Charleigh Wallace
____________________________
Anna Blair’s
Visitors
Based on a true story.
Copyright © 2011
All rights reserved.
…continued
Nineteen
In her next session with Dr. A, he asked if anyone new had come to visit Anna, but she said it was frankly none of his god damn business. But when Anna saw Dr. A’s face, she knew she had hurt him, so she added that except for Grandma Blair and Cezar and that man in the gray suit, no one had come by. Anna said she expected someone anytime now, though. She spoke of her lovely time together with her grandmother and the gray-suited man, but that was all she said.
On the cab drive home, Anna blurted out, “Sometimes I like to think of bigger words like symposium. I have a degree. It is silly not to make use of it.” Craig stared at her from the rear-view mirror, watching her look out the window at nothing.
What in fucking hell is wrong with this beautiful woman and what is she talking about? She talked to me, though!
He watched her until she glared back.
When Dr. A wrote his notes later that day, he believed her only cure was to be surrounded by her four children, and the love they seemed to show her every day.
He also wrote how he hoped her children would heal as well. He was set to see them all at the same time tomorrow at 4:00 pm.
When Anna got home, for the next hour and a half, she sat in front of her bedroom mirror, trying to see if anyone was looking back at her. At 11:37 she got the mail okay, but had a traumatic moment when Ed came out of his house just as she was coming back from the mailbox.
Anna, apparently for no reason, directed more anger at her journal.
Dear Damn Diary
I saw lust in Ed’s eyes today, so I yelled out, “Stop looking at my boobs!” I ran into the house, locked the door, and stood shaking in the living room for exactly fourteen minutes. Just thought you’d like to know, Dr. A.
Anna still had time to get ready for her visitor, but had lost valuable time with the fourteen minutes of shaking. She hurried to her room, changed into a purple sweatshirt and jeans, and Grandma Blair’s mink coat. No socks, no shoes. She brushed her shoulder-length hair, and put on her makeup.
The doorbell rang at 12:14. It was Clark Gable. Anna flushed a bright rose color, noticing his still angular features, jet-black hair, thin mustache, haunting gray eyes, and topcoat and hat. She was glad to have picked out her grandmother’s fur coat. Mr. Gable, however, said he frankly didn’t give a damn about the fur, but really just wanted some Peppermint tea and Lorna Dunes. Anna hurried ahead of him to pull out his chair, but he led her to her chair first, pulling it out for her. Anna was quite flustered, telling him how much he reminded her of the UPS man.
At 2:35 the children came up the walkway, Mr. Gable fading into the walls of the kitchen.
Tomorrow was the children’s appointment with Dr. A, and Friday, the last day of school before Christmas break. Anna loved the breaks, when she could hear her children talk and fight and laugh all day long. She knew the visitors would cease until the New Year, and she was frankly ready for the break.
Dear Stupid Diary
Clark Gable has a beautiful smile, with brilliantly white teeth. He stared a lot into my green eyes, and said I looked much prettier than the actresses he worked with and slept with. I wondered if he’d ask to sleep with me, but he never did. I can only assume it was because of the purple sweatshirt and fur coat combination. Apparently a big taboo in Hollywood. Next time, I’ll be ready in evening wear.
…wait…I feel another instantaneous poem comin’ on…
Licorice
Black
Fran and I eating it
On our ecology walk in SF
The acronym for San Francisco
I know what you’re thinking
You thought it stood for stupid fudge
20 miles long
My feet are blistered
Fran and I are laughing
I hate black licorice
Twenty
The next morning the concert was set for 8:30. The front of the stage was lined with large bouquets of yellow and red, long-stemmed roses. People from all over Hollywood had come to hear Anna sing. She peered through the huge, heavy tapestry curtains at the audience below, seated in rows of red velvet, and above where the grand balconies were filling with chattering, famous voices. The audience anxiously awaited her performance. The orchestra warmed up.
Anna looked out the curtain again and giggled as Clark Gable blew a kiss from the front row. Seated next to him was the indescribably beautiful Brad Pitt, giving her a thumbs up. Up in one of the balconies on her left was Robert DeNiro, with his strong eyes, and wavy gray hair, another of her personal friends. He waved often in her performances.
She ran back to her room, slipped into her old wedding dress she had made herself, unable to zip up around her larger frame. The dress with the faded bloodstain still on the left breast where Cezar had bit down too hard.
