*a story*
A frantic chirping echoed through the house. Roger heaved his creaky body out of the comfortable depths of the lumpy old sofa. He stood and waited for the blood to flow to his head before moving.
“When exactly did that infernal warbling replace actual ring-ring?” he muttered half-aloud, not really expecting a sensible reply.
Mumbling to himself was one of his new-found endearing traits, the latest in a series of provocative acts. Provocative, that is, if you were his daughter and you faced an ever-changing litany of ‘character traits’ specifically intended to trigger a reaction. He would never admit it outright, but she was basically correct when she said he was simply trying to annoy her with all of his newfound tics and quirks.
“They gradually snuck all these noise makers into our lives without telling us about the consequences. Before we realized what was going on everything was beeping and buzzing in its own damned irritating voice, with no way to tell them all to shut it.”
He frantically looked around for the current source of irritation. Now that phones did not have leashes to tie them to one place they tended to wander around the house. On this particular morning six or seven chirps passed before he tracked the source of the noise to its latest hiding place, just as it gave up on him.
He was starting to wonder what it was doing in the kitchen cupboard when another round of chirping interrupted him. When he picked up the phone the little screen flashed a name: Sandy.
“Hey Dad! What is going on today?”
Her perky voice erupted into his ear. Time for the regular check-in and grilling. For a change, he actually had something to talk about other than the tedious routines of a life lived small.
“I am going to the bank and then I am going to that little café behind the bookstore. You know, the hippie place.”
“Why are you going there?”
“I am meeting someone. We are going to have coffee and scones and we are going to talk. Very adult-like, I am afraid. You probably would not be excited by it.”
“Who are you meeting? Someone I know? Someone from your old job?”
“In reverse order: no, not yet, and Shelley.”
“Who is Shelley? I do not remember anyone named Shelley. Where is she from? How do you know each other?”
Roger sighed. More and more it seemed to come to this: an interrogation, a cross-examination. Is this how kids get their revenge for all the concern you had when they were teens, by turning the tables and making you account for every move?
No way he was going to slide gently into the role of an infirm incompetent old man answering his every action to his child. He tried a non-response.
“So how are things down your way? It has been a while since you invited me down for a visit. You have not sold all your furniture, have you? Still have a spot for me to sit?”
“Nice try Dad. Who is Shelley?”
He knew that tone in her voice – she was not going to back down. A siren in her background punctuated the silence, adding a note of official-sounding urgency to her question.
“Shelley is an acquaintance of mine. She is quite attractive and intellectual and she is eager to meet me.”
“Eager to meet you! Dad, what are you talking about? You do not even know her?”
“Yes I do. I have known her for a while. Maybe we have never met face to face, but that does not mean I do not know her.”
He inwardly gloated while he prepared for Sandy’s response. It had worked. He hid his slip-up of mentioning the bank behind a distraction. And casually throwing out a woman’s name was likely to be the biggest distraction he could have managed.
“Maybe you have never met? How can there be a maybe about it? Either you have met or you have not. And how do you know someone if you have never seen their face, never looked into their eyes?”
“So the blind can never know someone?”
Sandy groaned. Sometimes her father was so obtuse.
“Are you blind?”
“You know the answer to that. Do not be a smart aleck.”
“So I am supposed to say nothing to your snappy comments? How is that fair?”
“I believe we have had the fairness conversation before. In case you do not recall, the usual conclusion is that life is not fair.”
The conversation was temporarily limited to telephonic sounds of objects being moved and unseen actions making disembodied noises.
“You know, I still remember Barry,” he said. “That’s a few years back, mind you, but it could have been only yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Do not tell me you do not remember Barry. You had to —had to, mind you— go to your girlfriend’s house for a vacation. This was six months after she moved halfway across the country.”
“You are talking about Mary Spencer? That was when I was 12.”
“Yes, and you had to go halfway across the country to Mary’s new house so you could meet this absolutely fabulous boy she kept telling you about. I am not sure how it was supposed to work, but I think you planned to fall in love and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as you said, you were only 12. And you lived almost a thousand kilometres from him. But you knew this Barry boy was gorgeous and you just had to meet him. At that time you had never seen him.”
