August/September 2004
Reflections of
a Brighter Day
Doreen stands in her backyard, looking up at her father's second-floor bedroom window. She is wearing a white bathing cap with two seagull feathers attached with suction cups and Scotch tape. When the window opens, an arrow flies out and twangs onto the metal patio table. She races to the arrow and reads the note attached: "Nice outfit. Hermes the Winged Messenger? Please ask your mother what's for supper. I would like to select an appropriate wine. - Dad"
Doreen pulls a yellow sticky note from her pad and writes: "Thanks, Dad, it is Hermes. Why not use your cell phone and ask her yourself? - Doreen"
She pulls the arrow off the table, attaches her note, licks the rubber suction cup then inserts the arrow into her plastic bow. She tilts her head, squints her eyes, and with her tongue sticking from her mouth like a pointy little eel, she releases the string and the arrow is projected back into her father's bedroom.
The next note reads as follows: "Doreen. You just hit my sandwich and there is lettuce everywhere. If your mother wants to talk, she can use her cell phone. Ask her what we are having for supper. - Dad"
Doreen races to the house's east wing, pulls another yellow sticky from her pad and writes the following: "Dearest Linda, my love for you is immeasurable. I am looking forward to supper and I have chosen a fine wine. P.S. Doreen's costumes are becoming more elaborate and expensive. Maybe we should increase her allowance. -
Doreen realizes, too late, that her mother's window is shut. When she hears the smashing glass, she shoulders her bow and dashes out of the yard.
***
"I'm Lucy Dos Santos. You know, the Seer of Fatima." Doreen extends her arms displaying a white ruffled shirt with long sleeves. She shakes her head and long dark hair hovers from left to right until her wig spins around and lies backward. She snakes her fork between the strands of hair that now covers her face, then bites into a carrot.
"So, Doreen. I see you've read another book." Robert avoids eye contact with his wife, and looks at their daughter.
"Yup." Doreen snatches a book from her lap and slaps it on the table. "Did you know that the Holy Mother had shared three secrets with Lucy? Yes, you knew that. But did you know that the third secret has not been revealed yet?"
"Robert, how was work today?" Linda stares into her serving of green peas.
"And that third secret was sealed by Lucy Dos Santos herself, and was supposed to be revealed in 1960!" Doreen straightens her wig and sips her milk.
"It was fine, and how was your day, Linda?"
Doreen wipes her lips with her ruffled sleeve and continues her monologue. "You see, the third secret is hidden in some vault at the Vatican, and until the old coot croaks, we'll never know."
"Doreen!" Robert lays down his fork and sips his wine.
"What! It doesn't matter. I know what that third secret says." Doreen sips more milk then lifts both arms toward the ceiling. "Boom!" she says, then drops her head and closes her eyes.
"Has anyone seen my laptop computer? It was in my bedroom last night." When no one answers, Robert returns to his meal.
"Dad. I think you work too hard. May I be excused?"
Doreen walks backward to the basement door, opens it and skips down the steps, then removes the laptop she has tucked in the back of her waistband. Throughout the night, Robert and Linda listen to chants and prayers snaking up the air ducts and into their separate bedrooms. They cannot make out the exact words, but they know Doreen is still playing the part of Lucy Dos Santos.
***
Linda walks down to the basement and watches Doreen through the sauna door's steamy window. She is wearing a towel and puffing on what looks like an Indian Peace Pipe. There is no tobacco in the pipe, but Doreen pretends to take long draws, then she puckers her lips and feigns blowing out O-rings. A smooth, unruffled feather stands erect on the pipe's shaft and contrasts with her hair, which flattens her face like seaweed.Linda opens the door and feels a wave of heat squeezing out from the sauna. "What are you doing?"
"This is my Native American sweat lodge, Mom. I'm contacting The Great Spirit. I think something special will happen soon, and I want to prepare for it."
"Doreen, aren't you taking all of this play acting a little too seriously? What is this obsession with the apocalypse, anyway?"
"Will you two divorce? I read somewhere that if a couple can make it through their thirties, where most troubles in long marriages happen, they come out much happier in the long run—happier than if they had divorced, I mean."
"I think you read too much, besides, we are not in our thirties any longer. Doreen, have you seen the book I was reading yesterday?"
"Is it the sex thing, Mom?"
"Doreen! My book?"
Doreen says no and does not look up. "Mom. Don't you find your life a little boring? All you do is read and watch television. Why don't you try something new?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Maybe you could phone Dad sometimes. Maybe you could try phone sex?"
"What! Doreen, for God's sake! You're behavior is really starting to scare me."
When her mother returns upstairs, Doreen removes the television remote from under her towel. She then lifts a loose plank from the sauna bench, inserts the remote atop a laptop and a few of her mother's books, then replaces the board.
***
Robert
is an accountant. He is slouched in his chair, his legs stretched out
on his desk, as he taps on a keyboard that lies precariously on his thighs."Ms. Tupper, please bring in the Cheal files." When Ms. Tupper enters with a stack of folders, she waits for Robert to acknowledge her presence as she wiggles her hips in an attempt to raise her drooping pantyhose.