She brushed her hair, put on brown eye shadow and pink blush where her cheeks puffed out when she smiled. She put on her grandmother’s bright red lipstick, and grabbed the portable record player that belonged to her when she was a teenager.
She was announced, and the crowd roared. She stepped up to the curtain as it parted, and the music began. The crowd marveled at her beauty, her thin, perfect body, Tom Cruise whistling from the third row, his wife slapping his arm.
Her first selection was The Monkee’s “I’m A Believer.” The crowd loved her, clapping a full two minutes after she had finished moving her mouth to the lyrics. Mr. DeNiro waved. The next selection was Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.” That one had the whole crowd on their feet, amazed at how beautiful she sang, and how well she danced.
Tom Hanks danced in the aisles. Will Smith came running up to the stage, yelling, “Hey, beautiful!” The guards had to come and take him out of the auditorium. Anna didn’t mind, though. His comment, however gauche, made her smile.
Throughout the concert, she sang from Tony Bennett to Barry Manilow, Paul Revere and the Raiders to Carly Simon. Whatever record she coveted from her childhood she played, moving her mouth to the singer’s voices.
At 11:37 the applause stopped and the curtains closed. Dark, red velvet chairs turned into the brown, living room sofa; the tapestry curtains became liquid, absorbed into the tan rug.
Anna sadly left the living room, walked down the hallway, and back to her room. She gently took off her wedding dress, folded it, and placed it back in the plastic blue container. She vigorously wiped off the makeup, put on her old jeans and purple sweater, and went to get the mail.
After Anna was safely back inside, she prepared the tea and cookies for today’s visitor.
The doorbell rang twenty one times before she had finished setting the table. She walked to the door, unlocked and opened it.
“Grandpa!” Anna leaped into his arms.
He was wearing the same 6-foot-tall overalls and big warm smile that she had remembered as a child. He brought with him his leather tool belt, a saw, and some wood. Each visit from him would beget a small wooden item they would build together, whether a box, a frame, or a shelf. Grandpa let her help often, but never with the sawing. He didn’t want her to get hurt.
After seating him, giving him the usual tea and cookies, they began their first of many wooden projects. After the project was completed, Grandpa smiled at Anna in approval. The children walked up the walkway, sending Grandpa on his way.
Grandpa’s smile stayed in front of her mind for several hours.
The children asked about the new little ornate wooden box that was on the living room coffee table. Anna just smiled and swept up the sawdust.
Other visits produced a doll chair placed as a gift next to Fia’s bed, and some odd things like the plain wooden box with a hinged lid, the letters “Flies” etched into the pine.
Dear Obtuse Diary
Grandpa helped me make a box today. It was so nice to smell that old cigar smell again, hear his breathy laugh, and see him smile. I thought I’d never see him again. Oh yeah, I also started using my dishwasher today for the first time, so I’m pretty psyched about that. I’ve lived here for several years. I never saw it before today.
At 3:30 Craig pulled up outside Anna’s house ready to take her four children to Dr. A’s.
They were not looking forward to being “dissected by a shrink.” Feelings were not something that wanted to come out.
The three younger ones climbed into the back seat while Rhona sat in front. Craig said “hi” and they said “hi” back. He could tell how nervous they were.
He could see Anna was too as she chewed on her living room curtains as they drove off.
“So,” he began, while pulling away from the curb, “how are you all doing?”
“Okay” was the mediocre answer. And that was the extent of their conversation.
“I’ll be here in an hour to get you guys, okay?” Craig said out his open window after letting them out in front of the office.
They walked the steps to the old house, and went inside.
“I want to push the button,” Gregor said as they got in the elevator.
“Should we pick numbers?” Rhona asked as they stood in the closed, small space. “Between 1 and 30.” So they all turned their heads toward the off-white ceiling and thought hard.
“Got it,” Fia said smiling. Gregor said, “Okay.” Aileana nodded.
“Okay,” Rhona began, “the number closest gets to push the button.”
They didn’t notice that the elevator had begun moving, picking up one person on Dr. Alexandru’s floor, an elderly man with a cane who smelled of cedar and soap. The elevator dropped him off on the first floor, and they breathed a sigh of relief when he exited and no one new came on.
The elevator ascended again.
