Shadows of Shadows - 2. Building Character

When Susan woke, the lights were still lit, but barely competing with the new-risen sun. She was instantly aware of a damp chill. Don’t run the heat if you don’t have to, Mom had instructed her. It was only a couple of days before May, in the midst of a glorious spring, but the nights were still getting into the fifties. Susan rolled off the couch and onto her feet, then stood, stretched, and shivered. The book she retrieved from the floor, flipped through to find her place -- only five pages in. The end table by the sofa still had a couple of pens on it, and Susan took one and clipped it over the novel’s leaves, then lay it face down where she had been sleeping.

All the while she averted her gaze from the chair in front of the television. She’d gotten used to taking Grandpa’s place on the sofa, but the rocking recliner was still a bit sacred. Now, after that weird-ass dream, she didn’t need to know if there was someone sitting there. If I look at that chair and it moves, I am going to piss myself, she thought as she carefully turned to the downstairs bedroom door, where her duffel bag was. A ghost is going to chase me out of here in my piss-pants and give me a -- a heart attack like in The Matrix, or make me run to the river and drown myself.

Susan found a UMass hoodie in her duffel, then after hesitation, swapped out her panties and socks. Everyone was on Instagram saying they weren’t showering every day, and wearing the same clothes over and over. It had been a weird six weeks since everything had shut down, and the old shower upstairs didn’t really work that well, but she was still at least going to change her underthings.

There were still boxes of Grandma’s oatmeal in the kitchen, so she picked two packets that seemed unmolested by mice and mixed them in a paper bowl with water boiled in the sturdy electric kettle. She pulled a magnetic pad off the refrigerator and removed the first sheet. A short grocery list, and reminders of people to visit or call around the village, all in Grandma’s fine cursive. Grief gripped her, and Susan’s eyes misted. Grandma had been 85, suffering from cancer, and she was still making the rounds, seeing to everyone’s well-being. Susan's hand tried to crumple the note for the trash, but it froze, poised in a half-clench. Instead, she attached it to the refrigerator with a magnet from the heating oil company.

Back at the table, she took up another pen and made her own list:

Trash to dump

Finish Mom’s room

Start Kitchen

More boxes!

Walmart

Dinners

Apples

Trash bags

Cokes

Bread/Meat/Cheese

Milk

Food for Makayla (call her)

Laundromat?

McDonald’s?

She scowled. Would the laundromat even be open? Half the little stores in town had been locked up on her way through town the other day. Might as well take a look before resigning herself to hanging her undies on the line outside. McDonald’s drive through was open, though.

Makayla would frown at her eating a second breakfast, let alone the 750 calories of a burrito meal, not including the drink. It was never said outright, but Susan could stand to lose some weight, and Makayla always prodded her to make better choices. Next to “Cokes”, Susan scratched “Zero” in parentheses. There was money, too. Mom said she was supposed to use up all the food that was still good and not eat out a lot. Maybe, though -- Susan picked up the phone.

“Hey Mom!” Susan greeted, adjusting her hoodie. “I need to buy a lot more boxes. Can you send me an extra fifty bucks?”

“Fifty?” Mom’s voice was skeptical. “I don’t know. Are you at the store now?”

“No,” Susan replied, “I’m getting myself together to go now.”

“Text me how much they were after you get them,” Mom instructed. Susan rolled her eyes. So long, slush fund.

“Did you find any more photo albums?” Mom asked.

“No, Mom, I think you got them all.”

“Do not—”

“Don’t pack them up, I know,” Susan interrupted. “Do you want anything from your room?”

A sigh and a clicking tongue sounded from the phone. “Send me pictures of any jewelry you find, but there’s probably nothing. Thanks, Susie, you’re doing great!” Mom’s tone softened. “Can you hold out for another couple of weeks? Me and Uncle Steve are close to figuring something out.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty quiet here, and I’ve been able to get some work done,” Susan replied. “Makayla’s coming down; can she stop by the house and get some things to bring me?”

Silence. Susan imagined she could hear Mom chewing her lip. “Does she have to? I’m worried about insurance if something happens.”

“Mom, come on!” Susan pleaded. After a few minutes of convincing, she finally got her mom to agree that no one was going to die at the house, do a full gainer down the stairs, fall out of a tree, or jump in the bath with a hair dryer. That was all Susan could convince her of, though. McDonald’s was going to have to come out of the petty cash.

