Friday, September 25, 2015

Henry and Ruth

 

 
  
                                                       Henry and Ruth

 
          Henry was a widower who, late one evening, stood naked in his bathroom brushing his teeth before going to bed  After brushing, he poured a small cap full of blue mouth wash, tilted his head back, emptied it into his mouth and loudly gargled.  Ruth, his wife, always complained about the disgusting noise he was making.  She’s been gone now for nearly three years.  As he spat it out, he leisurely observed the mouth wash and his saliva mingling, forming a gelatinous stream on the side of the sink.  He watched as it slid slowly down the white porcelain, gathering speed as it approached the drain hole.  Tomorrow was to be his seventy-six birthday and  his daughter, Amy, thought it a good idea to celebrate the event next day at her home. 

      
         Glancing up, he switched his attention to the image in the mirror.  There were shadows over his deep eye sockets.  He was getting to be a farce: overweight, his wrinkled face, ugly by anyone’s standards, was charmless.  As he stood there, it occurred to him that he has had this teeth brushing  and mouthwash ritual every night since he could remember.  He had no idea why, at this particular moment, he should be thinking about this.  He wasn't thinking about this when he was shaving this morning.  Although he looked into a mirror twice daily, it was only on this particular day, on this particular evening, when he became cognizant that he never really looked at himself.  True, there is his reflection, but he had only concentrated on the parts, never the whole.  He paused to take it all in instead of the myopic version.  God, how I’ve aged…and what a terrible shape my body is in.   Now I know why they invented clothes, he joked to himself. 

      
          He began neglecting his physical appearance the moment he got married.   Presently, he managed to hide his fat with loose t-shirts and baggy pants.  Still, he looked startlingly unattractive when naked.  He looked in the mirror and gathered in his pads of fat around his chest and sides.  He grabbed his sagging pectoral muscles and addressed the mirror.  “God Amighty, I’ve got breasts. Ruthie, wherever you are, I hope you’re not seeing this.”  Staring at his reflected face, Henry watched it gradually contort and twist into a scowl.  Putting both hands on the marble counter, he leaned over the sink and hung his head.  After a pause, he tried to suppress a surge of bile coming from his inner being onto the top cavity of his mouth.  He couldn’t.  He released his grief with a gush, accompanied by tears running down his face.  “It’s so quiet here, it really is, Ruthie” he whispered. “I have to shake this…silence.  I don’t want to do anything stupid, now do I?  I’m really tired…and my back is killing me.”  He promptly plopped down onto the tile floor.  Sitting there quietly, he noticed, through his tears, that there was rust around the base of the toilet bowl.  There must be a leak, he thought.  I should fix that.

 

         “No, son, don’t pick me up.  I can still drive.  I’m not helpless, you know. I’ll meet you there.”  Henry hung up the phone.  It was a gray morning.  His suit was laid out on the bed and he thought he did a pretty good job of getting a matching tie to go along with it.  Hardly ever wore a suit now since he retired as a department head nearly twenty years ago.  He was but a minion in a large corporation where his main duty was to appear worried.  But that was long ago.  He sat on the bed and fingered the tie.  Ruth did all the selecting: his suit, his tie, where to go on vacation, who their friends were, what kind of car to drive, what to eat, and where.   They were high school sweethearts and were married right after graduation.  He never officially proposed.  They got married because it was just the natural order of things.  She went to work while he finished college.  They had two children, a boy and a girl three years apart.  She quit her job when Henry began climbing the cooperate ladder.  Ruth took over the business of family then and organized every thing so Henry could concentrate on his worried look.  By the time the nest was emptied, Ruth became the dominant partner and steered the course of their lives; Henry was happy that she did so.  In fact, when they went places together, she was the driver of the family car while Henry always sat as the respectful passenger.

      
         After his retirement came the round of traveling, remodeling the house, and making unannounced visits to irritate their grown children and grandchildren.  Pay back time, Ruth would  laughingly call these visits.  Slowly the novelty of retirement began to wear thin and Ruth and Henry, having run out of obligations to others and to themselves, began to have the leisure time of getting to know one another.  But it was cut short.  The doctor said that it was a blessing that the stroke finally killed her.  Otherwise she might live as a vegetable, unrecognizable to anyone and a burden to everyone.  Henry remembered sitting by her bedside while she was in her coma.  He spent the whole day and her last evening just talking to an empty face, reminiscing down memory lane, planning about future travels, about the kids and grandkids and how great they turned out to be.  He tried praying.  He had no faith in religion but he felt he, at least, had to try.  Lying there in the hospital bed, Ruth began to change in Henry’s eyes.  She slowly morphed into the girl he married when they were teens.  By morning, the vision and Ruth had faded.