“You know,” Gregor said with a gleam in his eyes, “we could just ride this until our hour is up.” They all laughed, considered their options, but shook their heads.
“No,” Rhona said, “we have to do this shitty appointment. So, pick a number.”
“You know, technically speaking,” Fia surmised, getting rolled eyes all around the elevator, “we could not possibly spend an entire hour on the elevator. It has been proven in a double-blind study…”
The elevator stopped at floor #2, letting on a group of four people: three mentally disabled people and a young woman, obviously their guide. The children were now all squished together in the back corner while the three new people stared at them with blank eyes. It made Rhona sad, and she looked down.
“Thank god,” Rhona breathed when they got off on floor #3. Then they began a descent to floor #1.
“…that people in a small enclosure such as this…,” Fia continued.
“Ten,” Gregor said with a heavy sigh.
“Um…twenty…five!” Aileana said with excitement.
“Thirteen!” Fia shouted.
“It was eleven, so now we have a tie, god damn it!” Rhona held her hands stiffly on her hips.
“Yay,” Fia said, clapping her hands.
“Okay, wait until I get a new number.” They all stood in silence, stopping at floor 3, floor 2, down to 1, up to 3 again, letting on and off children, old men, young women.
“Where are all the good looking guys?” Fia asked with disgust.
“What? You want to pick up guys at a building for psychos?” Rhona asked angrily.
Aileana said defensively, “Hey, Mom goes here!”
“Okay. Sorry,” Rhona said apologetically. Then she thought a little more.
“Got it. Okay, go ahead. This time, between one and a hundred.”
“…as I was saying, do not do well psychologically speaking.” Fia looked around at stone cold faces.
“Why?” Gregor asked complaining. “Why so many god damn numbers?”
Rhona yelled, “Just pick one! Jesus!”
Fia raised her small hand as if in school.
“You aren’t going to go on and on again about being in little places are you?” Rhona asked.
“I pick fifty,” Fia said, insulted. She looked to Gregor, challenging him.
With another sigh, he said, “fifty one I guess.”
“Bastard,” Fia snarled.
“What? Because I know how to play this damn game I am a bastard?”
“Shut up, will you?” Aileana said, tired of watching the indicator light go on, sending them up and down in the elevator until she felt sick.
“It’s forty eight, so Fia gets it.” Rhona impatiently motioned for her to push the number, which she did happily. Gregor sulked, and they watched as floor #3 came up and stopped.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Rhona said with disgust.
They exited the elevator and looked at the names on the board, placed on the wall directly in front of them. They took another few minutes of stalling to laugh at the names on the board.
Gregor was first. “Look at this. Who’d want to go to a doctor named Smelthon?”
Fia laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes, reading the next name: “VanderHooten!” They finally composed themselves, drying wet eyes, catching breaths.
“Okay.” Fia read as she skimmed through more funny names to find Alexandru. “Room 8.”
They found their way down the hall, and stopped in front of the correct door. They had wasted all the time they could, so Rhona opened the door and they followed in after her.
Fia immediately noticed the handsome Romanian man sitting behind his desk.
Gregor spoke up as Dr. A looked up from his writing.
“We’re Anna Blair’s kids.”
“Yes, please come in,” he said, rising from his desk.
And he’s tall, Fia noticed. She smiled, and blushed. Rhona elbowed her in the side, and whispered, “Will you stop being so fucking obvious?”
There was a couch that seated two comfortably, and two cushioned chairs, in addition to Dr. A’s upholstered chair.
Gregor and Aileana sat on the couch as far from each other as possible, while Rhona sat in one of the cushy chairs. Fia went right for the Elizabethan-looking upholstered chair closest to Dr. A’s chair. Rhona rolled her eyes. Fia blushed, then slapped Rhona on the arm.
Dr. A watched with humor the interaction between the children, the glares, stares, and the way each one chose where to sit, as far from him as possible, except for the second oldest with the extremely long dark hair. He smiled at each of them. They were all so beautiful, just like Anna. So many times there is at least one in a family that isn’t as attractive as the others, but in this case, well, that was clearly not the case. He could definitely see how much they must mean to Anna. They were all so articulate, so intelligent. It was amazing how well they had survived everything so far.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I am Dr. Alexandru, but if you like, you can just call me Dr. A as your mother currently does.”
