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Sageplace

Telling Stories

continued: page 4

It's 11:00 am and the damned woman is knocking again. Virginia, still in yesterday's clothing, with warmed over coffee in hand, hides behind the door. "Why does the old bag keep coming back?" she mutters. She peeks through a crack in the pale blue curtains. A solidly built woman dressed in blue jeans and a short sleeved, plaid shirt is standing at her door. Over her right arm rests a basket. Her left hand is poised to knock again. Virginia grudgingly decides to give in and open the door. "Well hello there! I’ve finally caught you," the old woman says, smiling warmly. She steps into the room uninvited, and Virginia reluctantly moves back to let her pass. The woman appears to be in her late fifties. She has short graying hair, pale blue eyes, and appears rumpled and dowdy. Virginia, recently awakened, unwashed and fuzzy headed, retreats behind an air of superiority. "Can I help you with something?" Virginia asks, her voice cold, polite, and tinged with disdain.

"My name's Mavis. I’ve been meaning to meet you, but I’ve been so busy, and when I’ve gotten around to coming by, you haven’t been home. I brought you a wild strawberry pie and my apologies for taking so long to welcome you." Mavis walks over to the table and sets the basket down.

"Why thank-you Mavis. How sweet of you." Virginia pushes back her hair, "Please excuse my appearance, I was up reading late and I’m afraid I’ve over-slept. Can I get you a cup of coffee?" Virginia asks, without a hint of warmth, praying that Mavis decline her unenthusiastic offer.

"I'd love a cup, two sugars and a bit of cream," Mavis instructs sitting down and settling in.

Mavis chats about the weather, the residents, and the church pot luck dinner. Virginia hears nothing, just gazes out the window, hoping that Mavis will get the message. She's not welcome here. She watches an old lobsterman and his young assistant struggling with their nets. The sun shines on the young man's hair, and his arm muscles ripple as he lifts a heavy piece of equipment. She can barely see his face from this distance, but she can't help noting what a compelling sight he makes. His movements are efficient and graceful, he smiles widely, and appears to be enjoying himself. Virginia scowls, disgusted that she's allowed herself to be captivated even for a minute by him.

"That's Joe's nephew, Chris." Mavis offers, leaning forward to get a better view. Virginia's cheeks flush, she feels invaded and embarrassed. "He's a sweet boy. He's spending the summer with Joe, all the way from San Francisco. He worries so much about that old man. Always has. I remember when he was just a tadpole, Joe would be scrambling around, and there'd be Chris - stumbling behind him, his little face all scrunched up, trying to help him. Bless Joe, he never once let on that the little guy was getting in his way."

Virginia slides her chair away from the table and stands abruptly, moving to the sink to run hot water. She notices the beer bottles and coffee cups scattered on the counter and feels her resentment growing hot and thick. She keeps her back turned away from Mavis and begins to collect the soiled dishes and empty bottles. Mavis remains seated, silent and watching.

Mavis is not a native, in spite of the fact that she's lived in Hamden since she was a new bride. Tom had enchanted her with tales of his wild and wintry homeland and she'd followed him, filled with dreams of love, and family, and friendship. Oh, she'd had plenty of the first two since coming, but friendship, well, that had taken years to find. Over a decade, she figured. People were nice enough, but she was considered an outsider by most of them. Mavis felt sorry for this strange young woman who stood before her, back hunched over and yet held rigid. She worked quickly, with short, jerky movements. 'Now here's a lost soul,' decided Mavis sympathetically, but also with more than a little intrigue. Mavis thrived on collecting lost souls. Her husband called it her strange affliction, while Mavis saw it as her mission.

"So can I expect you at church this Sunday?" Mavis asked, bringing her coffee cup to the sink to hand to Virginia. Virginia kept washing dishes, head down; eyes focussed on the soapy water. "No, I don't think so Mavis," she answered, refusing to offer an excuse or even look at the old lady. "Sure would love to have you Hon, it'd be good for you to meet pastor McLachlan, and some of the townsfolk. I could come and pick you up?" Mavis offered hopefully. "I don't think so Mavis. Thanks for the invitation though," Virginia responded with an edge of irritation in her voice. Mavis took the hint and headed for the door. She turned at the threshold and stood waiting. Virginia didn't turn to say goodbye. Mavis considered whether or not to say any more and then decided that she'd said enough for one day. She'd be back though, she decided, her jaw tightening in determination. 'I'll definitely be back,' she vowed to herself as she headed out the door.

Virginia heard the door close quietly and flung the dishcloth. "Dam it! Is there no place in this God forsaken world I can be left alone?" she grumbled. 'Dam that busy- body, Dam her,' she cursed silently. She was humiliated. She looked around the cottage. It was filthy. Tears welled up in her eyes as she studied the wreckage. The furniture was old and battered, and dust and cigarette wrappers were everywhere. She hadn't noticed it before and didn't want to see it now. 'It's not worth it, not worth it, not fucking worth it,' she protested even as she moved around picking up the debris.

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