Remember When ? - Chpt 3

Chapter 3

 

Over the next three weeks I made an pointed effort to walk by the tea pot when I was in the building, trying to examine the lid without being too conspicuous.

         Without realizing it, I held my breath as I got close to it.  A part of me, the intellectual part, screamed in the back of my head I was being ridiculous about the whole thing.  The other part, the part that made my hair stand on end and my feet itch to run away, screamed equally loudly... "look at the damn top.  If its off again... I'm out of here."  

I argued with myself for days afterward, vacillating back and forth as to what, if anything, I had heard, or if I should say anything at all to my wife. 

I settled on being tired, coupled with the stress of work and being excited for Valerie.  She had enough going on without thinking her husband was slipping around the bend.

It was the close of the day and at this time of year it got dark by four thirty.  The dining room buzzed with activity.  Couples filled the booths and tables.  Only a few of the stools at the front counter were empty.  Made up largely of college students, a few older patrons had managed to find their way here.

After the boys left home Valerie was a wreck, trying desperately to find ways to fill her time.  She had every indication of the empty nest syndrome.

Then after her mother died, she became obsessed with starting a restaurant.  Not just any restaurant, but one that took her customers back to their childhoods.

I told her no one would pay good money for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or oatmeal, or worse yet meatloaf with a tv playing in the background.

"That's not what they're paying for, its just what their eating," she always said with a smile.  

I had to admit, she was right.  People did want to relive their past.

"Want a little something to eat?  I'm going to be awhile," Valerie offered happily.

"What about you?" I asked.

"No time.  Besides I had a little something earlier with Gert," she called as she raced about.

"Ahh, a little something then," I returned.

"Feel like anything in particular?" she asked, racing in the opposite direction.

"Surprise me," I said, taking a stool at the end of the counter, a little disappointed.  I've never liked eating alone.  Even as a kid it was better to have company of some sort while stuffing my face. 

"No tuna casserole," she said in her best stern voice, emulating my personal feelings where all casseroles were concerned.

"Thank you," I returned with emphases. 

I sat listening to all the happy voices that filled the room.  It was just like it was when the boys were growing up.  Chaotic noise, a hundred things happening at the same time.  The air was full of all the familiar smells...  Valerie trying to do six things at the same time and in the back ground, over the stereo system, the sound of a tv show from the sixties.

I thought it was a nice touch that she wore the same apron with little blue rabbits embroidered along its bottom rim... the same one used for all those years the boys were at home.  It all seemed natural and I had never seen Valerie happier.

"Here you go," my wife said, sliding a plate in front of me before running off to another table. 

On it a turkey sandwich, slathered with avocado, sprinkled with bacon and ­French fries with a side of mayonnaise.

I attacked it like I hadn't eaten in weeks.

"Is it okay?" my wife asked, with a worried look.

"It's great... probably the best I've ever eaten," I said honestly, my mouth still full.

"Gertie will be glad to hear it," she returned, smiling.

"She made it?" I choked.

"Surprise," Valerie called over her shoulder, turning the end of the counter.

I lifted the bread, peering suspiciously under the lettuce, looking for any signs of tampering... just in case.  As best I could tell, everything seemed fine.

Tentatively, I picked it up, swallowing hard before taking another bite.  As I brought it closer, the faintest scent of perfume greeted me.

I struggled for a moment trying to remember where I had experienced it before, too place who wore that scent.  

"I'll bet she spit in it," came a woman's voice next to me.

I jumped, startled.  I looked about, spinning in both direction almost at the same time, looking behind me.  

Nothing.

No one sat within eight feet of me or for that matter even looked in my direction. 

"You can't trust her... you know that."

I could smell the perfume and the voice was as clear as day. 

To my shock, sitting on the stool next to me was the ghost of Edna Weaver.

    I jumped up, knocking my plate to the floor.

    "You okay?" My wife asked, rushing to me.

"Fine, just clumsy," I lied, brushing myself off looking about quickly with no avail.

The apparition of Valerie's dead mother was now nowhere to be seen.

My heart pounded in my ears as I fought to control myself, pretending everything was alright.

"Are you sure?  You don't look so good," My wife said slipping an arm around my waist.

"Just a little embarrassed, that's all," I answered, jerking to the left and the right, trying to see the entire room.

"Something wrong with sandwich?  I make it myself." Gertrude asked sternly, standing with both hands on her hips.

"No, it was fine, I just..." I began, trying to find the words that didn't seem to make me appear to be crazy.

"Go ahead, tell her you know she spit in it," came the voice again.

I couldn't keep from shuddering at the sound of it.

Slowly, I looked for its origin but saw nothing.

"I'll get you another," Valerie offered, scooping up the mess on the floor with one hand.

"No.  You're busy, I'll get it," Gertrude said roughly.

"Go on tell her or she's just going to spit in this one as well," the voice urged.

I drew a deep breath, ignoring it, sitting at the counter again.

I was shaken, when Edna suddenly reappeared on the stool next to me.

"I must be going out of my mind," I said to myself holding my head in my hands.

"No, you're fine... really," Edna said.  "Shush, she's coming."  She wriggled in the chair, correcting her posture, sitting up straight.

"It would be best, bean counter," Gertrude said softly, sliding a new sandwich in front of me.  She looked about quickly, wiping the counter for some imagined spill with a hand towel, never once looking at me.  "If you kept your Bogle to yourself."

"My Bogle?  I don't have a Bogle... I don't even know what a Bogle is," I protested.

"I think she means me," Edna said, sounding offended.

"You can... you can see her, can't you?" I asked, filled with a new level of encouragement. I wasn't crazy... or at least, not the only one. 

"Your Bogle... your problem," Gertie said firmly, pointing a stern finger at me.

