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State Line

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State Line ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp

Evan awoke to the smell of cooking food. When he got out of bed and went into the kitchen, mother turned from the stove and smiled at him. She was wearing her red silk dress with the white buttons instead of the usual old chenille bathrobe.

“Sit down and have some bacon and eggs,” she said cheerily.

“Why are you so dressed up?” he asked.

“We’ll talk about that later.”

While he ate, she sat across from him and drank coffee and smoked.

“Now that summer vacation is finally here,” she said, “what are you going to do today?”

He could tell she didn’t really care; she was only trying to make conversation.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Read my book and watch TV, I guess.”

“Don’t you think it’d be a good idea to get out and get some exercise and some fresh air?”

“I might ride my bike to the park.”

“Don’t you have some friends?” she asked. “It’s more fun with friends.”

“Sure. Is anything wrong? You’re acting funny.”

“I need to have a little talk with you.”

“What about?”

“Do you remember my friend Tony? You met him once when we were having lunch downtown.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

She clasped her hands together and looked down at them. “Well, he and I are going away together this morning. He’s coming by to pick me up.”

“Where to? Does daddy know?”

“I wrote daddy a letter that he’ll read when he gets home from work.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet. We talked about going all the way to the West Coast. The important thing is for me to be someplace other than here.”

“But why Tony?”

“I’m in love with him. Right now he’s got a wife and I’ve got a husband, but I hope to marry him someday. I know it’s hard for you to understand right now.”

“Is it something I did?”

“Of course not! I don’t want you to ever think that.”

“Is it something daddy did?”

“No, daddy didn’t do anything, either. I can’t go into it now. I’ll try to explain another time. I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time. I was waiting until you were out of school for summer vacation so you would have the summer to get used to my not being here.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go. When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll call you just as soon as I get to where I’m going.”

In a little while there was a honk out front. She went into the bedroom and when she came out she was carrying her suitcase and had a white sweater thrown over her shoulders.

“I want you to come out on the porch and see me off,” she said, taking him by the hand.

Tony had parked his shiny blue car at the curb. When he saw mother and Evan come out of the house, he smiled and waved. Then he stood beside the car waiting for mother with his hand resting on the fender as if he was posing for a car ad.

Mother let go of Evan’s hand on the porch and bent over to him so that her face was close to his. She didn’t have to bend very far because he was almost as tall as she was.

“I want you to know that my leaving has nothing to do with you,” she said softly. “Wherever I am, you will always be my son and I’ll always be your mother.” She took ten dollars out of her purse and put it in the pocket of his pajamas. “Here’s a little mad money,” she said. “A little money never hurt anything.” She laughed and kissed him on the cheek and gave him a little squeeze. She let go of him then and, without looking back, crossed the lawn and got into the car with Tony.

He watched Tony’s car until it was out of sight and then he went back into the house and got dressed. He was used to staying by himself during the daytime, but the house seemed awfully lonely and quiet with mother gone. He turned on the TV but, not being used to watching during the daytime, wasn’t able to get interested in anything that was on.

Mother was right, he thought. He did need to get out of the house for a while. He took his book and went to the garage and got out his bicycle and headed for the park.

There were some kids in the park that he knew but he ignored them, hoping they didn’t see him. He didn’t feel like being with anybody. He rode back and forth around the perimeter of the park until he got tired and then he found a shady, secluded spot under a tree and sat down. He opened his book, holding it in his lap, but didn’t look at it.

He thought about mother in the car with Tony, the wind blowing her hair. He could see her laughing and smoking cigarettes and pointing to an old barn or a windmill or something that she wanted him to see. After that, everything was just a blur. He couldn’t see her sleeping in the same bed with Tony, fixing his breakfast, or even sitting across from him at a booth in a restaurant. When he thought of Tony, he saw daddy’s face and how it would change when he read the letter that mother left him beside the toaster.

He sat under the tree for a long time until some girls settled themselves too close to him; he could hear them chattering and laughing and he felt insulted in some way that they pretended he wasn’t there and didn’t matter. He left his spot under the tree and, realizing he was hungry, bought a hot dog and a Coke from the vendor at the pavilion with the money mother gave him.

When he got back home he put his bike away in the garage and waited outside until daddy came home from work. When daddy’s car finally pulled into the driveway, he felt relieved somehow, as if the hours of waiting were at an end. He didn’t have to deal with mother’s leaving on his own anymore; here was someone else to try to figure it out.

“Where’s your mother?” daddy said when he got out of the car and saw Evan sitting on the back steps. It was almost as if he already knew she was gone.

“She’s gone,” Even said. “There’s a letter for you from her in the kitchen.”

He waited a few minutes, giving daddy time to read the letter, and then he went inside. Daddy was standing at the sink drinking a glass of water. The opened letter was on the table.

“I think I know where she is,” daddy said. “I’m going to go get her and bring her home.”

“I want to come, too,” Evan said.

“No,” daddy said, “you stay here and take care of things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

And, with those words, echoing the words mother had spoken earlier in the day, he was gone.

Evan felt better than he had felt all day, ever since mother told him she was leaving. Daddy would straighten things out. He would bring her back and get her to see reason. He always said that women were illogical and could change at a moment’s notice. Evan was witnessing that first hand.

He ate some leftover fried chicken and potato salad from the refrigerator, and when he was finished he went into the living room and turned on the TV and laid down on the couch. He watched one program after another until the news came on and then he got up and switched off the TV. He made sure the doors were locked and, leaving the porch lights on and also lights in the kitchen and living room, he went into his room and changed into his pajamas and got into bed. He was tired from all that had happened and soon he went to sleep.

He had been deeply asleep for an hour, or maybe two, when something woke him up. The floor had creaked or a door closed—someone was in the house with him. He was going to get up and see if daddy had come back, or if it was mother, when he realized somebody was standing in the doorway to his room looking at him. He sat up in bed and tried to get his eyes to see in the dark who it was.

“Mother?” he said.

“Yes, it’s me,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You came back!” he said.

She came slowly into the room and sat on the edge of his bed. “Yes, I’m back,” she said.

“Daddy went to find you.”

“We got all the way to the state line and I made Tony turn around and bring me back. I know he thinks I’m crazy but I don’t care. I thought I could go off and leave you but I wasn’t able to do it. It seems I’m a better mother than I thought.”

“You’re not going to leave again?”

“We’ll talk in the morning. I’m so tired now I’m dead on my feet.”

“You’ll be here when I get up in the morning?”

“Of course I will.”

He rolled over and went back to sleep, and a little while later when he woke up again he wasn’t sure if he had dreamed that mother had come back or if it really happened.

In the morning when he got out of bed she was sitting at the kitchen table with her hair pinned up, dabbing polish on her nails. She looked up and smiled at him when he came into the room.

“You’re really here!” he said.

Over the next few days mother’s dark mood seemed to lift. She changed the color of her hair and started taking pains again with her appearance. She bought some new clothes and made her face up in the mirror everyday, whether she was going anyplace of not. She cleaned the whole house and cooked lavish meals and didn’t seem to mind.

Evan hesitated to say anything that would darken her mood again, but he wondered where daddy was. On the third day of daddy’s being gone, he decided to broach the subject.

“When is daddy coming home?” he asked.

“I’m afraid you’d have to ask him that,” she said, lining the forks up in the drawer, just so.

“You don’t know where he is?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Don’t you think you should call the police and have them look for him? Something bad might have happened to him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she said. “I’m not calling the police or anybody else.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t need any men in our lives,” she said. “Haven’t you noticed how happy we’ve been without them?”

