by J. J. Murray
PS: This is the first PS I have ever written in my life. Really. I’m not sure what to put here. You have put nice things here. My turn: ……………..nice ………………….things. : )
12
She’s writing to me more quickly now, Patrick thought.
We are actually having our first real conversation.
“I’m really talking to Lauren Short now,” he whispered. “I am actually talking to Miss Lauren Short.” He took several deep breaths. “This is incredible.”
What and how much do I tell?
Who am I kidding? There isn’t much to tell.
Lauren:
38 isn’t old. You’re two years younger than I am. 40 is old. I think my knees are aging faster than the rest of me. The left one has to be pushing 60. That’s the one that complains the most. It mostly yells, “Stop!”
And you certainly don’t look your age at all. I’m sure you still get carded. I know I would card you, and then I’d accuse you of using a fake ID.
Since you shared a few secrets, I will share a few, too.
1) If anything, I am too patient. I don’t mind waiting in lines, on the phone, or at work. I really have nothing better to do. I have to be patient with my tenants, too. It’s part of the job. They want everything done now, now, now. I try to tell them I can only be in one place at a time, but they don’t want to hear it. If you were to question me, though, I’d probably tell you everything I knew, and I promise to do it very patiently.
2) I don’t have a favorite color. I like them all. Is “rainbow” a color? If it is, I like that one. I’ve never owned a car, but if I did, it would be brown in your honor. I’ve never really needed a car. I haven’t had anywhere to go, you know? I don’t mind taking the bus or the subway. If I had a car, I’d probably get home at a more decent hour, but there wouldn’t be anywhere to park it on State Street.
3) I was addicted to your show. It’s actually the last show that I had to see, so you know how much I watch TV now. I sometimes rushed through a repair just so I’d get home in time to watch you. You changed my opinion of police detectives forever with that role. And you were certainly fun to watch. I don’t watch much of anything on TV these days. I don’t have the time, and you’re not on the screen to watch.
4) I’m not a great judge of character, either, so I would never question another person’s ability to judge anyone. You think you know people, and suddenly you don’t. For years they were one way, and suddenly they’re another way. What happened to the way you were? I liked the way you were! They’ve become someone else, and they’ve been someone else all along, but you’ve been too wrapped up in your version of them that you’ve become blind to their true nature. The person you thought you knew becomes unknown.
I didn’t mean to get deep. I must philosophize when I’m tired, and I am very tired. The tenants were especially needy today.
Since the pigeons are safely doing whatever pigeons do at midnight, I will tell you a few things about me. I could probably tell you everything about me in a few sentences. Here goes:
My first and middle names are Irish, and they both mean “noble” either in Latin or Gaelic. A nun pointed that out to me when I was little. “You’re going to be a noble man,” she told me. I don’t know if I’m noble or not, but I try. My last name comes from an orphanage in Italy called Ospizio degli Esposti. That makes me a twice noble orphan. Father Giovanni told me about that orphanage. I sometimes feel like an orphan.
I grew up in public housing. The Gowanus Houses were and still are a dangerous place, and I was lucky to get out of there without a juvenile record. Many of my friends are dead or in jail. That makes me a success story. Why isn’t someone putting my life story on TV?
Mama was Italian, and she told me that she thought my father was Irish. She wasn’t sure. I never knew him. I could say I missed him growing up, but I didn’t. When you only know one thing, you think it’s normal. Mama raised me alone, and it was normal. Most of my friends were raised the same way.
I finished high school. That’s about all I can say. Don’t ask what my GPA was. I did like English class. Then I learned a few trades (HVAC, electrical) at Lincoln Technical Institute over in New Jersey and went to work when I was 19. I’m one of the few people I know who were bused to school after high school. I rode a bus to and from Union, New Jersey, every day for two years. I’m sure I have “diesel lung” as a result.
Patrick read over his e-mail so far. There’s a lot more to me than even I thought there was. Now, how do I end this? I can’t keep rambling much longer.
I am currently single, and to be honest, I haven’t been looking.
Do I mention Natalia? He shook his head. Maybe another time. My sad love life isn’t that important compared to what Lauren is going through.
Enjoy your “vacation.” You deserve a nice, long, quiet one full of peace.
Patrick
While Patrick waited for Lauren’s reply, he surfed the TV for any of Lauren’s old movies. Unsuccessful, he watched his in-box for several minutes before he fell asleep, dreaming of a wisecracking detective with the smile of an angel running through an alley and wearing some seriously tight jeans.
13
Lauren slept for twelve hours, waking just after ten. She brewed a cup of coffee and stayed in bed with her laptop.
The vacation begins....
She read Patrick’s latest e-mail several times. He seems so sad, she thought. Well, maybe not sad. Accepting. He has accepted his life. He seems sadly content. He also seems to believe “It is what it is.” I’m sure there’s more to him than what he wrote. This e-mail tells me that he’s a humble man. It is so rare to find a man who doesn’t brag about himself in every other sentence. I wish I hadn’t fallen asleep on him. I mean, I didn’t fall asleep on him . . . though that might be nice, too.