***

Susan packed the back of her car with bulging garbage bags bound for the dump, and one with dirty clothes went into the front seat. She checked her watch; she didn’t want to miss breakfast. Then she groaned in frustration. One of the pines lining the driveway had shed a limb in the storm and it lay across her way out. She might be able just to shove it out of the way, but Grandpa would have insisted on it going all the way to the burn pile.

Susan had just shifted it out of the driveway when she was hailed from the road. Looking up, she saw a half remembered figure shambling toward her, an old lady in a wide brimmed hat. Susan was certain she had a name, but she was damned if she remembered it. Susan had been shown off to everyone in the village over the years, though, and this lady -- the old sobriquet “Cowboy Lady” was the best Susan could do -- was sure to want to reminisce. Maybe she could keep it short.

“Good morning Susan,” said Cowboy Lady as stepped right through the six foot bubble between them, signaling her intent to hug. Susan shuffled clumsily back, stammering a return greeting.

“Oh, are you trying to ‘socially distance’?” Her smiling face belied the sneer behind the words. “It’s just us sweetheart. Besides, I've got the heat up high at home.” Still, she relented and came no closer. “It was so good to see y’all at the funeral. It’s a shame there weren’t more people, and we couldn’t even have a covered-dish dinner --” potluck, translated Susan “-- at the church. This pandemic is making people crazy. You know your grandmother meant so much to people around here.”

“Oh, thank you,” replied Susan, eyes avoiding her watch.

“Are you watching the house? That’s so nice. Did you come up from Richmond?”

“No, We live in Boston now. I’m going to school at UMass, and they shut down for the pandemic, so I said I’d stay and pack up.”

“The pandemic is making people crazy,” Cowboy Lady repeated without self-consciousness. “I guess colleges have to do whatever the government tells them. What were you studying?

“Oh, I’m majoring in sociology. I’m going to be a senior next year.”

This time the reply was tinged with suspicion. “What do you do in sociology?”

Susan fumbled for her speech. “Well, we know that there are problems in the world, like, with society. In sociology, we look at phenomena with people and, well, society. We can use statistics to figure out what is causing things to happen and what the solutions are for everyone.” Susan watched the cowboy lady’s face and saw her elevator pitch crash to the bottom of a sixty-story shaft.

“Do they teach you about the Devil?”

“Oh, the devil?”

“The devil. He’s the root of human suffering. You can’t math him away. The only salvation is Jesus Christ.”

“Well, religion is important, too, but it, er, doesn’t work for everyone, or for everything.” Susan went out on a limb. “Sometimes if you only think about religion, you can miss something, er, ways you can help people.”

“Well, I hope you don’t forget to pray, and remember Jesus. I know colleges don’t like to talk about God, but the Devil’s greatest trick is convincing people that he doesn’t exist.”

Susan reeled a bit from being contradicted. Religious people were so blind! Dogma in public policy creates a permanent underclass of people who are different from the policymakers, she wanted to say, and dismisses real problems as “God’s will”, which is the real sin. She realized that when Grandma was around, she didn’t actually have to talk to these people.

Susan’s forced grin felt tight on her face as her feet shifted uneasily. Cowboy Lady might not have noticed, but Susan could feel her own agitation. Thankfully, the subject shifted. “We definitely need to pray for this pandemic. The government is making it worse by keeping us shut up in our houses, so everyone is lonely. Aren’t you lonely in that house by yourself?”

“It’s fine. I’ve got enough to do packing things up. In a couple of days, my -- one of my friends is coming down from Boston to help and stay with me,” said Susan, checking the word “girlfriend”. No need to open that can up. Makayla would have to be warned.

“That’ll be nice. A shame she couldn’t meet your grandmother. She was so nice. You know your grandmother meant so much to people around here.” Cowboy Lady stopped in sudden recollection. “I saw you were loading your car up. I came over to see if you could get some groceries for me.”

Well, she couldn't complain about sociology and not actually help someone, as distasteful as the conversation had been. “Sure. What do you need?”

“It’s all written down here.” Cowboy Lady stretched out an arm. Susan reached for it and a very short list was pressed into her grasp, followed by two twenty dollar bills. “Keep the change. Thank you so much!”

This was more like it. Hell, yeah! McDonald’s was definitely in her future! “Of course! I’ll be back in a little bit. I’d better get going.”

Cowboy Lady excused herself and shuffled off. Susan looked at the time, then at the tree limb. It looked messy, sure, but breakfast beckoned. What grandpa doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Susan jogged back to her car, leapt in, and sped off to town.