NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
We walk past yellow crocus blooming next to The Golden Archesprinted yellow on red. It is a piece of litter catching the sun. Sudden rain turns to sleet, freezing on the asphalt, here and there, along Bails Lane.
Lou kicks a rock out of the way. His jacket pockets sag heavily at his side.
“Another weird Winter.”
“Yup, rain, and ice but no snow.”
“Great for potholes.”
He kicks another rock, which spins back into its hole.
“What did we go out for, anyway?”
“Carry out.”
“Right, that was back when the sun was shining.”
“Remember? we agreed on the phone, half an hour back.”
Lou’s left foot slips and he staggers against me. I can feel the impact of something hard in his coat pocket.
“Wow! Sorry there.”
“What are you carrying in those pockets?”
“Just a few household items.”
We slow down and walk along the verge where gravel is welded together by ice and brown tufts of grass show no sign of Spring.
“Well look at that!”
Lou points to a patch of blue in the holly and brambles on the other side of the ditch.
“Looks like someone tossed their mask!”
“Yeah, there’s another, look, squashed at the intersection.”
We have reached Oval Street.
“That’s an M95!”
“That’s a steep hill we are looking at, too.”
“Here’s Diddlie’s place, let’s see if she has some salt or something.”
Lou pulls out his phone.
“Hi, Did, how are you doing?”
She appears at her door, beckoning to us.
Lou avoids the ice-glazed driveway and steps off the road into the ivy for better traction.
“It’s getting crunchy.”
“Don’t tread on my Daffs!”
Diddlie watches us from the edge of her porch with a black watch tartan blanket over her head.
I follow Lou’s eccentric path through the ivy avoiding the light green blades cutting through dead oak leaves and crisscrossing vines.
“I’ve got snowdrops right ahead of you!”
“Okay, I see them.”
We are getting further from the porch.
“Why don’t you just walk up the driveway, guys?”
“Can you lend us some skates?”
“What?”
“I said, can you lend us some skates.”
“No, mine are too small. What do you need them for?”
“The driveway is covered with ice.”
“What do you want, anyway?”
“You got any sand or salt to grit the hill?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, can we use it?”
“You’ll have to come to the carport.”
Lou stops.
“What’s in it for me Lou?”
“Want a carry-out from the H-Bar?”
“You can’t come in.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Lou! I haven’t had my jabs yet.”
“Right, I get it.”
“Who’s that with you?”
I wave.
“It is Fred.”
“Hi, Fred, I can’t see you. Why are you hiding under that hood?”
“So, the sleet can’t find me.”
We start weaving and crunching back through the ivy toward the driveway. Challenged by low-hanging holly branches, we push on past the prickly leaves to the carport.
Diddlie is dragging a bucket out for us.
“Listen, you two. I don’t have my virus suit on. So, wait until I get back in before you come and get the bucket.”
“That thing you wear is called a ‘hazmat suit’.”
“Whatever you call it, I don’t have it on, okay?”
“Yeah.”
She goes inside. Lou picks up the bucket.
“Our friendly neighbor comes through again!”
“She seems more freaked out than ever.”
“Hey, Lou!”
Diddlie is back on her porch, under the blanket.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have a ham and cheese on rye with a pickle and ice-tea.”
“Got it!”
“Ah, Lou.”
“Yeah.”
“Leave it on the porch here, okay?’
“Yeah.”
Diddlie goes back in. We start down Oval Street with grit.
“Here, you hold one side of this handle and I’ll take the other.
We can throw this stuff ahead of us.”
We tread slowly along the side of the road to the bottom of the hill.
“Enough of this! Let’s leave the bucket here at the corner.”
We walk across Wicket Street. Walking like penguins toward the intersection at Maxwell Avenue. Taking tiny steps slowly so as not to put much momentum into a possible slip. The traffic light blinks amber. There’s a Toyota Avalon sideways by the entrance to the Light House Gas Station.
The Avalon’s front tires smoke, spinning on the ice.
“I don’t think we should cross here.”
“No, let’s jaywalk from the bus stop.”
The car slides further away from the driveway and then it suddenly jerks forward.
“Are you sure the H-Bar is open?”
“Yeah, placed our order from my phone.”
We cross on the other side of the intersection to where the parking lot has been treated.
“So, I guess Pam is back at work?”
“No, she took off for Pennsylvania last week.”
“What takes her to Penn’s woodland paradise?”