     
            After the funeral, Henry became despondent and couldn’t bring himself to go home.  The children drove him to a hotel because he refused their offer to stay with them.  He was uncomfortable with his children’s spouses when Ruth wasn’t there to engage with them.  Hotel rooms were neutral and he stayed there for weeks.  The first night home, he spent sleeping on the living room sofa.  He had the television turned on, blaring out voices and loud music drowning out his thinking.  The large screen flooded the room with its cold blue light exposing the dark corners so it would not threaten him.  The television was constantly on for several months, then gradually the volume was turned down and periodically he would turn the set off for a brief moment.  The brief moment grew into hours, then into days, and finally he managed to sleep without it being on.  Henry solved the problem of sleeping in their bed again by talking to Ruth, as if she was there.  Henry had now compress his grief into the deepest recess of his mind and managed to keep it there by talking to his long dead spouse.  But as time passed, it became arduous for Henry to keep up the pretense that she still existed, even in a nebulous way.  The acceptance that she was gone, never to appear again, began to surface and brought a burning sadness to his very being.

      
         As Henry drove away from the house, he took a glance at his rearview mirror.  It showed the ranch style house they have been living in for over fifty years.  It was in need of maintenance.  The wooden roof shingles were split and cracked as were the gutters.  Window frames were in need of repair and their screens needed painting.  All the windows were in dire need of washing.   He used to love doing repairs but now he lets it all go.  All his tools in the garage were covered with the remnants of disuse.  He was no longer the caretaker of things.  That would be his children’s job, or whoever inherits the house after he’s gone.  As of now, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  

      
         It began to rain heavily and, for a harrowing moment, Henry forgot where the windshield wiper controls were on the dash board.  The windshield wipers stuttered to life as it was turned on.  I have to get new ones, he thought.  It was a twenty minute drive to Amy’s house but he was in no hurry.  Henry was a very private person and only comfortable when Ruth was around.  Since her death, he dreaded gatherings such as this birthday party, even if it is with his own family.  He usually ended up with a drink in his hand, sitting alone in the corner somewhere, radiating unfriendliness.  It was okay when Ruth was alive.  She did all the conversing when they were in social gatherings, and all that was required of him was to nod, now and then, with a few words sprinkled in.  He was immensely happy with that arrangement, and was sure that Ruth was too.  But she was no longer here and he would be standing alone. 

     
          There was a grassy knoll over a rise in the road.  Henry parked to the side and turned the ignition off.  Rain clattered on the roof of the car and muddled the windows so visibility was nil.  The low gray clouds made the sky dark and menacing.  It was cozy sitting there, so private.  Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a package of cigarettes.  He started smoking again weeks after Ruth passed away.  Henry didn't have to please her anymore.  In fact, he didn't have to please anybody.  He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke toward the passenger side.  Placing his arm on the headrest he turned to Ruth and said, “So, what do you think?  What am I going to do with what’s left of my life?  You know, you were pretty, pretty damn selfish leaving me like that.  You could have bail out a lot earlier and I could have married somebody else.  Now, whose gonna hook up with an old fart like me, huh?" There was a long pause.  Henry winded down the window a bit and waved the cigarette smoke out with the flat of his hand. Then he continued, "Yea,  I know the smoke bothers you and I'm sorry.  A lotta things about me bothers you, don't it?.  Heck, you could hardly stand me when you were alive." Henry looked at the end of his cigarette, stuck it through the crack of the window and flipped it out. "I really thought I was gonna go first.  Who'd think you'd beat me to it.  You were really inconsiderate, you know that?  You could've made it a lot easier for both of us by not dying.  No, I’m not kidding.  I’m not kidding,  I’m really not kidding,” and Henry bent his head and began to silently sob.   Ruth smiled and stroked his hair. 

       
         A break on the horizon let out a stream of sunlight.  The rain fell intermittingly and then stopped altogether.  The break in the clouds broadened and the rays of sunlight were sharply contrasted against the ominous sky.  A rainbow appeared.  The spectacular scene made Henry exclaim, “Ruthie, look, Judgment Day and the second coming of Christ!  No crap.  Wow, what a sight.  We might be seeing Jesus coming down from the clouds at any moment now.”  Henry had no idea how long he had been sitting there, conversing with Ruth.  It was so easy to talk to her.  Opening the glove box, he took out some paper tissues and wiped his eyes.  There he sat, quietly, for what felt like an hour, then he turned to Ruth and said, “I know it sounds corny… but we did have a really long run, didn't we?  I had fun and I do miss you a lot....But there's nothing more left to say, is there?.. except I really loved you and I just didn't know by how much, until now...so, I guess we can say goodbye, sweetheart....so, I'll go ahead and say it...goodbye.” 

     
          “Yes, it is corny and it is has been a long run," said Ruth. "Goodbye, dear, remember me to the children, see ya."  And that's exactly what Ruth must have said, thought Henry.

      
         Henry turned on the ignition, shifted the car into gear, and joined the ongoing traffic.  He just turned seventy-six today and he wondered what sort of gifts his children were getting him.  
 