Fia whispered to Rhona, “Did you hear his accent?” And she blushed again.
Rhona just groaned. It was obvious to the doctor that Rhona would not call him anything, or at least not anything nice.
He began. “Look, I know you don’t want to be here. I know I have my work cut out for me. But all things start at the beginning, and beginnings are always a little bit choppy, a little bit uncomfortable, until one day you look back and realize time in its magical way has moved you forward so subtly you barely felt the wind. And you find yourself past that part of difficulty, and that’s when the real work can begin, and the healing with it.
“So, let’s start with names.”
He nodded to Fia first.
“I’m Fia,” she said, blushing again. Dr. A smiled, and looked to Rhona.
“Rhona.” And she crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck out her chin, an eyebrow raised.
He looked to Gregor next.
“Gregor.” He wasn’t as angry as Rhona, Dr. A noted, but still could hold his own in a fight.
“I’m Aileana.” Even though she smiled, Dr. A could still see the anger and disappointment.
“Okay, good,” said Dr. A. “So, let’s have each one of you tell me why you think you are here.”
Rhona rolled her eyes.
Fia grew quiet, and began. “Our mom.”
“Good. Okay, anyone else?” Dr. A asked, but no one offered to respond.
“I can tell you are angry. You are angry because you are here, having a stranger ask you about your personal feelings. You are angry because your mom is not well. Do I have that about right so far?”
They nodded.
“I personally don’t know why I have to be here,” Rhona said. “This doesn’t really concern me.”
“Yes it does, Rhona,” Fia blurted out. “You cut your arms.”
Rhona looked like she was going to hit her. “That is none of your fucking business, Fia!”
“Yes it is!” And Fia started crying.
Gregor and Aileana stared at the floor. Rhona glared out the window.
“I know how difficult this must be,” Dr. A consoled.
“No you don’t!” Rhona said, staring at him with angry eyes.
“So tell me how difficult it is.”
And so she began her long list. “Well, from having to change diapers and make sandwiches no one wanted while in Nashville when my mom couldn’t even get out of the bathtub to shit during her panic attacks and IBS episodes, to this!” The tears came but she wiped them away roughly.
Dr. A agreed with her that these things should not have been put on a child so young, but asked her how things could have been done differently. There was no answer. There was no way anything could have been different. They were only given one lousy road to follow, and looking back, the road was cut off just beyond their last steps. They couldn’t go back, and couldn’t veer from it to the right or left, because they would just fall off a cliff. They had no choice but to move forward.
Then Gregor spoke up. “When will she be okay again?”
“I think that depends on a number of things, Gregor, but you four being around her is helping her.” Dr. A watched as Gregor rolled his tearing eyes.
“Look, I know you don’t want your mom sick, so we need to figure out what we can do to help her. Agreed?” With that they all seemed to perk up just a bit.
Fia spoke first. “Okay, what do we need to do?” And then she melted when Dr. A looked directly into her eyes, causing her to blush and look down.
“That’s a great attitude, Fia,” Dr. A encouraged. So they talked about a plan. He didn’t know if the children knew about Anna’s visitors, so he didn’t want to worry them more than they already were.
“I want you to try to encourage your mother to do things outside her home.” Dr. A suggested.
“Like what? She doesn’t go anywhere!” Gregor slapped his hand on his knee, the anger flaring in his young eyes.
“I know, but we need to try. How about encouraging her to get the mail on Saturdays? Give her praise for the little things she does accomplish. It’s like she is starting over. Like a child.”
“I guess,” Rhona leaned forward, holding her face in her hands.
“Keep joy inside you, keep your sense of humor alive, talk to her about your dreams and goals for the future. Make her face your futures.”
Fia spoke up. “I do that now. I tell her about my castles and show her my fashion designs.”
“And what is her reaction, Fia?” Dr. A asked.
“She loves them. She notices the colors in the gowns, and the details in my castle drawings. She wants to come live there with me.” And she smiled.
“That is great, Fia. That’s what we want. Her looking forward, not stuck in the past the way she is now. Do you think you can all work on that?”
They nodded. “Each one of you think of one thing you can do to direct her mind toward the future, and praise even the smallest accomplishments, okay?” And he saw them nod. “Okay.” He smiled his white smile.
Craig was waiting outside when they came down the steps. They seemed a little more relaxed.