He started to speak again but movement out the window caught his attention. He stopped what he was doing and went to the window to get a better look. Tony’s car was parked in front of the house and Tony himself was coming up the walk, carrying a large suitcase in one hand and a birdcage in the other with a fluttering yellow bird inside. It appeared Tony and the bird were planning on staying for a while.

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp 

Mud ~ A Capsule Movie Review

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Mud

Mud ~ A Capsule Movie Review By Allen Kopp 

Mud is a contemporary story set almost entirely on an unnamed Arkansas river. Fourteen-year-old Ellis lives with his parents on a sort of houseboat and they make their living from the river. His parents are decent people but they seem unhappy. His mother wants to separate from his father and move into town. Their way of life on the river is coming to an end.

One day when Ellis and his friend Neckbone take their boat to an apparently uninhabited island on the river, they discover a boat, intact, about twenty feet off the ground lodged in a tree. It came to be there from a recent flood. When they climb up into the boat, they find signs that someone has been living in it. Soon after, they meet a man who is known only as Mud (Matthew McConaughey). He is dirty and hungry but friendly. Ellis is drawn to him and wants to help him but Neckbone is more skeptical. Mud makes a deal with Ellis and Neckbone whereby they will help him get the boat out of the tree in exchange for his .45 caliber pistol. He plans to use the boat to escape up the river, but first he is waiting for someone to come to him, a girl named Juniper (Reese Witherspoon), with whom he has been in love since he was a child.

Mud has to hide out on the island because he has killed a man who had wronged Juniper. The man’s brother and father are after Mud, intent on killing him. They are terrorizing Juniper because they believe she knows where Mud is and can lead them to him. If Mud can get the boat out of the tree and get it in running order, he and Juniper can run away together, he believes.

When Ellis and Neckbone see Juniper, they see why Mud loves her. Ellis begins taking letters to Juniper from Mud and generally helping Mud in any way he can in his plan to escape. They devise a plan whereby they will take Juniper to Mud, but she doesn’t show up at the appointed time. This is when Ellis begins to see things as they really are. Juniper is just a floozy who will take up with any man. She says she loves Mud but Ellis begins to doubt it. The perfect love that he thought held Mud and Juniper together doesn’t exist at all. He begins to see that Mud has only used him and Neckbone. This disappointment parallels the disintegration of his own family and their way of life on the river. Even his own romance with a slightly older girl named May Pearl ends in disappointment.

Mud is a story about the South that might have been written by William Faulkner or Erskine Caldwell. It’s a coming-of-age story but also a story about friendship, family, and lost love. There are no special effects, no computer-generated razzle-dazzle. Just believable characters and solid storytelling.

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

The Great Gatsby ~ A Capsule Movie Review

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The Great Gatsby ~ A Capsule Movie Review by Allen Kopp 

The Great Gatsby stars Leonardo DiCaprio as the fabulously wealthy, mysterious Jay Gatsby and Carey Mulligan as Daisy Buchanan, the woman who Gatsby has lost and attempts to regain, with tragic results. It is told by Gatsby’s one true friend and confidante, Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire), who innocently falls under Gatsby’s spell. The Great Gatsby is directed by Baz Luhrmann in a grand visual style (remember Moulin Rouge a few years ago?) that never gets in the way of the story. There have been other film versions of the venerable American novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald, but this one is by far the best.

The story is set in the 1920s. No other decade could have spawned such a story. Not only did the 1920s roar, but they also boomed. There were fabulous amounts of money to be made. It was a time of great optimism. The bubble seemingly would never burst. Jay Gatsby is the perfect figure for the times. He lives in an enormous seaside “palace” on Long Island. He drives a custom-made yellow convertible. He gives lavish parties that he doesn’t attend but observes from a distance. He conducts shadowy business deals over the phone. Because nobody knows much about him, he is the object of much speculation.

Five years earlier, at the end of World War I (before Gatsby made his fortune), he had met and fallen in love with one Daisy Fay of Louisville, Kentucky. Daisy loved him in return but was not going to marry a man without money. She ended up marrying a brutish lout of a man named Tom Buchanan, heir to one of the largest fortunes in the country, and they took up residence on Long Island.

During the five years that Gatsby and Daisy are apart, he never forgets her and never stops believing that the two of them can be together, even though she is married to another man. Now immensely wealthy, he buys the estate just across the bay from Tom and Daisy and spends a lot of time standing on the pier looking across the bay, reaching for the green light that represents for him what is unattainable. He gives lavish parties, to which nobody is invited but goes to anyway, because he’s hoping that Daisy will just “appear” at one of them. Nick Carraway, callow and humble bond salesman, rents the caretaker’s cottage near Gatsby’s home and befriends Gatsby. Learning that Nick is a cousin of Daisy Buchanan, Gatsby gets Nick to arrange a reunion. When Gatsby and Daisy meet again, the old spark of five years earlier is reignited. Will she divorce Tom and marry Gatsby? In the end, it seems she hardly knows what she wants.

Fans of Fitzgerald’s novel, of which I am one, will not be disappointed with this movie adaptation. It is faithful to the novel but, for me, the best thing about it is its lavish visual style. It is, first and foremost, a visual experience (in 3D, no less), especially for those who know the story so well and know what is coming. My favorite scene is Gatsby’s party with everybody happy and dancing to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, with fireworks exploding in the sky. I want to see it again.

The Great Gatsby does not have a happy ending but it couldn’t have been any other way. The grand future that Gatsby envisioned with him and Daisy happily in love is not meant to be. The bubble always bursts, but it sure was fun while it lasted.

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls ~ A Capsule Book Review

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Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls ~ A Capsule Book Review by Allen Kopp 

Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls is the title of David Sedaris’s new book of essays. This book is much like David Sedaris’s seven other books of essays (Barrel Fever, Naked, Holidays on Ice, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, When You are Engulfed in Flames, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk), meaning that it’s funny, entertaining and full of his trademark self-deprecating humor.

If you are a fan of David Sedaris, you know that his writing is as easy and quick to read as anything you’ve ever read in your life. The word “essays” seems a little formal and academic for these little stories that differ from fiction stories in that they are about real life instead of being made up. They could easily pass for fiction if you didn’t know any better. At the center of each story is David Sedaris himself talking about things that have happened to him (sometimes, but not very often, in the voice of somebody else).

The experiences he relates involve everything from his outspoken, rough-around-the-edges parents to visiting a French dentist to dealing with litter in the English countryside; from having a colonoscopy to meeting an interesting stranger on a European train; from feeding strips of meat to a kookaburra (a large bird) in Australia to dealing with a stolen laptop computer; from eating at less-than-sanitary restaurants in China to purchasing a stuffed owl from a very forthcoming British taxidermist.

The only thing about Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls that I didn’t like is when he ventures into the odious and offensive subject of politics. I despise politics, politicians and all things political. I would rather not hear anybody’s political views. If you don’t bore me with politics, I will extend you the same courtesy.

David Sedaris is a true literary star, a real celebrity, although you’d never know it from his humble demeanor and appearance. Years ago I stood in line for over an hour at one of his book signing events to get him to sign my copies of Holidays on Ice and Me Talk Pretty One Day. (The bookstore where the event took place waived its no-smoking policy for him only for that evening.) I had been to many book signings but had never stood in line that long before (or since). Somehow it seemed worth it. I still have the two signed books. Maybe someday it will be like owning a signed, first-edition copy of Tom Sawyer.

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

The Beauty Box

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The Beauty Box ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp

When Noreen set the plate of salmon croquettes and macaroni and cheese in front of Odell, he gave her a significant look but didn’t say anything. He was hoping for chicken or beef stew, at least. He didn’t like salmon croquettes; they had little soft fish bones in them that he tried not to think of as bones as he chewed them.

“Do you notice anything different about me?” Noreen asked as they began eating.

