannies or the vets may have helped themselves."
Sarah chortled in the suit, flapping her arms out to the side in a penguin-esque fashion. Spring patted her back. "We’ll be okay, Sarah. Conserve your energy."
A marker on the road announced that they had made it to the one-mile mark.
"One down, two to go," said Debbie and the others nodded. Sarah’s breathing was becoming raspy and Spring was getting worried. She could see a water stand up ahead but wasn’t sure they would make it that far.
"I think we need to rest," Spring said, looking around for shade. Alpine buildings lined the street but it was still early and shade was scant.
"I don’t think we are allowed to rest," said Debbie, handing Spring a piece of stationary from Kimberly’s desk with the words Screw This Up and Die written across it in angry black letters.
"How you doing, Sarah?" Spring asked and Sarah responded with a weak thumb’s up. Two children emerged from the crowd to give Casey a hug, sending Sarah sprawling backwards.
"Get out of here," Debbie hissed, catching Sarah before she hit the ground. In fron
t of them the widows danced. "I can’t believe the grandmas are outlasting us."
Sarah said something but Spring could no longer make out any words. They came out crooked and pinched. And then she fainted.
"Sarah!" Spring fell to her knees beside her friend and tapped on her cheek. "Do you hear me? Sarah? You okay?" Spring climbed on top of Sarah and tried to peer at the girl’s face through an eye hole. All she saw was darkness. "I think she’s got heat exhaustion. Someone call 911." The vets scratched their heads and searched their pockets but the quick-thinking widows began yelling into their Life Alerts for assistance. There was a ripping noise near Sarah‘s feet and Spring turned to see a man tearing open the costume from the bottom end with what she guessed was a Swiss-army knife. He cut up the costume until Sarah’s face was revealed. Her skin was red and her eyes were closed but she was still breathing.
Spring heard a siren and saw firemen weaving through the crowd, making their way towards the women. One fireman finished removing the costume and called for a stretcher. "We are taking her to the hospital. Can one of you come with?" he asked.
"I’ll go," Debbie volunteered. She leaned over and whispered to Spring, "I’ll make sure she is okay." Before Spring could process what had happened, Debbie and Sarah disappeared in the truck.
"Thank you," Spring said to the man as she picked up the costume and pulled it in the direction of her car. The man nodded and picked up the other end and followed. "I can do it." She turned to let him know that it was okay and was surprised to see that it was John Smith. "What are you doing here?"
"I saw you from my window upstairs." He nodded to a tall grey building a block away.
"You saw me?"
"I can see the whole road from up there. You guys were kinda hard to miss."
Spring blushed. "You came for your money. Of course."
John shook his head as they hefted the costume into her back seat. Sarah’s perspiration had weighed it down considerably, like a plastic kiddie pool that had not been fully drained. "That’s not why I’m here. I wanted to see you."