She sighed. He smiled. He could not see her throw up her hands in a futile effort to gather some strength from the empty air, but he was pretty sure she was doing exactly that.
“Ok, so Barry was a slob with bad teeth and smelly feet. Your point is?”
“He had smelly feet? I never knew that. How did you find that out?”
“Dad…”
“Anyway, I always supposed that he was simply too much of a hick for a sophisticated girl like you. After all, he lived in the hinterlands. Not likely to appreciate the finer points of an urban girl, I expect.”
“Do not be cynical.”
“I am not being cynical. After all, I sent you on your little adventure. I knew you would have to discover some things for yourself. Things like truth in advertising. As I recall, the phone bills dropped quite a bit after that little adventure.”
He could almost hear the exasperated smile creep across Sandy’s face.
She did not give him time to gloat. “And Shelley… that is her name, right?”
“Yes, that is her name. Shelley’s name is Shelley.”
“And Shelley is advertised how?”
“Oh, you are sly. I always knew you would grow up to be a credit to your dad. That is me, by the way.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Low blow. You have tried that one before, though. Quite a bit, in fact. Back when you were far too smart and sophisticated to have a dim bulb like me for your father. Fortunately, I found those smart pills. I seemed to have become tolerably rational by the time you turned twentyish.”
“The question, which you keep dodging, is who is Shelley.”
“No, the question is how you discovered Barry had smelly feet. It is not a normal activity, smelling people’s feet. Especially the feet of people you just met for the first time. After flying halfway across the country, I feel I must add once more.”
“So… Shelley.”
“So… Smelly.”
“You will not give up, will you?”
“Nope.”
“All right. There was nothing to it. I met Barry at Mary’s house. She invited him over so we could meet. Remember: she was the one who set me up to this whole thing. When Barry came in he flopped down on a big chair in that ‘I’m so cool’ way teenage boys have. When he kicked off his shoes it took about three seconds for the smell to hit us. I nearly gagged. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and I stayed there. I did not want to go back to that room while he was still there stinking it up. Eventually Mary came to get me and I convinced her to get rid of him. That was the end of Barry.”
“So the actual face-to-face with him was on the order of three seconds, give or take a few?”
“That is about right. The kicker is that Mary and I sort of kept in touch over the years, even though we were never close again. About ten years after my big meeting with gorgeous Barry I got her engagement announcement.”
“She married Mr. Smelly Feet, right?”
“How did you know?”
“I could see it coming.”
“What else can you see coming?”
“More questions.”
“Can you see any answers to those questions following along, like sweepers following elephants in a parade?”
“Maybe. Depends on the tone of the questions. But first I need to do something. I am going to put the phone down. Will you be here when I get back?”
“Sort of depends on how long it is going to be. Where you going?”
“If you really want too much information, I need to pee.”
“Dad! Do not be crude.”
“You asked for answers. Be careful what you ask for.”
Sandy’s sigh was long and clearly audible.
“You know better than that. You think it is funny provoking me?”
“Not so much funny as easy. I seem to manage the feat simply by trying to live my own life. Now if you will excuse me, I do need to go. Unless you want to join me in the loo.”
“I will pass. Go. And while you go, prepare to provide me some simple answers.”
After a few minutes of background noises Sandy heard his returning footsteps, followed by a loud clatter.
“Ouch! My poor ear,” she protested, hoping to find some sympathy. Maybe if he felt a bit of guilt he would not act so darn stubborn.
“Sorry, my dear girl. Phone slipped. But since you are listening through the speaker your ear will likely suffer little permanent damage.”
“I should know better than to try. After all these years you would think I would know my dad is omniscient.”
“At last! I was wondering when you would get that through that thick blonde head of yours, cute as it is.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“Oh, are we back to the topic of the day now?”
“Dadddy…”
“Do you think scones are a good idea? Or should I have something less likely to make crumbs? On the other hand, she did mention scones so maybe crumbs are not a problem for her.”
“Would it be better if I did not react so you get over having your jollies at my expense?”