“You’re wearing a different shade of lipstick,” Odell said, barely looking at her.

“I’m not wearing any lipstick,” she said. “Guess again.”

“You got a new pair of pedal pushers.”

“No!”

She turned around so he could see the back of her head. “I’m wearing what they call a ‘fall,’” she said. “It’s an addition that blends in with the rest of my hair so you can’t tell the fake hair from the real hair.”

“Do you mean you’re wearing a hairpiece?”

“Well, if you want to call it that.”

“Why don’t they call it a hairpiece, then?”

“Because ‘fall’ sounds better.”

“The more important question, I suppose, is why do you need a hairpiece?”

“Well, I don’t really need it, but it makes my hair look better, don’t you think? Thicker and fuller? It somehow makes me look younger?”

“If you say so.”

“I went to the Beauty Box today. They have this wonderful new hairdresser named Enzo. He took one look at me and said, ‘A fall would do wonders for your hair!’.”

“Enzo is a man?”

“Yes.”

“Why is it that hairdressers are all men now? Hairdressers used to be women. Now they’re men. Men with foreign-sounding names.”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you conduct a survey?”

“Is Enzo a homosexual?”

“I didn’t think to ask.”

“Well, it seems you would want to know the sexual preferences of a person fixing your hair.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What country is he from? Is ‘Enzo’ an Italian name?”

“If I had to guess, I’d guess he’s an American.”

“Does he speak with an accent?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to go punch him in the face for you?”

“What for?”

“For raising so many questions for which there are no answers.”

“But don’t you think my hair looks cute?”

“It looks flat in the back and pushed up on top,” he said. “The way it looks when you get up in the morning.”

“Enzo said I have lovely hair.”

“Isn’t he paid to say that?”

“He looked at my face with a magnifying glass and he said I have beautiful skin. He said a lot of women have weather-beaten skin, but he could tell that I take care of mine. He said you can tell a lot about a person’s general health just by looking at the skin on their face.”

“And if Enzo said it, you believe it.”

“It’s his business to know about those things.”

“If he told you to make yourself up to look like a frog, would you do it?”

“Of course I would!”

“Are you in love with Enzo?”

She laughed. “Hardly.”

“Why don’t you divorce me and marry Enzo?”

“That’s too much trouble.”

“If you heard Enzo talking to other women, I’ll bet you’d hear him say the exact same things to them, no matter how old and ugly they are.”

“Are you saying I’m old and ugly?”

“No, I’m just saying I’m wondering what Enzo’s game is.”

“I don’t think he has one. He’s just a very nice man.”

“He made you feel important.”

“Well, yes, I guess so.”

“He made you feel special.”

“When you put it that way, I guess he did.”

“And you gave him a great big tip.”

“I always tip my hairdresser.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else did you feel compelled to do for him because he’s such a nice man?”

“I bought some beauty products from him.”

“How much?”

“A hundred and eighty-seven dollars.”

“And that on top fixing your hair and selling you the fall?”

“Well, yes.”

“How much did you spend today at the Beauty Box?”

“Everything is always about money with you, isn’t it?”

“How much?”

“Three hundred and thirty dollars.”

“So there you have Enzo’s game.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s a crap artist! He flatters you and makes you feel special and gets you to liking him. Then he just happens to mention these beauty products he’s selling. By that point you have no sales resistance. You wouldn’t be able to turn him down if he was selling real estate on the moon.”

“Now you’re just being silly.”

“I didn’t get fleeced out of three hundred and thirty dollars today.”

They were silent for the rest of the meal until Noreen was serving the dessert. “There’s a Doris Day movie on tonight,” she said. “It’s one we haven’t seen before. Do you want to watch it with me?”

“I told Willard I’d stop by and see him this evening,” he said tersely.

After he was gone she stacked the dishes in the sink and went to the phone and called the Beauty Box and asked to speak to Enzo. She had to wait what seemed a long time but finally he came on the line.

“Enzo?” she said. “This is Noreen Baggett. I was in the shop today.”

“Yes, darling,” he said. “I was just about to leave for the day. What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to make sure you have me down for the seventeenth at ten o’clock.”

“Just a minute, dear. I’ll check the book.”

He laid down the phone and when he came back he said, “Yes, dear, we’re all set for the seventeenth.”

“I’m so looking forward to it!” she said.

“Well, so am I, dearest!”

After she hung up the phone, she turned on the TV and sat down in the recliner and made herself comfortable. The Doris Day movie was just beginning.

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

Cat Scratch Fever

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Cat Scratch Fever ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp 

Miss Pick looked out at the sea of innocent young faces staring at her. Even though she knew all their names and knew who was there and who was not, she still thought it a good idea to call role every morning so they would get used to listening for their names and responding accordingly. It forced them to be attentive. All part of growing up.

“Phillip Abbot,” she said, loud and clear.

“Here,” Phillip said.

“Junie Adler.”

“Present, teacher.”

“Eli Babb.”

“Wah-wah-wah! Here, teacher!”

Everybody laughed.

“Very funny,” Miss Pick said. “Anything for a laugh. Who are you supposed to be today?”

Eli was slightly embarrassed, as she hoped he would be. “Nobody, teacher,” he said. “I was pretending to play the trombone.”

“Well, the classroom is no place for the trombone, real or imaginary.”

“Yes, teacher.”

“Wanda Baggett.”

“Here.”

“Clarabelle Beers.”

Silence.

Clarabelle Beers!

She looked up from her book, back about midway in the room and saw Clarabelle Beers in her usual seat with her head down and her face hovering over her desk. “Clarabelle, why don’t you answer me?” she said. “Can you not hear me?”

Veronica Stompers, who sat to Clarabelle’s right, raised her hand timidly.

“Yes, Veronica, what is it?” Miss Pick said.

“She wet her pants,” Veronica said. “There’s pee all over the floor.”

At this the class laughed uproariously. Everybody jumped out of their seats to see. There was nothing like somebody wetting their pants in class to spice up a dull winter morning.

“Sit down!” she bellowed. “What is this? You know not to get out of your seats without permission! We’re not a bunch of animals!”

She stood up and walked back to where Clarabelle was sitting and bent over her. “Clarabelle,” she said softly. “Did you have a little accident?”

Clarabelle looked miserably into her eyes and nodded her head.

“Come with me and we’ll get you fixed up, then” she said.

She took Clarabelle to the nurse’s office down the hall, where she knew there was an abundance of paper towels.

The school nurse, Maxine Phegley, who was not really a bonafide nurse but a sort of medical assistant, was sitting at her desk reading a magazine. When she looked up and saw Miss Pick open the door and come into the room with Clarabelle, she quickly stowed the magazine out of sight.

“What’s this?” she asked, standing up.

“We had a little accident,” Miss Pick said.

While Miss Phegley went to get paper towels to help Clarabelle get herself dried off, Miss Pick went to summon the janitor to come with his mop to clean the mess up off the floor in the classroom. When she returned to the nurse’s office, Clarabelle was snuffling into a paper towel held to her face.

“I’m cold,” Clarabelle said.

“I’m afraid her clothes are soaked through,” Miss Phegley said. “I think you should send her home.”

“I can’t send her outside in wet clothes,” Miss Pick said. “She’ll freeze to death.”

“Well, call her mother, then.”

“You wait here, dear,” she said to Clarabelle, “and I’ll go downstairs to the principal’s office and get your mother on the phone.”

She asked the secretary to get the phone number for the Beers family. When she called the number and got the busy signal, she waited two minutes and tried again. Still the busy signal.

She went back upstairs and informed Miss Phegley that she would drive Clarabelle home herself, in her own car, to get into some dry clothes. They would be back as soon as they could.