“Everyone okay?” he asked. He wanted so much to feel a part of this family, for the kids to accept him, for Anna to accept him.
Gregor answered, “Yep.” And they rode the rest of the way home whispering back and forth about what each one could do to help their mom.
Anna greeted them at the door when they came up the walkway, missing them as if they’d been gone for a year. She hugged them all, slammed the door against the world, and locked it securely.
Craig sat in his cab, just watching the house, becoming more and more frustrated, imagining the house as a high castle with a shark-filled mote. “There’s no way I’m ever going to get into that castle, is there?” And he looked up. “Is there?” He punched the accelerator, and sped off down the street, angry that he allowed himself to feel anything at all, about anyone.
Twenty-one
On Saturday, the first official day of the children’s Christmas vacation, Anna slept luxuriously until 11:30. She jumped out of bed, threw on her robe, and ran to the living room. Still enough time to watch for the mail. Anna had felt a sense of peace on Saturdays because Fia went to get the mail, but today Fia came up to her mom and asked, “Mom, will you do something for me?”
Anna kissed her cheek. “Anything.”
“Please get the mail all the time?” She watched Anna’s face grow more tense and afraid. “It’s just that you do it so well, and I would like to see how you do it, you know, for the future, when I’ll have my own place and have to do it myself.” She smiled her empathetic smile.
“Well, I guess I could if it will help you.” So she ran to her room to get ready, while Fia clapped silently to herself.
Once dressed, Anna came out to the living room. Anna and Fia looked out the window, just in case Ed was out wanting to know when someone was going to pick up the goddamn fucking pile of leaves in the yard.
Anna was always prepared, like a good girl scout, to run across her lawn and gouge Ed’s eyes out at a moment’s notice. She knew where that ice pick was, just in case, under the brown couch cushion. But today went well. No altercations, no attempts to heckle from Ed, no attempts at gouging. Anna ran back inside as Fia watched, breathing heavily.
She locked the door and together, she and Fia sat on the couch, Fia opening the mail carefully with her intricately carved pewter letter opener.
Anna’s mind wandered. Her favorite holiday was Christmas. She would make her grandmother’s family recipe: Boiled Raisin Cake. She’d also make homemade honeycomb candy, too…her mother’s favorite. And she’d spend hours making five little gingerbread houses, one for each of the children and for herself. It was by all rights a ritual.
The children each had a “decorating detail” job. Rhona was in charge of the M & M’s, Fia, the Hershey’s chocolate kisses, Gregor, the gumdrops, and Aileana, the little candy canes. The icing was thick, like cement. It held the four walls and roof of each house like strong iron nails hold a wooden house.
After Fia finished telling Anna what she got in the mail, Anna jumped up, deciding that today was a good day to run out in the backyard for five minutes, and gather as many pecans as she could.
The day was brisk and clear, the snow a light dusting.
Fia huddled at the back door, closing her black hooded sweater tight across her small frame, watching Anna run from one end of the backyard to the other, in the snow, shoving dead and buried pecans in her bra.
Anna was always ready to yell “fuck you” to Ed if he asked what the hell she was doing out there exposing her breasts in the wintertime.
But Ed didn’t come out that day. Either he was too slow, or she was too fast. Either way, it worked out well for her and Fia, who was both embarrassed and sad watching her mom. Fia ran to her mom’s bathroom to get a soft, warm towel, and when Anna came back inside, she cradled her mother in it until she was warm again.
Anna whispered, “My Fia” in her daughter’s ear, and it made Fia cry. “You have a true, kind heart.” Anna kissed her daughter’s wet cheeks, and went off to her room to change into dry clothes.
Fia silently set the table for lunch.
Dear Magnanimous Diary
I’m pretty tired. Went pecan hunting. My breasts are sure sore. I wonder what I can order from another catalog so I can kiss the UPS man again? Maybe another set of six super hero glasses.
Oh wait. I have another IP:
Cheers
Here’s to that thing
That went by so fast
What were we celebrating
What did I eat
What did I wear
Who was there
Was it raining
Or snowing
Or was that the day of the tornado
I don’t think so
Why would we be cheering on the day
The tornado ripped up trees
I’ve been sitting too long
I can’t feel my feet
Or my breasts.
To be continued…
Charleigh Wallace 