“A guy called Bill!”
“Oh? The original problem?”
“No, no, he came out of the past in a beat-up Ford Econoline.”
“Took her with him, did he?”
“Yup! After drinking all my beer.”
We put on our masks and go in the H-Bar’s side door, to their carry-out counter. “The String Bag”. A menu is chalked on the back wall, titled, ‘STRING THEORY, Eleven Dimensions of Your Gustatory Pleasure.’
“Anyone home?”
Lou shouts over the unattended metal-top counter. We can hear a faint response and wait.
“It has taken us thirty minutes to walk here.”
“Slide you mean!”
Lou shuffles his feet and checks his heavy pockets.
“I knew it wouldn’t last.”
“No, how do you feel now she’s gone?”
“Glad to be out of the house.”
“Welcome to String Bag, carry out service.”
Says a man from across the counter with a blue paper mask, face protector, and gloves. His name tag is obscured by a splash of mayo.
“You got something for Waymarsh?”
“Yes sir!”
He pulls the order off a nail in the wooden shelf behind, hanging in its string bag.
“Thank you, gentlemen.”
He walks back through the swing doors he just emerged from.
“Here’s a string bag made of fishing tackle!”
Lou tests the string with his thumb and finger, as the aroma from our paper-wrapped lunch disperses between us.
“So, where are we going to eat this?”
“I think we’ll hang out on Diddlie’s porch.”
“At least we’ll be out of the wind, but cold though.”
“Oh, I have something for that!”
He pulls a bottle half out of his coat pocket.
“I have two of these plus a Schnapps chaser in here too.”
“So, uninvited, we are going to get plastered on Diddlie’s porch!”
“What is she going to say? I am going to hand her a free ham and cheese on rye?”
“I can imagine any number of things.”
“Well, Fred, I know but I think we can pull it off.”
“Does she drink? I have never seen her.”
“Sometimes, I have seen her well-lit with Lark, and The Stones at high volume.”
We wait for the ham and cheese.
“Hello!”
Lou shouts again over the empty counter. A young woman appears with her hair gathered in high bun ponytails.
“How can I help you?”
“I am looking for a ham and cheese for Waymarsh.”
She goes back through the swing doors and reappears in a couple of swings.
“Ham and cheese on rye with pickle!”
She pulls a string bag from a bundle hanging down to the side of the counter and nets our order for us. She yells through the swing doors.
“One iced tea up here!”
The mayo man comes through with a tall paper cup full and seals it with a lid.
“One Iced tea.”
Lou jams the cup into the bag.
“Have a nice day!”
Lou waves as we go out into sunlight. The walk back is easier. I carry the bucket back up to Diddlie’s carport. Lou sets up on the porch.
Diddlie sees us immediately and shouts through a half-inch opening in her storm door window.
“What are you doing with my chair covers?”
“Hi, Did, Here’s your lunch.”
“What?”
He holds out the string bag.
“Your ham and cheese on rye, here!”
“Lou, will you back off? I am not going to take that thing out of your hand. Just leave it by the door.”
“Ah, Did. We are planning to eat out here, okay?”
“The two of you, on my porch?”
“Right, it’s turned out to be a nice sunny day!”
“What’s that you are taking out of your pockets?”
“Schnapps and beer.”
She opens the door far enough to take a closer look and pick up the bag, which Lou just put in the spot designated.
“Oh really! And I hope you don’t expect me to share a bottle with you in this pandemic!”
“No Did. You have iced tea.”
The window rattles as the storm door closes.
“Pull up a seat Fred.”
Lou unpacks lunch on Diddlie’s table, still covered, in its dark brown winter protection, like a tablecloth.
“What have you been doing since Pam left?”
He hands me an open bottle of Dos Equis.
“Keeping busy. Cleared out my shed and then the store-room behind the kitchen.”
“Find anything interesting?”
The storm door opens as he puts a shot glass in front of me. Diddlie pushes a box out onto the porch with her foot and closes the door quickly. She pulls down the window a few more inches and shouts through.
“I put three glasses for beer and three for booze.”
Lou pulls the flat bottle of schnapps out of his inside coat pocket.
“We are good for shots.”
“Well, I am not taking them back in.”
“Okay.”
“Listen you two. I have to put on some protection, okay?”
“What about your tea?”
“It is in the fridge.”
“Right.”
The door rattles again behind her.