“Would you mind,” she asked Miss Phegley, “to sit in on my class and make sure everybody behaves until I get back? Tell them to read in their social studies book the chapter on Peru. Take down the names of anybody who thinks of it as a play period and doesn’t do what they’re supposed to do.”

“Just as you say,” Miss Phegley said.

Miss Pick helped Clarabelle into her coat and led her outside the building onto the parking lot. She opened the door of the car for Clarabelle and then got in herself and started the engine.

“Where do you live, Clarabelle?” she asked.

“We live out in Scraptown,” Clarabelle said. She had brightened considerably outside of school.

Miss Pick sighed but didn’t say anything. How could she not have known that Clarabelle lived in Scraptown? If she had ever given it a thought, she would have known.

Scraptown was on the southern edge of town, across the railroad tracks near the sewage processing plant. It was where the poorest people lived, the ignorant and hopeless of the world. The one thing the people in  Scraptown could do properly, Miss Pick thought as she jolted her car over the ruts in the road, was have lots of children—children they were in no manner prepared to take care of.

The Beers home was the last dwelling in Scraptown, a miserable little gray square of a house set on a hill, surrounded by winter scrub and an assortment of car and major-appliance parts.

“You can pull in there, by the fence,” Clarabelle said.

It hardly seemed like a driveway, but Miss Pick turned off into a little scooped-out space that had been washed away by the rain just big enough for a car.

Clarabelle ran on up to the house with Miss Pick behind her. When Clarabelle came to the front door, she stood aside and waited. Miss Pick knocked, expecting a slatternly, fag-smoking mother to answer the door, but instead it was answered by a girl in her early teens.

“Who are you?” the girl said.

“I’m Miss Pick, Clarabelle’s third-grade teacher.”

“Did something happen to Clarabelle?”

“Here I am!” Clarabelle said, coming around behind Miss Pick.

“Clarabelle had an accident at school and she needs a clean change of clothes,” Miss Pick said. “I’m going to wait for her and then take her back.”

The girl seemed hardly to care, but she stood aside for Miss Pick to enter.

“Are you Clarabelle’s sister?” Miss Pick asked.

“I’m Rosalie,” the girl said.

“Is it all right if I sit down?”

“Sure.”

She sat down on a dilapidated sofa the color of mold.

“What kind of accident did Clarabelle have?” Rosalie asked.

“I went my pants!” Clarabelle said proudly.

“Oh, brother!” Rosalie said. “Anything for attention.”

Clarabelle disappeared into the back part of the house.

“She needs a bath, too,” Miss Pick offered.

“Take a bath, CB!” Rosalie yelled.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Miss Pick asked, smiling to soften the question.

“Well, ordinarily I would be,” Rosalie said, “but my mother is in the hospital with cat scratch fever, and while she’s away I have to stay home and take care of Winchell.”

“Who’s Winchell?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Too young to go to school?”

“He’s twelve.”

“Well, why…”

“He’s retarded and doesn’t go to school. He used to go to retarded school but he flunked out.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s in his room. I gave him a pill to quiet him down.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like a beer?”

“No, I…”

“My mother says I should always offer visitors a beer.”

“We have to be getting back to school as soon as Clarabelle  finishes dressing.”

“Before you came,” Rosalie said, “I was sitting here by myself wondering and wondering. Do you think I ought to get married?”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“I think you should finish school before you think about marriage,” Miss Pick said.

“That’s what everybody says, but I don’t think I’ll wait that long. My boyfriend wants me to marry him and he’s not going to wait years for me. He’ll find him another girl if I make him wait that long.”

“Is he a classmate of yours at school?”

Rosalie laughed. “No,” she said. “He doesn’t go to school. He’s twenty-one. His name is Ricky. Don’t you think that’s a cute name for a boy?”

“Does your mother know about him?”

Rosalie doubled over with laughter, slapping her knee. “She’d steal him away from me if she thought she could!”

Finally Clarabelle came out of the back room, wearing a stiff corduroy dress three or four sizes too big for her and a knit cap with all her lank blond hair tucked inside. “I got dry,” she said, “and I took a bath, too!”

“That’s the first one in about a month,” Rosalie said.

As Miss Pick and Clarabelle were going out the door to go back to school, Miss Pick said to Rosalie, “It was nice talking to you.”

“Yeah,” Rosalie said. “You too. I’ll invite you to my wedding. Haw-haw!”

When they were on the highway headed back to town, Miss Pick looked away from the road to Clarabelle and said, “Somebody needs to speak to you and I suppose it might as well be me since your mother is, um, in the hospital.”

Clarabelle looked solemnly at her, believing she was about to be scolded.

“I won’t be able to do this again,” Miss Pick said. “Bring you home to change your clothes, I mean. This has disrupted everybody’s morning, including Miss Phegley’s. You’re supposed to go to the bathroom before school starts in the morning or during recess. If for some reason you don’t go during recess and you have to go when you’re in class, come and tell me and I’ll let you go. Please don’t sit there in class and let it build up until you can’t hold it in any longer and it comes out on its own!”

“Are you mad at me?” Clarabelle asked.

“Of course not.”

“Could we stop someplace and get a hamburger?”

“I’m afraid not. They’re waiting for us back at school. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

Miss Pick looked at her watch. “It’s almost lunchtime,” she said. “You have your lunch money, don’t you?”

“No.”

“When the lunch bell rings, go down to the lunchroom and get yourself a good lunch. Some roast beef and mashed potatoes. Cooked carrots. Tell the head hairnet to put it on Miss Pick’s tab. Can you remember that?”

“The head hairnet.”

“That’s right.”

“I like you, Miss Pick,” Clarabelle said.

“Well, I like you, too, dear!” Miss Pick said, looking over at Clarabelle and smiling. That’s when she came to an icy patch on the road that she hadn’t noticed before and the car went spinning out of control.   

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

The Place Beyond the Pines ~ A Capsule Movie Review

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The Place Beyond the Pines ~ A Capsule Movie Review by Allen Kopp 

The Place Beyond the Pines is an ambitious, complex story that is in fact three interwoven stories about how people’s lives can interconnect in a way that seems like fate. It begins in the 1990s with blond-haired, tattooed bad boy Luke Glanton (played by Ryan Gosling), who is employed as a stunt motorcycle rider in a traveling carnival. We don’t know much about his past except that is probably unsavory. When he reconnects with an old girlfriend named Romina (Eva Mendes), he discovers that she has had a baby by him, a son named Jason. He wants desperately to win Romina back and to play a part in Jason’s life, but Romina has moved on. She has another man in her life and she knows that Luke is not the sort of person that anybody can depend on.

Desperate for money to prove to Romina that he can provide for her and their son, Luke turns to robbing banks with a male companion. His excellent motorcycle riding skills allow him to get away easily. He pulls off a few robberies without a hitch but, as expected, his good luck runs out. He meets his end at the hands of a young police officer named Avery Cross (Bradley Cooper), who, it turns out, has an infant son about the same age as the child that Luke has fathered with Romina. Avery is injured but victorious in his violent encounter with Luke Glanton and is hailed as a hero.

We learn that Avery Cross is more than a police officer; he’s also a lawyer and the son of a distinguished judge. As a police officer, he’s exposed to a level of corruption on the police force that he can’t stomach. He uses his position as an injured hero and as the possessor of knowledge about his fellow officers to advance himself to the position of assistant district attorney. He knows how to play the game.

Fifteen years later, Avery Cross is emerging as a player in state politics. He is running for the office of attorney general and is no longer married to the mother of his son. The son, AJ, is now a pouty, mumbling teenager in high school. He meets another seemingly troubled boy at school to whom he is drawn for some reason. We learn that this boy is Jason, the son of Luke Glanton and Romina.