"Just put them here." Robert points to the edge of his desk. Ms. Tupper is about his age, in her mid-forties, and Robert thinks she is the most competent legal secretary at his firm. She is full-figured, and wears tiny, oval glasses that accentuate her long chiseled face.
She bends toward his desk, fumbling with the folders until they are neatly squared, and when she stands up straight, Robert's eyes remain glued to her tanned, plump, half-exposed bosom. "Do you need me for anything else, Mr. Clement?" She stands arms akimbo, awaiting his response. When none is forthcoming, she presses a hand to the side of her breasts, squeezing them together, then letting them bounce back apart, in rhythm with each syllable she speaks:
"Do—you—want—me—in—a—sex—u—al—way?"
"No!" Robert is still transfixed by her ventriloquism.
"Well—they—can't—talk.—I'm—up—here!"
Robert sits up straight, places the keyboard onto his desk, then cups his lowered head into his fingers and rubs his temples. "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. He then looks her straight in the eyes. "Patricia, can I confide in you?"
"Of course, Robert." Ms. Tupper sits in the guest chair and smiles. She seems pleased that she has made Robert blush.
"I'm having problems at home. My wife and I don't talk. Hell, we've got separate bedrooms. Our family is falling apart, and I'm worried about my daughter."
"Do you hug your wife, Robert? Do you kiss her? Do you share in her dreams?"
"Like I say, ours is pretty much a platonic relationship, now."
"You mean no sex, right?"
"No. Yes, that's a part of it. Well that's where it all started, several months ago. This is embarrassing, Pat, but I'm extremely frustrated. Things used to be good, but now, well, I'm at a loss. I'm thinking of moving out."
"Robert. You are going through a low in your relationship. This happens. Maybe your wife wants sex, too. Maybe she likes flowers. Maybe she wants you to be around the house more, and just share, and hug and-"
"Yes. I know you're right." Robert pulls the folders toward him, and opens the top one. "Please excuse me, Miss Tupper. We should get back to work. And Patricia, this will stay between us?"
"Yes—Mis—ter—Cle—ment."
"Please, Pat, don't do that."
When Patricia exits the room, he reaches for the telephone and dials home. When he hears his wife answer, he hesitates, then hangs up the phone.
***
Doreen is walking down an aisle at the Public Library, and when she stops in the Magic and Occult section, she sees David looking at her from the opposite side of the tall bookshelf.
"Hi ya, David!"
"Hello, Dory Deary! We are looking for more books, yes?" David drops his mop into the bucket that lies at his feet, then swings around to meet Doreen, his key chain bouncing against his hip, playing soothing, hypnotic tones, like wind chimes in a warm summer breeze.
David is wearing a blue collared shirt that is too short to tuck into his blue work pants, and his work belt makes it impossible to keep his pants hoisted up to his protruding belly.
"How are you today, Dory Deary? Are things better at home?"
"They're pretty much the same, David, but I'm working on it." Doreen stretches on her tiptoes and peers at the book titles that sit on the upper shelf.
"Parents are still not talking, eh? Well, whatever happens, pumpkin, don't blame yourself. Grownups gotta find their own way, and hopefully you kids can learn from their mistakes."
"Yeah. That's what you always say, David." Doreen sighs and returns to a flatfooted position. "So, David, can you suggest another book for me?"
"Doreen, if you ever get hitched, don't make the mistake we all do. Don't take things for granted. Keep the love alive, girl. Hugs and kisses are easy, and they're free. Even if you're just watching television, make sure you guys are hugging or at least talking. Relationships disappear in the blink of an eye, ya know."
Doreen looks into David's moistened eyes, and says, "Can you pick out a book for me today, David?"
When David reaches for the upper shelf, his pants slide down a couple inches, and Doreen fails to suppress giggles at the sight of his exposed butt crack. She reads the title of the book that David hands to her: 'Nostradamus And His Prophecies.' When she looks up, David is gone.
***
Doreen is the first to sit down for supper. She wears a white sailor hat, and a long black robe. Her hands are clenched together as if in prayer. When her parents join her, she can sense their unease. She waits for one of them to speak, but no one does."So you don't want to know who I am? It's the hat, isn't it? Just pretend it is black with the edges up to here." Doreen extends her hands over her sailor hat, showing that its rim should be at least a foot higher. "I'm Nostradamus!"
"Linda," Robert finally speaks, "sorry I'm late. How was your day?"
"And the people, ferocious from hate will learn to love again:
They will throw away their shackles and commune with The Great Spirit,
Without their remotes they will sicken of television and go play outside,
And if it is meant to be, they will continue a simple life, without books and laptops."
"Doreen. What the heck was that? Have you seen the remote?"
"Mom, that's a quatrain. I just made it up. Nostradamus used quatrains to predict the future. They’re really ambiguous, especially since they were translated to English from French."