"Gertrude, please, I'm begging you.  Tell me I'm not crazy... tell me you see her too," I pleaded, grabbing her arm as she turned for the kitchen.

She stop, narrowing her eyes as she peered at the would be empty stool next to me in which Edna now sat.

"I see nothing worth talking about at all," Gertrude snapped, pulling free of my grip, heading back to the kitchen once more.

"How rude.  I knew in the beginning she was trouble," Edna said contemptuously.  "You know I never actually liked Valerie hanging out with her.  Pure trouble that one."

"Oh my God.  I think I'm having a stroke," I said to myself, pressing two fingers to my jugular, trying to check my heart beat.

"Don't be silly.  You're fine.  I should march right in there and give her a piece of my mind," Edna voiced firmly, silently thumping her fist on the counter.

"Yes, go," I said out of reflex and with that she was gone.

I looked about to insure she had actually left.  I was comforted in the fact that not only was she not there but no one else in the building seemed to notice my behavior as well.

At the moment I began to feel better, convincing myself it was all in my head, a pan flew out of the kitchen, clattering to the floor with a loud crash, followed quickly by an angry Gertrude cursing and shouting in German. 

To my astonishment she ran from the kitchen, knife in hand, to stand in front of me again. 

I hadn't noticed it until that moment, but she carried a large tomato, thrusting it onto the counter and proceeded to stab it repeatedly, turning it into little more than mush.

"If ever I see you in my kitchen again I will..." she threatened, the words flying out of her mouth so fast I barely understood them.  In mid-sentence her vocabulary became infused with German, very angry German, accompanied with lots of growling sounds. 

I was petrified.

She drew a deep breath, the knife held over her head with both hands, ready to plunge it into the tomato fragments one last time in a murderous rage.

"Gertie?" my wife called out, stopping her were she stood.  "What's wrong?  Are you okay?"

"Everything's fine, dicing tomato for sandwich," she lied with a forced smile.

My wife nodded, uncertain if she should be concerned or not.

"Your Bogle... your problem," Gert whispered harshly, leaning closer, tossing the knife on the counter in front of me.

I didn't know what to say, what to do.  For a moment it felt as if my life had flashed before my eyes.

"Well, that was rude.  I don't speak German do you?  I mean what do you think she was trying to say?" Edna asked indignantly, suddenly there again.

"This can't be happening," I whispered to myself, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

"I know what you mean, you're right, she's a menace," Edna said.

"That's not what I said," I began to argue before catching myself, slapping my hand over my mouth.

"Oh, please, she's a ticking bomb.  It's just a matter of time before she blows... did you see her eyes?  Madness, I tell you, pure madness."

"I'm having some kind of episode...  You're not real.  I'm just talking to myself," I said, trying to sort things out, trying to remember how or when I had struck my head. 

"Ricky, stop that.  You're fine and I'm as real as you... well, I used to be... you know what I mean," she said squirming gleefully in her chair.

"My God, Edna, I'm well into my sixties... no one calls me Ricky any more," I complained bitterly. 

"That's better.  See?  You're not talking to yourself after all," she said lifting her hands over her head in celebration.

"You're dead," I said flatly, as if that would solve the situation.

"True, but it's come to my attention that maybe, just maybe, I have one or two...  little things to straighten out before..." she said softly, her voice trailing off.

"Before?" I pressed.

"Like everything else in life there is a path to follow... a bureaucracy if you will.  I seem to be a few points short of, how do I put it?  Enough frequent flier miles for my trip.  If I sort out a few things here then I can move on," she explained.

"You have to be kidding," I returned.  I stared straight ahead in disbelief, not wanting to acknowledge the possibility.

"No, not at all, with a little help from you I can be on my way and all will be right with the world," she voiced happily, clapping her hands together joyfully.  

"Me?  Why me?  Why not Valerie or Gertrude for that matter?"

"It would seem Valerie has a block were I'm concerned and Gertrude, well, I just don't like her, besides, you saw her reaction to me."

"I've only met you five times in the forty plus years Valerie and I have been married," I grumbled, resisting the urge to turn in her direction.

"True, but that should be enough.  Look, here we are talking like old friends," she said lightly.

"If, and I mean if, what you say is true, how do I get rid of you?" I asked firmly, turning my attention toward her at last.

"Oh, that's easy as pie.  You just have to get Valerie to forgive me, that's all," she gushed.

"Forgive you?  For what?"

"You would think they would have told me that wouldn't you?  Truthfully I have no idea," she said, lifting her hands in confusion.

"They who?" I asked straightaway, genuinely interested.

"Awh, Valerie was right, you are a quick one," Edna said with a wiggle, jumping down from the stool.

I hadn't remembered how short she truly was.  Seeing her now she stood about five two and as round in stature as a person can be with a pleasant face equally cylindrical, framed by black hair.

"They who?" I repeated. 

"I'll tell you what, let's start here.  How long have Valerie and that menace been friends?" she asked folding her arms.

"Since junior high," I answered confused.

"Oh, I agree.  Do you know how they met?" she continued.

"I think they had lockers next to each other in school," I said, trying to recall the details.

"Really?  Is that what you think?  The truth is, I brought them together, ask them.  If I didn't, you'll never see me again, if I did you'll help me, no questions asked."

"Deal," I said eagerly and with that she was gone.

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Wendy Seames Garner]

I think I might have read this before, but for some reason I didn't give a review. I had been wondering if maybe mom's cremated remains might be in the teapot, but it appears to be her spirit instead. Which reminds me of the story of someone drinking my friends cat's ashes, thinking it was tea. So mom doesn't get along with Gertrude either, which makes Richard and mom unlikely allies. Just a little problem here: "I struggled for a moment trying to remember where I had experienced it before, too place who wore that scent." Shouldn't that be "to place"?