I wonder what he wears under those coveralls. . . .
Patrick:
Sorry I missed your age by five years, but I can explain. I thought you were older because you have so many wise things to say. You are wise, and you are patient. Maybe you can help me wise up and be more patient. So help me now, okay? I’m waiting! Hurry up! : )
Were you really addicted to my show? If you were, you had to quit me cold turkey. Trust me, I had a hard time accepting that show’s cancellation. I actually cried for a few days. I thought my career was over. Luckily, it wasn’t.
How exactly was I fun to watch? I was, of course, in much better condition back then than I am now. Were you staring at any particular part of my body? Inquiring minds want to know, because the owner of this inquiring mind needs to hear a few compliments. Please?
When you were talking about “someone else,” was there a specific “someone else”? I told you I liked to ask questions. Feel free to ignore this one. You haven’t pried, so I shouldn’t, either, right? It’s none of my business.
You know I’m going to ask about this “someone else” until you tell me, so you may as well come clean. I was a TV detective once, you know. Did I mention that I am impatient? I did? Okay, then you must tell me soon, as in now.
Unless you don’t want to . . . (she wrote shyly) : )
You have an interesting name that means something. My first name comes from the laurel plant. I changed my last name from something else, and that information isn’t online, and no, I will not tell you what it was. That makes me a plant that is short. I am kind of short. How tall are you?
I grew up in Congress Heights, in D.C. It wasn’t a pleasant place when I lived there, and it’s not that pleasant a place now. My mama still lives there, but my mama is the toughest woman on planet earth. She drives a D.C. Metrobus. Trust me on her toughness. It’s in her job description.
I, too, am currently single, and to be equally honest, I’m not looking, either. I’m working on not being so blind first, you know? I need to go through life with my eyes open before I open my heart to anyone.
I do like talking to you, though, and
Her
doorbell rang.
“Just a second!” she called out. She threw on a robe and went to the door, opening it to a FedEx man.
The test results . . . Oh, dear Jesus !
He handed her a thin envelope, turned, and left.
“Thank you,” she said shakily as she shut the door.
She sat on her couch. She gripped the envelope.
This envelope is really thin. That’s good, isn’t it?
If it were thick, it would have information on what to do next if I had HIV, right? The doctor would have called me in, too. I hope he would have.
Okay. This is it.
I mean, I hope this isn’t it.
She took several deep breaths.
Please . . . please be negative.
She tore open the envelope and read the cover letter until she found a strangely comforting word: negative.
It’s negative.
She took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly.
I’m not dying.
It’s negative, and I’m positively happy.
I don’t have HIV.
I’m going to live.
She jumped up and down on the couch for several minutes, before flying back to her laptop and deleting the previous line.
My HIV test results are negative!!!
She wiggled her fingers above the keyboard.
And I’m telling Patrick this because . . .
She sighed and shook her head.
That is so random. I tell him I’m not looking for anyone, and then I tell him, “Hey, Patrick, I’m not dying of HIV.” I want him to know, don’t I? This is cause for rejoicing, and he’s the only one I can share it with. He took the trouble to light a candle for me. I have to tell him something.
She deleted the previous sentence.
I have good news! My HIV test results are negative. I wanted you to know, and you’re the only one I’ll probably ever tell. I can truly enjoy my vacation now. Thank you for praying for me. I’m sure your prayers and lighting that candle did the trick.
Her cell phone buzzed.
Will you quit interrupting? I’m talking to my friend. “Hello?”
“Lauren, I can’t believe you quit the show already!”
“Hi, Todd,” Lauren said.
“What am I going to do with you?” Todd asked.
“Dude, you put me on the new Twilight Zone,” Lauren said, “only this version had rayon pants and a yellow hat.”
“What?”
He wouldn’t understand even if I explained it in detail. “I will not be part of that fiasco.”
“Do you know how hard it will be for me to find you work now?” Todd asked. “If I can’t get you onto a pilot, how can I get you onto an established show like Saturday Night Live or even a single episode of Law and Order?”
“I don’t know, but stop trying so hard,” Lauren said. “I am on vacation.” That sounds so good to my ears! Just the sound of that word fills me with elation and relaxation.
“What do I say when people ask about you?” Todd asked. “What do I do when, miracle of miracles, someone wants you in their next project, maybe even a movie?”
“Tell them I’m on vacation,” Lauren said. “People take vacations on occasion, right? I may even make it permanent. I don’t know.”
“I can’t tell them that,” Todd said. “After what you’ve been through, you need to get back to work, not go on vacation.”
“After what I’ve been through,” she said, eyeing the test results, “I deserve a vacation.”
“Okay, okay,” Todd said. “I’ll tell them you’re on hiatus. With all that’s happened with Chazz, they’ll understand.”
“Whatever, Todd,” Lauren said. Now, go away. I’m talking to my handyman.
“What do you expect me to do for you while you’re on hiatus?” Todd asked.