 

     



Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Incident at Falling Rock

 
 
                                                  Incident at Falling Rock               

      
       Gentlemen:  I have here in my hands a letter from the representative of the Ladies Auxiliary League of Artist’s (LALA) co-op gallery, and it is address to the City Council of Falling Rock, which are us.  The author of this letter is Prof. Ebinhoffer, who most of you know is presently serving as interim spokesman for that organization.  I wish to submit it to this distinguish body for consideration.  It is an apology from the LALA co-op, and written, in all probability, to avoid further litigation on our part for the unprovoked attack on one of our city council members.  Since I don’t have copies to hand out to each of you, I shall read it out loud instead, and ask that it be entered into the minutes of this meeting.  Are you all in agreement?  Fine.  Then I shall proceed:

 
Dear City Councilmen,

        This is an apology for that incident that took place Tuesday evening at the open forum where council member (Big) John Uptight put forth the motion that the city rescind the $5000 grant given to LALA co-op gallery.  We do not know the reasons behind this, but you can understand the emotional upheaval this has caused our members.  Without the grant, the co-op gallery will be unable to move from its present location, which happens to be right next door to the Greyhound Depot.  It is the memberships’ desire to move to a more suitable venue, like somewhere near a Macys, or a Target, or even a Wal-Mart.

        I agree.  Councilman Uptight should not have been subjected to such unwarranted physical abuse.  The grant is not small, and I do sympathize with Big John’s expressed desire on why the money should instead be awarded to groups with more pressing needs like, for instance, the Cultural German Folk Dancing Ensemble who are in dire want of a new dance floor at the Falling Rock Senior Center. 

         Ever since the craze of barefoot dancing has swept this community, many elderly folks, young ones included, have been filling the emergency room of our local hospital with injuries from splinters acquired while dancing on a wooden floor laid down during the Hoover Administration.  This would make the floor nearly ninety years old.  I also learned that Big John’s wife, a leading member of the Cultural German Folk Dancing Ensemble, personally suffered a six-inch splinter in the big toe of her right foot.  The hospital attendant said that the injury she suffered was exceedingly painful and could have been avoided if the floor was in better condition.  So you see, I am fully aware of the pressures that face Councilman Uptight to award the grant to where he thinks it is more urgently needed.

          Although the LALA co-op members has not acquired horrendous physical injuries like that of Mrs. Uptight, they do undergo a tremendous amount of emotional stress by just being located right next door to that noxious bus station.  There exist levels of trauma you people can hardly imagine.  We are presently located in, what I consider, a toxic environment and definitely not conducive to Art and elderly ladies.  I know what it’s like for I am, and have been for several years, a member of LALA. This may come as a shock to some of you but I have never made it a secret, nor have I tried to hide the fact that I am the only male member of that organization.  You may draw any conclusions you want from that, but it is not illegal.

          I know that some of our LALA members have a tendency to be downtrodden misfits and are subject to emotional depressions and violent behaviors, but gentlemen, to rescind this grant that would have enable us to relocate our co-op gallery away from that bus terminal, is deplorable and detrimental to our membership.  Have any of you been near a bus terminal lately?

           In many cities and towns, sociopaths and their homeless counterparts tend to gravitate around bus depots.  Why? I can’t imagine.  The problem is these dangerous and very anti-social people have been mistaken for the artists!  The artists are there usually participating in some art exhibitions and receptions taking place within the co-op which is right next door to the bus station.  Some of our most wealthy patrons, large donors, head of corporations, our city’s finest, attend these openings.  Some have even invited these sociopaths and bag ladies into their homes for supper thinking they were the artists in residence and later finding out that some of their silverware and small furniture were missing.  Since our better artist-members do resemble these people (it is really difficult to tell them apart), and have added tendencies not to confront nor defend themselves, we become guilty by default and by proximity association. 

          But this is not to excuse the behavior of certain protesters of our group who took it upon themselves to do what they did.  Again, we apologize, Big John, for some of our elderly members who got carried away with their enthusiasm and threw latex paint at you.  They should have taken it out of the can first.  I did caution them. 

           Since Councilman Uptight will be hospitalized for a length of time, I beg the council to table the action until he is able to get back on his feet.  At which time he is welcome to reintroduce the motion…if he cares to.  In the meanwhile, be assured that the Ladies Auxiliary Artist League Co-op wholeheartedly condemns violence in any manner, shape or form.  And that we send Councilman (Big) John Uptight, our whole hearted apologies, and that he recovers from the dent on his forehead soon.

 
                                                                     Sincerely,
                                                             Prof. Elbert Ebinhoffer
                                                           
Entered into the minutes of the Falling Rock City Council meeting on September 9, 2015     

Action taken:  All members of LALA co-op participating in the assault on Councilman John Uptight were sternly reprimanded, with the exception of Mrs. B. Bushton, who is chairwoman of the open forum refreshment committee.  She claimed she was too weak to pry open the lid.