Old Miss Gracing by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 3
Miss Gracing woke up to a well-practiced work day, feeding Simon, having coffee and breakfast, showering, dressing and going down the stairs to begin her walk to the center of learning. She was no longer disturbed by yesterday’s dream.
After countless viewings of the show, the shock effect had worn off.
Zeke was also re-playing yesterday. Despite one day in a row of pleasant experience, he was not anxious to get back to the decaying brick citadel.
“Mom, come on. Just let me stay home today. I still need to recuperate from yesterday.”
“You come on, Zeke, I mean it,” she said as she fidgeted with the tie on his squirming neck.
“I learn more from you right here. I didn’t hear one thing new yesterday,” he said, opening up a new front.
Ignoring the attempted new engagement, Mom said; “Didn’t you tell me you liked Miss Gracing?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “But, I can see her again tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow never comes. So, you, little boy, are coming with me today.” She finished the tie and took his hand.
Realizing that it was futile to conjure up any half convincing
argument, he trod along, with his head down, all the way to the schoolyard entrance.
Mom said; “Bye, Zeke. I’ll be waiting here when you get out. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” She started to walk away.
He said, “That’s easy for you to say.”
She smiled at him and kept walking, thinking about what she could do all day without him, settling on the hairdresser, as at least there would be someone to talk with.
“Waaah,” he cried out, moving his small feet quickly to catch up to the longer steps taken by Mom, on the other side of the chain link fence.
Mom looked at Zeke, who now had tears running down both cheeks and shook her head from side to side, indicating a resolute “No.” Just as yesterday, the now two day old habit continued, as he clutched the fence with both hands and intently watched Mom walk back home, continuing the precipitation display. He turned around, facing the dirty brick dragon, today taking special note of the three basketball courts painted on the asphalt near the building. All six rims were bent or twisted in some direction, making them of no use. He thought;
“Who would do such a thing? I hope I don’t have to meet the culprits. There was no purpose to the distortion and it must have taken a good deal of time and effort to achieve the results.” The whole thing was just so ugly and upsetting that
Zeke couldn’t bear looking at it anymore and watched the little houses across the street as he wailed, fantasizing that someone would come out and offer him refuge. He didn’t know that unlike his mother’s life of leisure, the occupants were concerned with taking care of their own chores and problems.
His reverie was broken when he, again, felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her face and felt guilty for crying.
Miss Gracing said; “You told me that you liked me.”
Zeke said; “Oh, I do. I really do. I’m just getting really bad feelings from those distorted rims. What kind of creep would do that?”
She said; “Do you know the first meaning of the word
‘distort?’” When Zeke answered with a puzzled look, she continued; “It is to unite by winding.”
Zeke was confused, but felt a little better. He weakly said; “But, they’re now useless.”
Miss Gracing responded; “You can’t think like that.”
Zeke still didn’t know exactly what she meant by that phrase, but knew that it must be significant, as it was the second time he had heard it in their two day relationship.
Maybe it meant that a sad conclusion was always wrong. But, sad conclusions do exist; like going to school. He would have to give it more thought later, but in the meantime he felt
reassured and said; “Are you going to play the piano and sing today?”
“Sure. I do that almost every day.”
She took his hand as the gongs rang for lineup time. She again led the somewhat composed boy to the end of the line and led the class in. To Zeke’s chagrin, five or six of the other kids brought apples for the teacher, a mixture of races and sexes represented.
Miss Gracing graciously smiled and patted the cheek of each donor. Zeke scrutinized the situation from his rear seat, taking special note of the little girls. Curious creatures they were, wearing long hair, dresses, some makeup and shoes that look difficult to walk in. Boys had it so much easier. They didn’t have to fuss with their hair, didn’t have to go through some weird gyration when taking a seat, didn’t have to learn how to apply lipstick and didn’t have to risk falling every time they took a walk. Why did these little ones choose to make things more difficult than they had to be? Extremely strange.
Miss Gracing clapped her hands once and got undivided attention, picked up a paper basket with her right hand and said; “Today, I’m going to show you how to make one of these.
