OK - yes, it’s true; I have been negligent in tending my virtual garden of prose. However, in the effort to stop writing about myself I have a short story - a work in progress - that I am ready to let out of the play pen of my own mind and into the creative kiddie pool. Be nice please. It still needs work but the idea is solid. Enjoy reading and let me know what you think.
MMN
Hers had been – to the casual observer – a good life.
She grew up in the presence of love and while she certainly didn’t get everything she wanted, she got what mattered; food, clothing, a solid roof over her head and a soft bed to sleep confidently in. Her mother taught things a mother usually teaches; patience, understanding, how to tie your shoes and pull your hair back in that special way. And in between the teachable moments, her mother played solitaire and wept when she thought her daughter wasn’t looking.
Hers had been – to the casual observer – a good life.
Time pushed her into an adult and she did what a good adult does; she went to work, she paid her taxes, she listened to the news and voted once every four years. Hers was an organized life and she came to rely upon schedules and routines to keep the day bright. Schedules, she decided, were more predictable than people and she preferred to keep the number of people she had to deal with to a manageable number. She liked the people in her office at Cantor Fitzgerald well enough. She answered their phones and filed their papers. She didn’t get everything she wanted but she got what mattered; a desk, a computer, a good chair to sit upon and enough of a salary to afford a rental on the lower East Side.
It all came crashing down at 10:29am one bright, sunny, September. An early dental cleaning appointment pushed her regular schedule back an hour and she emerged, teeth polished and gums healthy, into horror. She saw people flying through the air engulfed in flames, she saw elementary school teachers leading lines of first, second and third graders up Broadway; the looks on their faces reminiscent of her mother. There was a massive roar. She was engulfed by a black cloud. Chaos reigned supreme and all were rendered powerless. Nothing and no one could possibly put it all back together. In that moment of choking darkness she lost herself and may as well have been in that building on that day, for they counted her name among the dead and disintegrated.
Papers and ash floated aimlessly as a sickening silence fell upon the place; an instant graveyard. Something red caught her eye and she watched a King of Hearts flutter before her and land at her left foot. Picking it up she thought again of her mother and carefully placed the card in her suit pocket. She turned her back on the pile and walked into oblivion.
Hers was – to those who bothered to notice – a broken life.
She wondered the city parks and car lots during the day in search of things. While she didn’t get what she needed she got what she could; a half-eaten sandwich, a Fresh Direct box for extra warmth, an empty bench to rest upon. She never did anything other than walk from garbage can to dumpster. She had no access to a bathroom so she would crouch down behind bushes and wend her way deeper and deeper into Central Park to get away from people. But people always came. “What use are people?” She thought. While the casual passerby would have assumed this crazy old bag lady was trolling for food they were mistaken. Food was only necessary a few times a week and it was a bothersome task that took her away from the one thing that mattered most; building a deck of cards.
For six years she wondered the streets of the city collecting playing cards discarded on the ground and thrown into garbage cans. Her mission was to find the remaining cards to go with her King of Hearts. Just as her mother had combed through the desk drawers in search of her deck she too peered into and around all sorts of nooks and crannies, convinced that in just a moment she would find what she was looking for. And she had done amazingly well at her job. Meticulously combing the lots behind hotels and nightclubs she had already gathered a complete set of Spades and Diamonds. Mis-matched, dirty and dog-eared she held her collection close to heart in the breast pocket of her business suit, once colored a light creamy yellow.
The winter had been harsh, forcing her to find shelter when the winds blew the temperature down to minus numbers. “A killing cold” she would say to the woman in the bunk next to her. Now the weather was easing and she could resume her work. Central Park lost its charm after she found a dead body lying next to her in the bush where she was peeing, so she moved her operation downtown to Union Square. It was a high concentration of people, yes, but where there were people there were bound to be playing cards so she relocated. Her strategy proved successful and before mid-summer she had a full three-quarter deck.
In Central Park, even if she couldn’t fully get away from people, generally they left her alone to rummage. In Union Square she was constantly bumping up against them, forced to share a bench with upscale business divas lunching on Cosi sandwiches or sipping Starbucks coffee. This aversion to proximity sharpened her focus. Soon faces faded and all she noticed were shoes and the things these shoes were absentmindedly stepping on. This is how she found the Jack of Hearts. A black, Converse All-Star, high-top sneaker was tapping on top of him. The shoe was keeping time to a Beatles tune; “Let it Be.” It was a song she was familiar with and she slowed to listen, finally stopping when she saw the card.