Jason, as a seventeen-year-old, is much like Luke Glanton, the father he never knew. He steals drugs from a pharmacy and has an explosive temper. He is going to come to a bad end. He gradually learns who AJ is and, more importantly, who AJ’s father is and the role he played in Luke Glanton’s death fifteen years earlier. He’s wired like a time bomb.

For the serious moviegoer, The Place Beyond the Pines is thoughtful, intelligent and well-written, with enough twists and turns to keep the viewer engaged. It’s no surprise to me that it’s not playing at the multiplex in my neighborhood, where you can see all the latest G.I. Joe movies, chainsaw movies, and special effects-laden action-adventure movies. It’s the kind of movie that’s worth seeking out, wherever it might be playing, even if it’s at an “art” house in a part of the city where you’d really rather not go. (The whole time you’re watching the movie, you’re probably thinking at the back of your mind: Is my car really safe parked there?)

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp 

Charmaine Chatsworth, Society Girl

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Charmaine Chatsworth, Society Girl ~ A short story by Allen Kopp 

Fifi opened the curtains, letting the sun in. Charmaine was instantly awake. She groaned and sat up in bed as if reveille had been sounded.

“You said you wanted to be up by seven, miss,” Fifi said.

She wanted to pick something up and throw it at Fifi for interrupting such a lovely sleep but, after all, she was only doing her job.

“Where are mummy and daddy?” she asked.

“Breakfast is being served on the terrace, miss.”

She got slowly out of bed and went into the bathroom. After brushing her teeth and dabbing at her face with a washcloth, she ran a brush over her hair, put on a dressing gown and went down to the terrace.

“Good morning, dear!” mummy said cheerily. “I hope you slept well.”

“I always sleep like a dog,” Charmaine said.

“I think that’s ‘sleep like a log’,” daddy said, not bothering to look up from the paper he was reading.

“Well, that’s a cliché,” mummy said. “We try to avoid clichés in our speech.”

The maid came with coffee for Charmaine.

“None of that,” Charmaine said. “I’ll just have some grapefruit juice and toast.”

“I’m afraid you’re not eating enough,” mummy said. “You’re as thin as a nail.”

“I think you mean ‘thin as a rail’,” daddy said.

“Isn’t that what all women strive for?” Charmaine said.

Daddy put the paper down and looked at Charmaine’s dressing gown. “Are we not even bothering to get dressed anymore?” he asked.

“I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m not getting dressed until there’s a good enough reason.”

“Why don’t we all just sit around in our drawers, then?” he said.

Chester came out onto the terrace, kissed mummy on the cheek and sat down at the fourth side of the table.

“Morning all,” he said.

“Yes, isn’t it?” Charmaine said.

Chester was two years younger than Charmaine and already quite a man. He was six feet, two inches tall, had blue eyes and a dimple in his chin. He looked nothing like either mummy or daddy. Nobody was more entranced by his handsomeness than he was himself.

“How’s my favorite son this morning?” mummy asked, reaching over and patting him on the hand.

“I’m your only son, mummy,” he said.

“Unless, of course, you count Rexford, my dog,” she said. “He’s like a son, really, when you think about it, except that I didn’t give birth to him.”

“Why are you all dressed up so early in the day?” daddy asked, pointing at Chester’s tie and jacket. “You’re not by any chance planning on doing any work today, are you?”

“Heaven forbid!” Chester said. “I stand to inherit a very large fortune. Why would I work for it when I don’t have to?”

“There’s a little thing called ambition,” daddy said.

“Of which I have none. No, I just have a little business in town, that’s all.”

“What kind of business?” mummy asked.

“I think it comes under the heading of private business.”

“You’ve just been told to mind your own beeswax, mummy.” Charmaine said.

“It’s not some intrigue with some woman, I hope.” daddy said.

“Nothing as tawdry as that,” Chester said. “I’m going to the travel bureau and then I’m having lunch at the Seafarers’ Club with Dexter and Louie.”

“Louie’s that musician fellow, isn’t he?” mummy asked.

“That’s the one.”

“I’m afraid he isn’t a very savory companion for you.”

Chester laughed. “I believe I can choose my own friends, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, I just want you to be careful with that sort.”

“I hear he smokes reefers,” Charmaine said to tease Chester. “And that’s just for starters.”

“Oh, he does not!” Chester said. “You stay out of it!”

“How about you, daddy?” Charmaine asked. “Aren’t you going in to the office today?”

“Not today,” daddy said. “I’m taking a few days at home.”

“It wouldn’t matter if he never went to that horrible old office again,” mummy said. “He’s already got a hundred and seventy-five million dollars. Let those other people scramble and claw at each other to make money. Daddy doesn’t have to do that anymore.”

“Three years ago, in 1929, I had two hundred million,” he said.

“This awful Depression,” mummy said. “I don’t know what people are supposed to do.”

“Yes,” Charmaine said. “Isn’t it awful to have to squeak by on a hundred and seventy-five million?”

“The way you females spend money,” daddy said, “I’m wondering how long it’ll take you to run through the hundred and seventy-five million.”

“Oh, you exaggerate so!” mummy said.

“You ever notice how much of the conversation in this family centers around money?” Chester said.

“Well, since you’re not using Liggett this morning,” Charmaine said, “I thought I could get him to drive me in to town.”

“Oh, not you, too!” mummy said. “Why do both of my children have to go to town today when it’s a perfectly lovely spring day and we have this charming old thirty-five room house to knock around in?”

“I’m sure Rexford won’t want to go,” Chester said.

“Well, it’s like this,” Charmaine said. “I haven’t seen my friend Claudia Millet for ages. I told her I’d spend the day with her today and I might even stay the night if she invites me. We’ll probably see a show or something.”

“Well, if you think you should,” mummy said. “I have to keep reminding myself that you’re a grown-up person now.”

“I was going to take a cab to town,” Chester said, “but since Liggett is going to drive you, Cha-Cha, I’ll just tag along. He can drop me off at the travel bureau. I can walk to the Seafarers’ Club from there and I’ll take a cab home.”

“Oh, why must you use that horrible nickname?” mummy asked. “I cringe every time I hear it.”

“What’s wrong with Cha-Cha? It’s a perfectly logical diminutive of Charmaine.”

“It sounds like a floozy or a harlot or something.”

“Well, isn’t that what she is?”

“Watch who you’re calling names, buster!” Charmaine said. “Two can play at that game. I might think of some names to call you that you wouldn’t especially like.”

Charmaine ordered the car for nine o’clock. Liggett was waiting for them at the front door. All the way into town, she and Chester spoke little. Chester closed his eyes and appeared to be dozing, while she looked out the window at the trees, which were just beginning to come into full leaf.

Liggett dropped Chester off first and then turned around in the front seat and asked Charmaine where she wanted to go.

“Just let me out at the library,” she said, “and I’ll walk from there.”

As she was getting out of the car, she dismissed Liggett for the day. She was spending the night in town, she said, and wouldn’t need him. He looked pleased that he wasn’t going to have to wait for her and could go back home and do as he pleased until he was needed again. He touched the brim of his hat in a kind of salute and drove away.

From the library, she walked six blocks to a different part of the city. She turned at a corner as if she knew where she was going and walked two blocks down until she came to an old hotel on a corner opposite an empty warehouse. She went inside and engaged a room for the night. The desk clerk told her she could have the room only if she paid for it in advance.

Alone in the room with the door securely locked, she put her little suitcase on the bed and opened it. She took off her expensive-looking dress and changed into an ugly gray one like a female prisoner would wear. She changed her stylish shoes for a pair of scuffed oxfords and then put her dress, shoes and leather handbag into the suitcase and put the suitcase under the bed. She wiped the lipstick and makeup off her face and put on a brown felt hat that completely covered her hair. Checking herself over in the mirror, front and back, she then went back down the dark, foul-smelling stairs to the street.