“An interesting idea. When shall we try it?”
“My scone choice would be cranberry orange, unless you need to appear conservative. After all, I do not know what sort of person this Shelley is. Other than crazy, or desperate, or maybe both, for agreeing to meet you.”
“Well played. By the time you decide to grow up and become a sharp septuagenarian like me, you will be handling all the curveballs with ease. And to answer your ninth question —yes, I kept count— we met when Shelley left some thoughtful and perceptive comments on my blog. She is quite literate and not noticeably crazy.”
“Your what?!”
“My blog. Short for weblog, although people forget that. Online places where people write about things that interest them.”
“I know what a blog is. I was responding to your oh-so casual remark about your blog. What is this? Since when? What do you blog about?”
“So many questions. Reminds me of when you were three. That was only what, forty years ago?”
“Thirty eight. And we are not talking about that right now. We are talking about this blog news. Tell me about it.”
“It is all there online. It might be easier if you read it yourself.”
“Easier for whom?”
“For me. For you. For Richard. Or is it Robert now? I get confused. The recent one, the one you met online. I think it was on that dating service for married people.”
Sandy’s cup hit the table a bit harder than she intended.
“So this is your first date, I take it. Did you pick the café so you can make a quick getaway?”
“It was her idea. And we do not call it a date.”
“What was her idea?”
“Us meeting. The café was my idea. The scones were hers.”
“And you are after what, exactly? I do not remember you as much of a ladies man. There was that frizzy-headed dumpling a few years back, but not much since. She was pushing real hard to move in, if I recall correctly. Gabby one. Tried way too hard. Lasted a few months before you smartened up and said bye-bye to her. We would have to go back a few more years to find her predecessor. You really do not get around much, so of course I am interested.”
“Nosey, you mean. You think it is possible that perhaps I have been with women you do not know about? That maybe I have a life outside of your all-encompassing sphere of knowledge?”
“I suppose it is possible, but it would be quite out of character. I do not remember much female influence around while I was growing up. It worked out, so I am not complaining, but I did sometimes think it was strange how we existed without female influence when none of my friends did.”
“Well, you were always my number one concern and consideration. And I remember you were never too keen on sharing me with anyone. Somehow I managed. Do not forget you spent a few weeks each year with your grandparents. You think I just sat around in the dark all the times you were gone?”
“It is possible, knowing you.”
“But not probable, knowing me. Whether you liked it or not I was a lively young man. I was a single father in an age when that was still unusual, but it actually worked in my favour. Women seemed to feel I needed female advice and comfort since I had a young daughter and no woman to help me. Poor Roger; he needs a woman’s touch. You probably do not want to know all that may or may not have happened while you were at school or at sleepovers or finding other ways to escape your crazy father.”
“May have? Or did?”
“Yes.”
Time to move the conversation elsewhere, Sandy decided. Either that or hang up. The putative sex life of your parent was never a comfortable topic.
“Scones will be fine. Do not try to shove it all in your mouth in two bites and do not talk with your mouth full. As long as you are not spitting crumbs all over the table, or all over this woman, scone crumbs will not be a big problem. What sort of impression are trying to make? What is your intention? And do not tell me you are looking for a sex partner. That is a bit too much information. Sorry.”
“Why should I not enjoy a little physical closeness? I am not dead, you know. I can still do things. But that is not my motivation. I am looking for bit of stimulating conversation. I would not mind having a new partner to spar with. Someone to walk alongside on a South Pacific beach. Which, by the way, is part of my plan. You and I, we are sort of stuck in a rut. Have been for quite some time, in fact. It goes something like this: you try to convince me that I cannot possibly manage without you telling me what is best for me, and I try to remind you that I still have my wits about me. All this back-and-forth ends with me trying to annoy and provoke you simply to remind you that I know you better than anyone, possibly even including yourself. All the while you try to convince me that without you I would be doing little else but drooling on myself while sitting motionless for hours on a bench.”
“Oh, I doubt that you would be motionless.”
“But you do not dispute the drooling part.”
“Can we move on?”