She had devised a technique for getting cards from under people with minimal interaction. It consisted mainly of standing in front of the obstacle (the shoe) while staring intently on the object of desire (the card.) Eventually the shoe would get spooked out enough to move its owner along and she would move in to collect her prize. This shoe, however, was not moving along, merely tapping up and down and she was forced to focus on the face belonging to that shoe to ply her technique more intently. A well practiced indifference on the part of the face had him ignore her as much as she had tried to ignore him, so the two hung in limbo until the song was over. The young guitarist looked up to observe his audience and he followed her gaze down to his shoe where he noticed what he was stepping on. Picking up the playing card he handed Jack over. She took Jack in hand and carefully looked him over. “You play cards?” he asked. “Solitaire” was her reply. She turned her back on the guitarist and walked into oblivion.
The summer aged. Hues of gold and dark green painted the park. Union Square was hot and few people hung out - which was her preference - but it also made her job more difficult. One card had eluded her since the beginning and it was this one card that now drove her more than the others. The Queen of Hearts was all that was needed to complete her deck and she searched relentlessly to no avail.
August rolled into September. Kids were back in school, teenagers met at the park after class and the city awakened from its heat induced slumber. One balmy afternoon she was making her usual rounds, scanning the shoes for treasure and notating the new contents of the garbage cans along the West side of the park. It had been a while since she had seen a stray playing card and her mood was mildly desperate.
A group of boys were playing hacky-sack near the dog run, their school backpacks carelessly thrown near by on the grass. One of them was unzipped and the contents had spilled slightly out of his bag. From afar she caught the familiar sight of red and quickly made her way across the lawn to investigate. Her heart quickened as she sized up the shape and design of what appeared to be a deck of cards. She ran to the pack and started digging in. The boys dropped their game to deal with the hag who was stealing from them and they ganged together with increasing menace. “The Queen, the Queen, do you have the Queen?” she implored them. Tasting her fear and desperation they taunted her. “You’re in the wrong part of town bitch – all the queens are on the West side.” “The Queen, I need the Queen. Do you have her?” The boys circled and her ire rose above them. “I must have the Queen of Hearts! Give her to me?” and she lunged at the bag. The boys descended and roughed her up spilling the precious cards in her pocket all over the lawn. Now that they understood, the torture increased.
“You want your Queen?” one boy teased, “Come and get her.” And he picked up the Queen of Spades ripping her into tiny bits. The other boys followed suit destroying the collection she had worked so hard and so long to assemble. Such reckless devastation rendered her speechless and once again she felt the sharp stab of powerlessness. She lost focus and sunk to her knees in the dirt. The laughter and taunts of the boys stopped suddenly but she was beyond noticing. Tears streamed down her face and the black cloud from a life time ago covered her eyes, choking her breath.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder. She hadn’t been touched like that since childhood. The young musician who had given her the Jack of Hearts stood protectively next to her. “Those assholes won’t bother you any more.” He helped her to her feet and collected what he could of her cards, handing them back with all the reverence of a page handing a scepter to a king. “I want to play Solitaire.” She looked at him. “I know you do.”
Hers is – to the one who cares – a beautiful life.
Morning bursts forth in crisp coolness. The farmer’s market is setting up and a woman walks around serving hot apple cider to the homeless people who bed down in the park. She comes upon a woman sitting on a bench with a deck of tattered cards carefully laid out in preparation for a game of solitaire. “Ah, Solitaire; one of my favorites.” She pours a cup of cider and hands it over. The woman accepts it and gives a little smile in return. “My mother taught me.” She gulps the cider gratefully. “Thank you, it’s very good.”
She returns to her card game. The deck is a mish mash of odd sizes and ripped, but serviceable cards. Other cards are hand drawn on notebook paper, a little contribution from the young musician yesterday. It is enough for her to sit down at long last to her game. She is flowing with satisfaction and cannot suppress a smile as she turns over the first card and commences with her game. It is a dream come true.