From the hotel, she walked five blocks and turned and began walking toward the river. She could smell the river and feel it in her mouth from a long way off. Finally when she came to a charity soup kitchen in a building whose windows had been covered with newspaper, she paused for a moment and then went inside. She found the man who ran the soup kitchen, a Reverend Peebles, and told him she was there to help. He gave her an apron and put her behind the counter.

She ladled soup into bowls until the pot was empty and somebody from the kitchen came and replaced the empty pot with a full one. She was sweating and her feet ached. Still the indigents came, an endless flow of them. The bowl of soup and slice of bread was all the food most of them would have all day.

After a couple of hours she spotted him far back in the line. His turn came, finally, and she filled his bowl. She smiled at him and he smiled back. When she saw him take a seat at the back of the room and begin eating, she gave her ladle to the girl standing closest to her and said she needed to take a little break. She took off the apron and went to where he was sitting and sat down across from him.

“Hello,” she said. “I was hoping you’d be here today.”

“Well, here I am,” he said.

“Are you feeling better than the last time?”

“No. I think I’m dying.”

“You should see the doctor at the free clinic.”

“What if I told you I don’t care that I’m dying?”

“Everybody wants to live,” she said.

“Do they?”

“Let’s not quarrel.”

“Who’s quarreling?”

“I read the first six chapters of your book.”

“Are you going to tell me I’m a lousy writer?”

“On the contrary. I’ve never read anything like it. You have a very interesting and unusual way of expressing yourself. I can’t wait to read the rest of the book.”

“There’s not going to be anymore,” he said. “I’ve given up writing. It’s a luxury I can no longer afford.”

“What about the six chapters?”

“Burn them. Use them for wrapping fish. I don’t care.”

“You can’t give up now.”

“Can’t I?”

“I got us a room,” she said, hoping to change the subject.

“Does this room have a bathtub?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He flashed one of his rare smiles at her and finished his soup.

When they were walking back to the hotel, she stopped at a little market and bought a loaf of bread, some cheese, a couple tins of sardines, a package of cigarettes, two apples and some oranges.

“First a room and now food,” he said. “Where is the money coming from?”

“I had a little saved,” she said.

“You’re not a prostitute, are you?”

She laughed. “I’ll try not to be too insulted by that,” she said.

At the hotel, she had to help him up the stairs to the room because he was so weak. She opened the door and when he saw the bed he went to it and lay down heavily on his back, gasping for air.

“When are you going to see a doctor?” she asked.

“Probably not until they’re doing the autopsy.”

“Ha-ha. What a wit.”

While he was taking a bath, she washed his underwear and socks the best she could in the sink and hung them up to dry. When he came out of the bathroom he got into bed and covered up because he had nothing to put on.

“You’re feeling much better now, aren’t you?” she said.

She lay down on the bed beside him, on top of the covers. She kissed him lightly on the lips and then lit a cigarette for him.

“I really don’t know what I see in you,” she said.

“Don’t you think I’m handsome?”

“Not especially.”

“What is it then?”

“I don’t know. It was something I felt the first time I saw you last fall. Something that can’t be explained in words. Some kind of mysterious connection.”

“I don’t believe in that kind of bull,” he said.

“What do you believe in?”

“Nothing.”

He took her hand and put it to his lips. “You look and smell so clean,” he said. “Not like the rest of us.”

“I had a bath before I walked over to the soup kitchen.”

“I know nothing about you,” he said. “Are you some kind of an angel or something?”

“Hardly.”

“Do you have family? A family of angels?”

She laughed. “I have a mother, father and brother, but I don’t think anybody would ever think of them as angels.”

“Where do they live?”

“Not far from here.”

“When do I get to meet them?”

“Soon.”

“You know, don’t you, that you’re wasting your time with me?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m no good. When I was growing up, my old man was always telling me I was worthless and I see now that he was so right.”

“Everybody has worth,” she said.

“I want you to just forget about me.”

“I could help you if you’d let me.”

“How do you mean?”

“I could give you money while you finish your book.”

“I’d rather die than take money from you.”

“You could think of it as a loan and pay me back when the book is published.”

“The book won’t ever be published. I told you. I’m washed up as a writer. I won’t ever write another word.”

They talked through much of the night and slept intermittently. He wanted to know about her upbringing. She told him as much as she could without actually lying, omitting, of course, certain details such as the family yacht and vacations in the South of France. They ate the food she bought, talked some more and slept some more.

When a police siren woke her up before dawn, he was gone. She waited for the sun to come up and then changed her clothes and left the hotel and found a cab to take her home.

At mid-morning when she was dozing on the terrace in the sun, mummy came out of the house and sat down close to her. When she realized mummy was looking at her with more than the usual scrutiny, she opened her eyes all the way and sat up.

“Are you going to the dance tonight at the country club?” mummy asked.

“I suppose so.”

“What dress are you going to wear?”

“The peach, I guess.”

“Who are you going with?”

“Talbot Lakey.”

“He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t like him very much, do you?”

“Not very much.”

“He’s an accomplished polo player and already owns his own yacht.”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s time for you to start thinking about finding a suitable husband.”

“Maybe you can find one for me and save me the bother.”

“Did you and Claudia Millet have a good time?”

“Yes.”

“What show did you see?”

“Oh, we decided not to go to a show after all. We had lots of talk to catch up on.”

“Why don’t you tell me where you really were?” mummy said.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to tell you it’s none of your business, would it?”

“No,” mummy said. “Not this time. I think you should see a doctor and have a thorough physical exam.”

“All right, mummy,” she said. “Anything you say.”

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

You Came Back to Me

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You Came Back to Me ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp 

Snap Crosswhite sat in his bathrobe at the kitchen table and ate his substantial breakfast without saying a word. When he was finished he went back upstairs to his room and locked himself in without so much as looking at his mother or acknowledging the food she had cooked for him. She knew she wouldn’t see him again until lunchtime and maybe not even then. Sometimes he didn’t come down all day until evening when dinner was on the table.

She was in the kitchen washing the dishes when she heard someone knocking on the door. When she went to answer it, she saw two youngish men in suits and dark glasses looking in at her. They were officially grim as if they were acting in a television drama. Standing behind them were four uniformed police officers and, behind them, two police cars gleaming in the sun at the curb.

“Yes?” she said, squinting in the bright light.

“Is this the home of Mr. Stanislaus Crosswhite?” the taller of the two men in suits asked her, the one with sandy-colored hair. She didn’t fail to notice that he was quite good-looking as he flashed a badge at her to let her know who she was dealing with.

“We always called him Snap,” she said.

“Is he here?”

“Yes.”

“We’d like to speak to him, please.”

“What is this about? I’m his mother.”

“We’re not at liberty to discuss it with you, ma’am.”

“All right. I’ll go and get him.”

She went upstairs and leaned her ear against the door of Snap’s room and tapped lightly. “Snap, dear,” she said, softly, so as not to alarm him. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Um. Who is it?” he called.

“I don’t know, dear. Just some men. They say they need to see you.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know, dear.”

“Um. Just write down their number and tell them I’ll call them back.”

“They’re not on the telephone, dear. They’re at the front door and they say they want to see you.”

“Oh, all right.”

She heard him walking toward the door and undoing the lock. When he opened the door, he was pulling his bathrobe around his front and tying it. She thought she should probably warn him about the men at the door, but he brushed past her without giving her a chance to speak.

