Sunday, July 24, 2016

What Do You Know? Part 5 of Me and Marymae

This is part five of my story "Me and Marymae".  If you want to refresh your memory or if you have not yet read the first four parts, click on the tab at the top of my blog (underneath the photo) titled "Me and Marymae".  All five parts are included there. 


(5)
     Marymae missed our next meeting.  She called to tell me that Cray wasn't feeling well and wouldn't be going to camp that day.  I wondered, though, if she felt she was beginning to reveal too much, not only of her story but also of herself.
     As I was passing Marymae's house the next day, on my morning walk with Sunnydog, I saw Junie outside watering her flowers.  She called to me, "Come on over.  Have a cup of tea."
     Junie was a nice woman and a good friend.   But I was sure she was going to have a million questions about me and Marymae.   I hesitated for a few seconds trying to decide if I was prepared to be barraged and if I would be able to avoid answering her probing questions.
     "Hey, Junie," I called over to her.  "Maybe later on in the week, okay?"
I waved and hurriedly passed by.
     When I got back to my house, I picked up the local newspaper off the stoop and as usual I had to coax Sunnydog into the house with his favorite banana and peanut butter biscuit.  He would have preferred staying outside, sitting in the cool grass, head moving from side to side, hoping to catch a whiff of passersby, both human and non.
     As I waited for the kettle to whistle,  I sat at the kitchen table and leafed through the newspaper skimming articles, noting the ones I would want to read in depth later on.   When I got to page six, my heart nearly stopped.  There was a photo of Marymae with a caption which read: "Have you seen this woman?"  The article went on to say, that a local woman and her grandchild had gone missing.  I was stunned.  Apparently, Marymae's son had reported her missing.
     "If you have any information which might lead to the whereabouts of Marymae Silverio and her granddaughter Cray Silverio, please call this missing persons hotline number, 555-5675."
     I did have information.  But, should I call the number?   I didn't know what to do.   I had promised Marymae that I would keep her secret.  And then there was the package she gave me to hold for her.
     The tea kettle began to whistle while at the same time I heard a banging on my door and someone calling my name.  I turned off the kettle and ran to open the door.  It was Junie, frantically waving a newspaper back and forth.
     She could barely get the words out.  "Did you see this?" she said breathlessly.
  Her face was flushed and I thought she might pass out.  "I saw the car!  I saw the car!"
     "Junie," I said.  "Calm down.  Come here.  Sit."  I put my hands on her shoulders, gently guided her over to a chair.
     "Take a deep breath," I said.  "That's it let it out slowly.   I'm going to pour you a nice cup of tea and then you can tell me what you are going on about."
   After Junie took a couple of sips of her tea,  she began to regain her composure.  She told me how two nights ago she had a terrible headache and couldn't sleep.   "That's why I was up in the middle of the night looking out my bedroom window," she said.   "You know it faces the street."
     "Our bedroom was bathed in moonlight," she went on.  You know with the full moon."
     "There was a car parked in Marymae's driveway," she continued.
     "I didn't think much about it.  It was just something I noticed.  You know, like something out of place.  The next morning it was gone.  Again, I didn't think much about it, until I saw the paper just now."
     "Do you think I should call the number?" she asked.
     "I think we both should," I replied.
     Junie stared at me with a puzzled expression.  "What do you know?" she asked.  "What in the world do you know?"

What I know is that I can't wait to find out what she knows.  How about you?


Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Last Weekend I Danced Like It Was 1969

So last weekend Ross and I attended a function at our clubhouse.   It was called "A Summer Boardwalk Rock and Roll Party".  The flyer promised we would "Dance, sing or just shake our groove thing".
There would be pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, hot pretzels and ice cream sandwiches.  Oh, and boxes of Crackerjacks on every table.
By the way, the "Prize Inside" a Crackerjacks box is now a small piece of paper with a digital code.  None of us at the table, (all seniors) knew exactly what we were supposed to do with this piece of paper.
After doing a little research, I discovered that in order to find out what your prize is you have to:  Download an app, which will allow you to scan the sticker that you found inside the Cracker Jack box.  The scan will access a "baseball-inspired mobile digital experiences."
Whatever that means.  
When we first moved into this Active Adult community Ross and I  attended club house functions a few times a year. 
Actually, I distinctly remember the first one we went to.  The experience was quite jolting.  It was a similar type of affair, with food and dancing.  It kind of reminded me of a wedding which might have been held at a VFW hall.   You know, hand made decorations, a local band, round tables for eight, with plastic table clothes.  By the way, you usually have the best times at those weddings, don't you?
Okay, so the jolt for me, attending my virgin Active Adult Community club house dance, was that as I sat there glancing around the room, observing the other participants, I felt an overwhelming sense of melancholy.    At first, I was puzzled.  
The atmosphere was certainly festive.  The room was full of party sounds, peppy dance music, laughter, people shouting greetings to one another.   So why was I feeling a little less than jolly?
I slowly realized where my feeling of sadness was coming from.  
It's a little difficult to explain, actually.   I sort of felt as though I was having a back to the future experience. 
Does that make sense?  It was as if I was that sixteen-year-old girl, at a school dance, having a premonition of what all of my friends would look like 50 years later.  
Although I was on the dance floor dancing like it was 1969,  the white-haired, no longer thin as a rail woman staring back at me from my reflection in the darkened ballroom window was a startling reminder of this rude incongruity between my older body and young at heart soul.  
For a great many and various reasons, The Boardwalk Party dance this past weekend was the first one we have attended in quite a while.  
 As I glanced around the room I smiled at the couple who obviously had taken dance lessons 30 years ago and had perfected the fox trot.  I giggled at the big guy in his Hawaiian shirt trying to get under the limbo stick. "How low can you go?" I was reminded that women will dance with each other in pairs or groups of three, four and five. 
The band was great, the music was loud.  It was nearly impossible to have a conversation.  Ross leaned over and to get close to my ear, "Let me know if you want to get up to dance," he shouted.  He apparently had noticed my feet tapping to the beat.
"Nah, I don't feel much like dancing," I said as I felt the melancholy begin to settle in.  This time, my sadness was more complicated. 
Then I felt a tug on my arm.  I turned around to see a dear friend smiling down at me, motioning me to get up, "Come on," she said.  She guided me over to where another dear friend was waiting for me.  
The three of us had formed a bond about two years ago under the most difficult of times. 
With wide grins pasted on our faces, we began to move in time to "Ride Sally Ride".  Our heads bopped, our fingers snapped and our arms moved back and forth, up and down.
As the melconcoholy slowly melted away,  I felt my sixteen year old spirit twirl me around and around. 
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