Playing throughout the morning she relinquishes her bench to no one. The sun slips by overhead and soon kids are out of school. Three boys walk toward her, back lit by the strong afternoon sun. Braced for a possible attack she peers at them but realizes that one of them is her young musician; she relaxes. “How’s the Solitaire going?” her hero asks. Her reply is light and easy; “Good. Good. Thank you.” “My brother here has something for you.” He kicks the kid next to him who steps forward. She recoils for it is the same boy who shredded the Queen of Spades yesterday. “um,” he stumbles “Here. Sorry for trashing your shit.” And he throws a new deck of cards down on the bench sending her old cards flying about. She looks at the box, shrink wrapped in shiny plastic, and wonders how they could possibly make it so perfect. Carefully she opens the wrapping. Two of the boys split while her musician man sits down across the footpath from her and starts picking a tune.
Reverently she opens the box of cards, her eyes lighting up in delight. Slipping the deck out of its box she gazes upon each card, greeting them as honored guests into her home. She comes upon the Queen of Hearts and pauses in astonishment. The Queen bears a striking resemblance to her mother. Lying there in the palm of her daughters hand looking out from a two dimensional plane the Queen almost smiles, almost reaches out her hand to the lost child looking down at her. “Mom?” The woman asks. “I love you Mom. I’ll be there. Wait for me.”
She returns the Queen to the deck and straightens it on the bench in an uncharacteristically aggressive manner, hitting it hard three times. She shuffles repeatedly – handling the cards like a shark – and splits the deck. Pausing for just a moment she launches into the game, laying down the cards in rapid succession. Her hand flips the cards firmly and slams them down onto the bench with passionate verve:
Six of Spades - Five of Hearts - Two of Diamonds - Ace of Spades - Two of Spades - Four of Clubs - King of Hearts -
She gets half way through the game, looses and pulls them all together again. Shuffle, deal, play! Lose. Shuffle, deal, play! Lose. Shuffle…
“I gotta go.” The young musician interrupts and she looks up. The sun has nearly set. “It’s supposed to rain tonight. Try and get some cover, ok?” “OK.” She replies. “See you tomorrow?” He asks. “Tomorrow…” she trails off as though having more to say but unable to find the words. The cards vibrate in her hand in a clarion call so she turns her attention to the bench. The musician hesitates and walks away. Slowly, with deliberate moves, she lays out a new game. The deck is worked in slightly and the cards move with her hands in a dance of delight. The first card she turns over is an Ace of Spades and so it begins.
Cards, numbers, faces, feet and symbols frolic before her and she maneuvers her play. As she lays the foundation a growing sense of confidence rises in her. Little fragments of herself begin to come together as shards of a great vessel are brought together by an archeologist. For half a decade she has been broken and her pieces lost: this game is gathering and fusing them together.
“I was a girl once.”
Six of Diamonds, three of Clubs, seven and eight of Diamonds.
“Mom brushed my hair.”
Four of Clubs, five of Hearts.
“Why isn’t she home yet?”
Three of Spades
“I have to move.”
Nine of Diamonds.
The cards sharpen her acuity and her life brilliantly rings into focus. She is clear headed now.
Ten of Diamonds, eight of Hearts.
“Patience, My name is Patience.” She remembers her first kiss and squirms with a thrill.
Nine, ten, Jack of Hearts. A rift of “Let it Be” floats past her. All around is beauty. The sun hangs on the horizon unwilling to set. A rich, warm smile fills her body and Patience, along with her cards, begins to levitate over the park bench. Queen of Hearts, her mother, is singing a sirens ballad calling her lost daughter home.
Angelic, her hair pulled back in that special way, a slightly mischievous dark smile on her lips, the bench rises to wrap around her as a royal cape. The cards fly about and come to rest on her head forming a crown. She is warm and smooth and crisp like a fresh deck of cards. The Foundation receives its last king, the King of Clubs and the game is complete – the deck is ordered. The game is won. Patience lays dead on the bench with a light smile on her youthful face.
The rain comes and falls softly, at first, cleansing her body in ritual purification. Then the skies open and a down-pour ensues washing away the story of Patience Adelaide. A gust of wind picks up the cards and scatters them. Some catch a breeze and fly up to Central Park. Other fly to the rivers. Two cards fly together, swirling in and around city bus tires rumbling downtown and catching the updraft of vast buildings in Lower Manhattan. They come to rest on a pile of dirt in a vast hole in the ground. Two Queens – a Heart and a Spade – appear to hug as a flutter of wind brings them together momentarily. Then they fall to the ground and disintegrate into obscurity.
©M Mott Newirth 2007