He went down the steps in his indolent fashion, but, as soon as he took one look at the men, he turned around and ran back up as if they were firing bullets at him. He nearly tripped and fell over his own feet. Seeing that he was trying to get away, they burst into the house uninvited and ran up the stairs after him like a stampede.

He ran back into his room and slammed the door and locked it, but the men were right behind him. The uniformed men reached the door first but stood aside for the two men in suits.

“Please open the door, Mr. Crosswhite,” the other of the two men in suits said (shorter than the first one, with black hair and sad eyes). “It’s the police.”

He waited a few ticks of the clock and, when the door apparently wasn’t going to be opened, he gestured to the uniformed man standing closest to him, who threw his shoulder into the door with a loud crash and a splintering of wood.

When they ran into the room, Snap was trying to hide himself in the closet. He whimpered when he saw them coming toward him and attempted to conceal himself behind some hanging clothes. Two of the uniformed men seized him by the arms and began trying to extricate him.

“No, no, no!” he screamed. “Leave me alone! I haven’t done anything! Just ask my mother!”

“For heaven’s sake, what do you think he did?” she said from the doorway, but her voice was drowned out in the commotion.

They pulled him out of the closet and when they let go of him he threw himself on the bed, bellowing like a bull.

“Make it easy on yourself, son,” the second man in the suit said. “You can go willingly or we can have an ugly scene and upset your mother. It’s your choice.”

“Don’t let them do this to me, mother!” he screamed.

When they tried to pull him up from the bed, the sheets came off in his fists and then he wrapped his arms around the edge of the mattress like a drowning man holding onto a log. In the scuffling that ensued, his clothing became terribly disarranged. His bathrobe rode up onto his shoulders. His underpants were pulled down, exposing his enormous white buttocks.

The sandy-haired man turned to Snap’s mother and said, “I think you should wait downstairs, ma’am. We’ll stay with him and get some clothes on him.”

“Well, all right,” she said meekly. “If you think that’s best.”

A little while later when they all came down the stairs, the two men in suits were flanking Snap, holding onto his arms above the elbows to steady him. He was subdued now, although sniffling and looking very pale and unhappy. His hands were cuffed in front of him. They had dressed him in jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers. With head bent, he didn’t look at his mother as he was taken out of the house.

“Where are you taking my son?” she asked the sandy-haired man, as he seemed to be the leader. “When will I see my son again?”

“Now, now,” he said, as if trying to soothe an anxious dog, “it won’t do for you to worry.” He touched her lightly on the arm, no doubt meant to be reassuring. “After he has been processed, we’ll be getting in touch with you to apprise you of the details of his case. In the meantime, I suggest you try to maintain a positive attitude and don’t speak to any reporters.”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“You have a really fine day, now,” he said, and then he was gone.

She waited anxiously by the phone for the rest of the day but it never rang. That night her sleep was tormented by disturbing dreams in which Snap as a child was calling to her to help him. “Help me, mother!” he screamed. “I’m here! Can’t you see me?” But, the harder she tried to see him the more blurry he became, until finally he faded into the air like a wisp of smoke and in his place was the jack-in-the-box toy that used to make him cry when he was three years old.

The next day she spent most of the day lying on the couch in reach of the phone, but still it was silent—not even any wrong numbers or sales calls. She had the TV on for company but she wasn’t paying any attention to its silly game shows, commercials and soap operas. When it came time to eat, she went into the kitchen and prepared food for which she had no appetite.

On the second day after Snap had been taken away (still no word from or about him), she decided she needed to do something to occupy her mind and keep her from worrying so much, and she knew just the thing. She could clean Snap’s room from top to bottom, something she hadn’t been able to do for eight years or more. He would be so surprised when he came home and found his room cleaner than it had been in a long time.

First she opened the windows to let out the stale air and the fresh air in. Then she cleared out all the trash and debris: old newspapers and magazines, food cartons, candy wrappers, soda and beer bottles, dirty clothes, socks and underwear. She loaded everything into trash cans, including the clothes, and put the cans in the alley to be emptied on trash day.

With the room free of clutter, she began cleaning. She cleaned the walls and floors, clearing away the cobwebs that had accumulated close to the ceiling; pulled the furniture away from the walls and sucked up all the dust mice into the vacuum cleaner; scrubbed the mysterious stains out of the rug that had formed over the years; cleaned and polished the bedstead, dresser and chest of drawers; emptied all the drawers into trash bags; replaced the old pillows and sheets on the bed with new ones that had never been used before; scoured and disinfected the bathroom, cleaning all the mirrors and polishing the chrome fixtures. From the closet she took all of Snap’s old clothes and threw them away. The two of them would go shopping together and buy all new things when he came home, as if they were wiping the slate clean and beginning again.

When she was finished, she was very tired but happy with what she had done. The room looked like an altogether different room. She was sure that when Snap saw it he would take more pride and develop more responsible habits. There was no reason anymore for slovenliness.

A week after Snap had been taken away, she still hadn’t heard a word from the police. No matter how much she wanted the phone to ring and willed it to ring, it was still silent. She wished she had someone to share in her concern, but there was no one. She had never felt more alone and helpless in her life. At other times, she believed that not hearing was a good thing; it meant that everything was well and that Snap would be coming home with his problems, whatever they were, all cleared up. It was all just a mistake and everything would once again be as it was before.

She took to napping on the couch during the afternoons, not wanting to get too far from the phone. It was during one of these afternoon naps that someone knocked on the door and woke her up. Her heart leapt because she was sure it was either Snap or someone delivering good news about him.

When she opened the door, a young man was standing there smiling at her. He was immaculately dressed and groomed. His hair shone in the light and his teeth were the most perfect teeth that God ever made. He wore a tasteful tan suit with a white shirt and a red tie.

“Who are you?” she said. She didn’t care if she sounded rude.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” he said.

Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the suitcase at his feet and came through the door. It was as he was crossing the threshold that she realized how much like Snap he was, except that he couldn’t be Snap. He was thinner, better-looking, better dressed, more courteous and much cleaner. How could he be that much like Snap while being so much different?

“Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?” she said, making a little joke.

“What?” he said with a little laugh. “Are you saying you don’t know me?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she said. “I was sleeping and I guess I’m a little confused in my mind.”

How have you been?” he asked. He surprised her by putting his arms around her and kissing her on the cheek.

“All right,” she said. “ A little worried, though.”

“Well, I was worried, too. About you.”

“Where have you been?”

“We don’t have to talk about that now,” he said. “We’ll talk about it another time.”

“You must be hungry.”

“Yes, I am.”

“It’ll take me about an hour to prepare dinner.”

“Good. In the meantime I need to rest. I think I’ll just go upstairs now.”

“Of course.”

When he came down from upstairs and took his place at the table, he was wearing a yellow plaid sport shirt tucked into a pair of trim black pants. She wanted to tell him how good he looked, how unusual, but she was afraid it would come out sounding like a criticism of the old Snap.

“Did you notice anything different upstairs?” she asked.

“Why, yes,” he said. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. Everything looks wonderful.”

That proves it, she thought. If he wasn’t Snap, how could he know what the room looked like before? On the other hand, Snap never had a good word to say about anything, so he probably wasn’t Snap. Nothing was settled in her mind.

“I threw out a lot of the old things,” she said. “I thought we’d go downtown and buy you some new clothes. I know men don’t like to go shopping, but I won’t know what to get unless you go with me.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I could use some new things. Out with the old. In with the new.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” she said. “I want to go to church. Would you care to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go,” he said. “If you want me to.”

The old Snap would have scoffed at the idea and would have made fun of her for asking him.

“After church I thought we’d go for a little drive and have lunch at that little place outside of town that has such good barbecue. And then after that go visit my sister and her husband.”

“All right.”