“Just keep my name in front of SNL,” Lauren said. “That’s all.” And if SNL signs me, maybe I can meet this Patrick Alan Esposito in New York before or after the show and long into the night. “Now, don’t call me again unless you hear from Saturday Night Live. Bye.” She hung up.
She reread Patrick’s e-mail before continuing her reply.
Patrick, have you ever been in love?
I am being completely random today. I go from “No HIV” to “Have you ever been in love?” She shrugged. This is who I am going to be from now on! I have a new lease on life, and I intend to be as random as possible.
I mean, have you ever been truly, head-over-heels, my heart’s on fire, I can’t think straight, when I close my eyes, I see my lover in love? I’m only asking because I don’t think I have and I want to know what it feels like. Your very first e-mail kind of hinted that maybe you’ve had this kind of love before. If it’s something you can talk about, please do.
I know this is going to sound cliché, but I want to know what love is. The last “man” (I use that term very loosely) only loved himself and other men. He only kept me around for appearances. I want to know what real love is.
Help a sister out.
Lauren “The Short Plant” Short
PS: Thank you! : )
14
Mrs. Moczydlowska called Patrick at five a.m., claiming that she heard a skittering sound behind the sink in her kitchen.
“Chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh all night long,” she said. “Chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh until I scream. It is rats!”
Patrick sat up. Great. Mrs. Moczydlowska is being afflicted by the Norway rat “chuh-chuh,” and they’ve been dancing the “chuh-chuh” all night behind her walls. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer woman.
“Have you seen any?” Patrick asked as he wiped crust from his eyes.
“I hear them all night,” she said. “I do not have to see them to know they are there. Chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh. It is driving me crazy.”
“It’s that time of year,” Patrick said. “The cold weather pushes them inside, and—”
“You do something,” she interrupted. “No rats, or I call your boss.”
When Patrick arrived half an hour later, he looked around Mrs. Moczydlowska’s kitchen at the scattering of crumbs on the counter, the kitchen table, and the floor. He knew Mrs. Moczydlowska couldn’t reach her broom into every corner or reach every crumb on the counter with her stubby arms, but she had to have seen them.
If I didn’t know better, he thought, I’d think she was leaving crumbs so rats would come . . . so that I’d have to come visit her.
He knew that Norway rats were indestructible, and once they had warmth and a food source, they were hard to evict. Norway rats were able to drop fifty feet to the ground without dying, jump four feet into the air to avoid capture, and squeeze through half-inch openings. They could also defeat any barrier he set up, be it wood, aluminum, bricks, cinder blocks, or lead sheeting.
“We have had this conversation before,” Patrick said. “If you keep your kitchen spotless, no crumbs anywhere, that will keep them—”
“I do not want to keep them,” Mrs. Moczydlowska interrupted. “I want to kill them.”
“Yes, but if you don’t give them a reason—”
“I keep a clean kitchen!” she interrupted.
“You do. You really do,” Patrick said. “But it doesn’t take much to attract a—”
“You say I do not keep a clean kitchen?” she interrupted.
“No,” Patrick said. “You keep a clean kitchen, but rats don’t know that. They’re only looking for food and warmth, and your kitchen provides both.”
“I cook all day,” she said.
For whom? Patrick thought. She lives alone.
“There is no law against this,” she said. “There is law against the rats.”
“This is the warmest room in your apartment,” Patrick said. “They are naturally going to be drawn—”
“Kill them all, or I call your boss,” she interrupted.
I can’t win. “I’ll set out some traps,” Patrick said.
“Use the poison,” Mrs. Moczydlowska
said.
“I don’t want to poison them,” Patrick said. “They could die within your walls and really stink up the place.”
“I do not care,” she said. “I do not want to hear the chuh-chuh-chuh-chuh anymore, okay?”
Patrick spent the next two hours under and around Mrs. Moczydlowska’s kitchen sink, finding and filling the smaller gaps with caulk and wood putty and covering the larger holes with wire mesh.
“You are not killing them,” she said.
“I first have to make sure they can’t get in,” Patrick said. “You don’t want rats swarming around your legs, do you?”
“There is a swarm inside my walls?” she asked.
Wrong word choice. “There isn’t a swarm, but there could be if I don’t seal every possible entry point.” He wiped sweat from his forehead and noticed the open oven. “Are you cooking anything now?”
“No,” she said.
“But your oven’s on,” Patrick said.
“It stays on,” she said. “The heater is no good. It does not work. It has never worked.”
I just “fixed” it two days ago, and there was nothing wrong with it then. “I’ll check your thermostat again.”
He already knew what he would find. The thermostat was set for eighty degrees, and the sweat dripping down the back of his legs proved it. “The thermostat is working fine.”
“Then why is it so cold?” she asked. “I feel drafts all the time.”
Patrick checked her windows. “Your windows are sealed tight, Mrs. Moczydlowska. Look, if you want the rats to go away, you have to turn off your oven and turn down your thermostat to something like sixty-eight at night.”
“You want me to freeze to death,” she said.