He was not ready to let her off. “After Mr. Smelly Feet there was a regular parade of peacocks through our house. Remember? It got so bad I took the mirror out of the hall so they would just leave without spending several minutes primping before they met their adoring public. I guess that is part of the price of having a pretty daughter. All the pretty boys wanted to be with pretty girls. You were never lonely.”
“Were you jealous?”
“Perhaps. Are you jealous now? Why the concern about my morning?”
“Just trying to keep up with your busy social scene in case you need rescuing. Some of those older women are pretty aggressive. Especially when they spot an eligible and active man.”
“Well, I do not think I need to be rescued today. I will let you know if I need you to run interference. But do not wait up. And funny that you assume Shelley is an older woman.”
“Daadd…”
“So what do you think? Clean t-shirt, or same one I have worn for the last two weeks? Holes ok, or must I find one without holes? And do I need socks?”
“Ok. You are just trying to irritate me now.”
“Now and always. That is my mission in life. You were right when you said so back when you were about fifteen or so. But I was sworn to secrecy. I could not tell you before. It says so in the preface to The Parents Guide to Tormenting Your Child.”
“Which you memorized.”
“Obviously.”
“Thanks, Dad. I love you too.”
“What did I do now? Because I need to know if I should do it again or not.”
“Yes. Do it again. Or not. Your choice. But call me and let me know if you are heading off to the South Pacific with this never-yet-met woman so I can feed the cat or pet the plant or whatever.”
He smiled to himself. She certainly was his daughter. Zeroed right in on the most likely far-out scenario.
He hesitated. The pause in the conversation grew painful.
“I am not being ridiculous, am I?”
She heard the sad and lonely tone lurking behind his plaintive question.
“No, Dad. You are not ridiculous. Spread crumbs all over your lap and do not worry about it. Brush them from your beard, though. You do not have to try to impress anyone. I am sure Shelley will be dazzled by your wit and erudition. A crumb or two will not change who you are. And if it does, she was wrong for you.”
“I see you are on a first name basis with her already. Great! I would invite you along on our South Pacific getaway, but I should get her consent first.”
“Just keep your eyes open and your brain functioning this morning.”
“Would it change your opinion if I told you she has her own jet?”
“Really? She has a private jet?”
“No. The question was hypothetical. Rhetorical.”
“Ok, got it. I will stop with the skepticism now.”
“Do not ever stop caring. Just allow me to have a bit of life. My own life. Unless you are ready to move up here to the boring part of the world where I exist so you can brush the crumbs off my sweater all the time, let me bumble along in my own foolish way. I promise not to embarrass you. Not too much, anyway.”
Sandy sighed. She picked up her coffee and strolled over to the window. After a quick glance down at the street she pulled the sash down.
“It just got quiet.”
“I closed the window. I have to go soon.”
“Good. I mean, not good that you have to go soon. Good that I do not have to compete with the world for your attention. And where are you going?”
“To meet someone.”
“To meet someone. Do I interrogate you now or just wait for you to tell me?”
“You can wait.”
“Story of my life. Always waiting for a beautiful woman to come around.”
“I can come this weekend and we can have dinner. My treat. How about that? I will even watch for any stray crumbs. No extra charge.”
“I might even change my shirt for you. But I will have to get back to you. Might be doing something with Shelley.”
She laughed. “Sure. Like pretending you are wiggling your toes in the sand. Anyway, go have your scone. And have fun. I will talk to you later.”
“I know. And you will be expecting a full report. I love you, my little girl. And remember: always be kind, considerate…”
She chimed in, “…and helpful. Yes, I remember. How could I forget? I have heard that since I was in pre-school. But I am no longer a little girl.”
“You will always be my little girl. Will not matter how much time or distance intercedes.”
“Ok, Dad. Love you too. Say hi to Shelly for me, if you dare. I will see you soon.”
The connection clicked away.
As he returned the phone to its base he sighed with relief. Sandy had not asked about the bank. Now he just had to figure out how to get in touch with her when he arrived. And he would have to ask Shelley if they could get cranberry orange scones in Tahiti.
mry writes 