“I’m afraid they’re awfully dull. My sister’s husband is a retired meat inspector. He has very strong political views.”

“I don’t mind.”

When they were finished eating, she stood up and started clearing away the dishes.

“You stay right where you are,” he said. “I’ll wash up. You just rest.”

She looked at him with genuine amazement. The old Snap would never have offered to help after a meal.

“From now on I want to make things easier for you,” he said. “I’ll help with the housework and cooking. I’ll bet you didn’t know I could cook, did you?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Now you go and rest. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She had a dozen questions to ask, such as how and when he had learned to cook, but she was afraid to ask him, afraid to break the spell, if that’s what it was. The old Snap would be back and she didn’t think she could bear it.

She stood up and went outside, down the front steps to the sidewalk, and began walking down the street, past the houses that were so familiar to her. When she had walked half a block, she forgot where she was going or why, but suddenly it seemed very important to her that she tell someone: her son had come back and he was the kind of son she always wanted.

After she had walked many blocks and no longer knew where she was, a strange older man wearing a hat and dark glasses approached her. She strained to see his face but wasn’t able to make it out. When he took her by the elbow, she found his touch comforting somehow.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“My son,” she said. “My son.”

“What about your son?”

“They’ve done something with him. He’s the same but not the same. He never liked to take a bath but this one is very clean. I can’t explain it.”

“Do you want me to call him for you?”

“I don’t think it would do any good.”

“My car is parked right down the street,” he said. “ I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Just name it.”

“I’m not sure if I should or not.”

“Come on. It’ll be fine.”

He took her by the arm to his car parked in the next block. It was an old car and big, the color of rust. He opened the back door for her and she got in. Then he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

He looked at her in the rearview mirror and smiled, showing brown teeth. “You’re a good-looking dame,” he said. “But I bet you already know that.” He laughed and put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb into the ceaseless flow of traffic.

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

A Conversation Between Two Mothers

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A Conversation Between Two Mothers ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp 

It was Lorna’s turn to host the card party and she still had much to do. She had just put her hair up in curlers and was tying a scarf around her head to make herself presentable to go to the store to buy some last-minute items when there was sharp knock on the back door. She snuffed her cigarette out in the garbage pail and went to the door and opened it. A very short woman with disheveled reddish hair was standing on the bottom step looking up at her.

“Mrs. Simple?” the woman said.

“It’s Semple,” Lorna said. She tried to smile but couldn’t because she found the woman repellent in some way.

“Well, Simple or Semple or whatever it is, I need to have a word with you.”

She could see the woman was agitated about something. “Would you like to come in?”

“No, thank you!”

“What is this about?”

“You have a son named Dwayne?”

“Yes.”

“He’s been picking on my Curtis.”

“Picking on your what?”

“On my son Curtis, dodo bird!”

“And just who are you?”

“My name, if it should happen to be of any interest to you, is Mrs. White. My son is Curtis White.”

Lorna sighed and stepped out the back door onto the little porch. “Maybe you’d just better tell me what happened,” she said.

“Curtis was riding his bicycle on the sidewalk, minding his own business. Dwayne jumped out from behind a tree and yelled and scared Curtis and caused him to turn over on his bike. He skinned his leg really bad.”

“What am I supposed to do about it, burst into tears?”

“Then, when Curtis was lying on the ground in pain, Dwayne took his bicycle.”

“Oh, he’s just playing. That’s what boys do.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, I think Dwayne is a psychopath!”

“Now, wait a minute!” Lorna said. She was starting to come unraveled. How dare this woman come and bother her with some trivial child’s matter when she had so much to do?

“Then when Curtis finally got his bike back, it had some scratches on it that weren’t there before. He is so proud of that bike. It nearly broke his heart!”

“Wait a minute!” Lorna said. “Did you see Dwayne do any of this?”

“He did it all right!”

“Did you yourself see him do it?”

“Well, no, I was in the house at the time, tending to my little girl. She’s had pneumonia and has been awful sick. The doc says her tonsils have to come out if she’s ever going to get any better.”

“If you didn’t see Dwayne do it, how do you know he did?”

“Because Curtis said so. If you could have seen how upset he was, it would have broken your heart; that is, if you have a heart.”

“But how do you know Dwayne did it? There are lots of other boys in the neighborhood.”

“I just told you, dumbbell! Curtis said so! He came into the house crying with the blood dripping down his leg. He was so upset he couldn’t speak for a matter of minutes. Then when I held him on my lap and got him calmed down a little bit he told me what happened.”

“So, you’re taking Curtis’s word that Dwayne did it?”

“Hell, yes! Are you saying my boy is a liar?”

“I’m saying that you can’t always go on what kids say. Sometimes you have to find out what happened on your own.”

“So you’re saying my boy is a liar.”

“I don’t have time for this right now! When Dwayne comes home, I’ll speak to him about it and I’ll find out the truth. If he did what you say he did, he will be made to apologize.”

“And that’s all?”

“What do you want, a written confession in blood?”

“I have a good mind to call the police.”

“You do what you think you must.”

“You tell that little ham-handed troglodyte of yours to stay away from Curtis and Curtis’s bike and anything that belongs to Curtis.”

“You’d better watch who you’re calling names! You’ve got a lot of nerve coming to my door and raising such a fuss over nothing on a day when I have so much to do!”

“So now you’re saying it’s nothing? First Curtis is a liar and now it’s nothing!”

“If you don’t get off my property, and I mean right now, I’m going to throw something at you!”

“Why don’t you come down off that porch, you crazy bitch, and I’ll just beat the shit out of you right here?”

Lorna ran back into the kitchen to find something to throw. The first thing she picked up was the dishtowel but that was no good. She opened the refrigerator door and, without thinking, grabbed the pitcher of tomato juice that she was chilling to use for cocktails. She picked it up, sloshing a little on her front, and ran to the back door. Mrs. White was still standing there on the bottom step, hands on hips. She started to speak again but Lorna emptied the tomato juice on her head, about three-quarters of a gallon.

“Oh, my god!” Mrs. White said, stepping back and wiping the tomato juice from her eyes. “You really are insane!”

“Have I made my point?” Lorna said.

“That burns my eyes! I’m going to sue you for assault!”

“All the time remembering, of course, that you started it and you came on my property to start it!”

“People like you and that crazy kid of yours should be locked up!”

“I’ll give you about five seconds to get off my property and, if you don’t, I have to tell you my husband keeps a loaded gun in the closet. I don’t mind shooting your ass off. There’s not a court in the land that would convict me!”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. White said, prancing around in a circle with the tomato juice dripping off her. “But aren’t we hoity-toity, though?”

“You have fifteen seconds to leave. That’s how long it’ll take me to get the gun.”

“Make me!”

She ran through the house to the bedroom. The gun was on the top shelf in the closet, where her husband insisted that it be kept, loaded and ready to fire. She grabbed it the same way she had grabbed the tomato juice.

When she went to the back door with the gun, Mrs. White was standing there, hands on hips, acting very strangely. Her tongue was sticking out and her eyes rolled up into her head as though she was possessed of a demon. When Lorna leveled the gun at her, she did a little jig of defiance, her broad rear end shaking.

“You are the most repulsive woman I ever saw!” Lorna said.

She shot Mrs. White in the breastbone. She fell backwards and, as she was struggling to stand up again, Lorna shot her two more times, once in the head and once in the abdomen, until she was dead.

Lorna went back into the house and put the gun back where it belonged in the closet. Then she got her purse and keys and went back out, locking the door. She dragged Mrs. White by the ankles into the bushes, where she was, for the most part, concealed from view. Then she wiped off her hands and got into the car in the driveway and started it. She had to get to the store before they were out of the best cuts of meat.

Copyright © 2013 by Allen Kopp

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