Dr. Judith M. Newman

Post Card Stories

 

The Harley

You should have seen her. She arrived home wearing that black jacket with the long fringes, bright red hair over her face, long boots up to her crotch and her new motorcycle -- completely unassembled, if you can imagine it.

She's been wanting a Harley of her own for years now. She bought this one cheap from some guy. He's assured her the parts are all there. She's going to rebuild it, she says. She, who never so much as tinkered with Lego. So her eight hundred dollars worth of junk, is now stored in a corner of the garage.

She doesn't make it home very often these days. I wonder if the bike will ever see the light of day. Wanna bet one of the boys will take the project over. Even Dad has been seen to glance at that heap of junk every now and again. I suppose I should order a fix-it-yourself manual or something so someone can work on it.

The Ninja

Allan's Ninja training is progressing well. We have adjusted to the shortened legs of the dining table (never should have given him the sword) and the milkman has agreed to continue deliveries since we removed all the bushes from the side of the driveway. But Allan simply smiles and says a Ninja can strike from anywhere.

Sandwich

This guy walks into the diner the other night -- real late it was -- place was quiet. I mean, there aren't a lot of folks out and about at 2 am. He sits himself down at the counter. I bring him a menu. He doesn't read it. Just looks at me.

"A B.L.T.N.T." he says, leanin' his elbows on the counter while I pour him a cup of coffee.

"A B.L.T. I understand," I say. "But N.T.?" I ask.

"Not toasted," he replies.

I go back to the kitchen. Zap some bacon in the micro, spread mayonnaise on bread, lay on some tomatoes and lettuce and head back to the counter with the sandwich.

"How is it?" I ask.
"S.O.B." he says.
"Wadda ya' mean -- S.O.B?"
"Soggy on the bottom."
"Yeah," I say. "Well, S.H.I.T."
"Wha?" He looks at me kinda surprised.
"Should'a had it toasted," I tell him.

The Horoscope

Just can't set any store by them horoscopes no more. Don't know why I bother readin' 'em. Who writes the things, anyway, I wonder. I mean, listen to what it says here:

"Time to come out of hiding! Someone you've admired from afar has his eyes on you, too!"

Boy have they got it wrong. He's got his damn eye on someone else. Fat chance me getting his attention now.

"Enough of this cat-and-mouse game," it says. "Show him the real you. You'll boost your chances of winning his heart."

Ha! Last time I tried snugglin' up -- not a whiff of passion, no lust whatsoever. What's the point of trying to show him "the real me" for god's sake. It isn't me he's after.

The Cockroach in Rockerfeller Square

Let me set the scene for ya. We're having lunch at that posh terrace restaurant in Rockerfeller square. I mean nothin' on the menu for under ten bucks, fancy cloth napkins, the works. Well, I have to go to the can. So I locate the ladies. Pink stalls, soft lighting, a black gal with her bottles of hand lotion on the marble countertop. She hands you a tissue so you can wipe yourself after you go. I enter a stall, hike up my skirt and no sooner plunk myself on the toilet when you'll never guess what I saw. A huge bugger of a cockroach makin' its way, calm as you please, across the pink tiled floor at my feet. I screamed, I did. What else was I supposed to do. I couldn't stomp on it, for heaven's sake, I'd a had to walk on it for a week!

The Dig

Remember I told you her mother died, right? Well, last weekend I helped her clear the house. Three days work and all we got done was the main bedroom, though. Never saw nothing like it. Stuff had been collecting for at least forty years. The cupboard under the sink hadn't ever been tidied, I don't think. Used lipsticks, half-empty bottles of every kind, just thrown in there. And her closet. Twenty-seven garbage bags we collected -- clothes from as far back as the early forties. I felt like an archaeologist. The deeper I went the older the finds.

We were really after the jewels her old lady'd hidden before she'd gone to the hospital. No luck there, though. Looked everywhere we could think of, too. In the pantry, in the freezer, among the sewing things, in the front-hall chest, even the umbrella stand. No jewels anywhere. I wonder if she put 'em in the garbage. Wouldn't be surprised; she was as looney as they come at the end. Probably never find them. Too, bad. They were worth a fortune.

The RV Van

Evelyn did the most unimaginable thing this week. Most folks would think her right out of her mind. She sold the house, leaving Herb and the kids all on their own and moved into an RV van. You know the kind: dragons painted on the side, sky dome on top, huge mirrors on both sides and those funny curtains on all the windows. Said she was tired of being respectable.

Shoes

It was Harry who found the deserted car at the beach and called the police. He'd noticed the vehicle parked by the side of the road on his early trip to town but decided it was just some morning jogger out for a run along the shore.

When it was still there later that afternoon he decided to have a look. The car was locked and empty; no possessions visible. He thought he'd better check the beach so he trudged to the crest of the dune to survey the scene. The long expanse of white sand was deserted except for a small pile of belongings a distance back from the now advancing water. He walked slowly toward the unattended heap -- hoping to find someone sheltered near the dune grass.

What caught his attention, however, were the shoes placed carefully side by side pointing out to sea.

Getting Through Winter

Last year it was renovating the kitchen. This year it's plans for rebuilding the garage and constructing a new greenhouse. End of December Derek brought out the sketches.

"Here are the plans for the greenhouse," he said.

Mid-January, after much discussion, he'd revised the drawings.

"The very last," he told Gladys.

Two weeks later, having scrapped all previous versions, he'd assured her his new plans were final. Mid-February and the project was off; he'd just rebuild the garage -- forget the greenhouse. Then came the first of March, the greenhouse was on again. By the end of March the weather was hinting at spring and Derek was sure he now had the ultimate plans in hand. April was wending toward May when he turned to other projects. The greenhouse was put aside for another year.

"Thing is," said Gladys, "it's really therapy. It's just his way of getting through winter."

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