"What's up with you, child?"
"Some say that Nostradamus predicted the 911 bombing in New York, and that, that day was supposed to be..." Doreen ticks off the next phrase with two fingers from each hand, "The Big One!"
"The big one?"
"Yes, Dad. You know..." Doreen stretches both arms toward the ceiling and says, "big bright lights, then, Boom!" She lowers her head and closes her eyes. Then with a mouth full of potatoes she adds, "But according to my calculations, it's tonight that we get the light show."
"Well, Nostradamus and you are smart ones, for sure. Tonight the Casino is throwing a fireworks display." Robert dives into his own potatoes.
"Can we all watch it together, tonight?"
Robert and Linda stare at one another. She combs a strand of loose hair behind her ear and he rubs his chin, then Linda says, "Uh huh," and they both nod yes.
***
Linda is a pretty woman. Now in her early forties, she has not lost her girlish look. And if not for her perpetual frown, which magnifies the few creases along her mouth and eyes, she could easily be mistaken for a woman of 35. Doreen was right—she's been terribly bored. She is lying in bed when the phone rings, then she bounces to a sitting position and answers."Linda, we've got a Clive Pickles on the line, and I think he's a newbie. This should be a simple trick. Are you ready?"
Linda pauses and sucks hard on her cigarette. She breathes in deeply then says, "Mais, oui!" She extinguishes her cigarette, then stretches out on the bed.
"Hello."
"Bonjour, mon amour. I am Lisette."
"You speak French?"
Linda slaps her hand on the mouthpiece and her eyes grow the size of dollar coins. She recognizes the voice at the other end.
"Are you still there, Lisette?"
"Yes, I do speak French, but I also speak zee univerrr-sal language of looove, Mistair Peekles."
"You sound Russian. No matter. This is my first time. I don't know what to say."
"What are you wearing, Peekles."
"I am wearing regular clothes. I'm in my car calling on my cell phone. Is that okay?"
Linda slaps her forehead and thinks, what an idiot.
"I am wearing black silk, Victoria Secret underwear and matching bra." Linda wants to play the part as best she can. At first she feels somewhat uncomfortable, and cheap, but as the conversation continues, she becomes aroused.
She touches her breasts delicately, and starts to massage her soft silky underwear when she drops the phone. When she rises and picks up the receiver, she notices a neighbour staring straight at her through a kitchen window across the street. When Linda darts to close the curtains, the chord tightens then pulls back the receiver as it flies across the bed and smashes into the wall.
"Sorry," she says, when she regains her lying position.
"Are you touching yourself, Lisette?"
"Oh, yes. And are you?"
"Uh huh."
Linda's self-massage grows in intensity when she screams out, "Oh, Robert!" She again slaps her hand on the receiver and listens. She hears what sounds like two cars crashing, a loud horn, then what she imagines is a cell phone skipping across the pavement. After a few moments, she hears a squawking voice repeating the words, "The sky is falling. The sky is falling. Awck."
"Robert? Are you okay?"
"Mom?"
"Doreen? How did you get on this line? Where are you calling from?"
"I'm outside. Mom, you won't believe this, but a green parrot just flew by and dropped a cell phone, and you were on the line! Mom, I thought you should know that Dad is arriving. And he's walking."
Doreen and Linda are sitting in the living room when Robert enters. He sits in the sofa chair opposite them, and has a glazed look in his eyes.
"You are having trouble with your car, Mistair Peekles?" Linda stands, walks toward Robert, then opens her robe to flash her Victoria Secret underwear. When his eyes clear, he watches her skip upstairs toward her room
Doreen smiles and offers Robert the cell phone she holds in her hand. "This is yours, Dad. There are lots of dents on it, but it still works."
***
They are standing in the backyard, holding hands. Salvos of fluorescent rockets and multi-coloured spiders snap then burst into iridescent hues as the sky above dances and displays its mesmerizing pictographs. They are holding hands and wearing sunglasses as they marvel at the light show in the evening sky.
"I told you there would be fireworks tonight, Doreen. Why the sunglasses?"
"Just wait for it, Dad."
It is midnight when the fireworks end. Linda suggests they return inside, but Doreen squeezes her parent's hands even tighter, then the sky starts to brighten. On the horizon, thin black strands are unlaced, allowing light to squeeze through. The darkness on the horizon continues to lift in a circular motion, quickly spiraling upward across the firmament, like a giant knitting ball untwining and exposing its naked core. When all of the darkness has lifted, the light grows more intense, and the threesome watch as the mountains and faraway trees seem to disappear, one by one, into the light.
"What do you think will happen, Doreen?"
"I don't know, Dad, but—Carpe Diem!" Doreen releases her grip, and inserts a tape into her portable tape player. When the mariachi music starts, she shakes two maracas, and Linda and Robert dance to the music, their night robes shining like fluorescent beacons. And for an instant, the two robes are all that Doreen can see.