You’ll all have one to take home at the end of class.” When she thought that she had detected a few incredulous looks, she added; “It’s easy, believe me.” She smiled; “If I can do it,
anyone can.” She motioned for the kids to come up to her desk.
She showed the class the rough paper, the brads and a huge sharp pair of scissors. After demonstrating the technique she told each kid to take their own set of materials and of course, much smaller blunt edged scissors. Everyone followed orders and laid their stuff somewhere on the floor, sitting next to it.
Before much time elapsed, most had something in front of them, beginning to show its first inclinations toward basketry.
Miss Gracing walked around the area, giving everyone a visit, offering encouragement, approval and smiles. Zeke was trying to speed up the process so that he could show Miss Gracing a completed project. She got to him too early and he sighed and shrugged. She said; “Don’t be upset, you’re doing wonderfully.”
“I’m slower than I want to be.”
“Speed isn’t the only consideration. In fact, in my book it’s one of the lowest. Besides speed will increase with practice.”
“What’s the highest consideration?”
“Quality, of course.”
She started to go to the next student when Zeke blurted out; “Why do some people here choose to be girls? It looks like a real pain.”
She was very surprised at the question and after a bit of a pause she offered; “The two papers you are making a basket out
of are blue and red, which happen to be my favorite colors. The blue paper didn’t choose to be blue, did it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“The red paper didn’t choose to be red.”
“No.”
“It’s the same principle with boys and girls. Did you choose to be a boy?”
“No.”
“Well, girls didn’t choose to be girls, either.”
“They make such a process out of sitting and squatting, pulling their dresses around and crossing legs. Are they trying to hide something?”
Miss Gracing almost laughed out loud, managed to stifle it and was at a loss for words. Fortunately for her, Zeke continued his discourse saying; “They’re not hiding a knife, are they?”
Her first reaction was that of shock, recalling her dream and for an instant wondered if Zeke had the same one, but quickly realized that his phrasing was pure chance. She smiled and said; “No, they are not carrying a knife. Nor are they carrying anything that could hurt you.” She thought; “Or at least I don’t think so.”
She scooted away before Zeke could get his next question out. Fortunately for her, Zeke’s little mind would soon be concerned with ten more pressing questions and observations.
The day passed slowly and pleasantly. The bright afternoon sun cast interesting moving shadows on the floor, while the kids played roll the ball and sang songs. Zeke watched Miss Gracing’s complicated hand movements on the piano and thought;
“That looks impossible.”
Zeke’s mother was waiting at the gate, as promised, at 3:15. He scampered over to her with his now completed basket.
Before she could say anything about it, Zeke said; “You have to take me to the grocery store.”
“Why?”
“I want to get an apple for Miss Gracing.”
Mom complied with his wishes and he picked a large, but not the largest, Golden Delicious in the store. He liked its quality.
When she got home, Miss Gracing did not see her little furry friend, Simon and was concerned. She looked through the kitchen, opening and closing doors, looking behind the stove and anywhere else she could imagine as a cat hiding place. Her eyes focused on her favorite object, an art nouveau planter. Over a blue background, a young woman’s head sat predominately in a
black cameo, her long flowing blond hair escaping the circular encasement, where it intertwined with the green branches with red flowers. The inside of the planter held some dirt and dust, but no Simon.
She looked in the next room, calling out; “Simon,......
Simon,...... Simon.” with no success. Then she entered the third, seldom used room and saw him sprawled out on the window sill, oblivious to the world, enjoying the warmth of the strong sun. She ran over and rubbed his belly furiously, saying;
“Simon, Simon.” She picked him up, nuzzling her face against his belly, saying; “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
She gave him numerous head kisses and a gentle bite on the nose.
Simon was still groggy from his long nap and didn’t know quite what was going on. He thought; “I wish I knew what I did to get the special treatment. I’d do it every day.”
She carried him to the kitchen and put him on the linoleum floor. He rubbed against her legs as she stood at the counter, transferring his fish dinner from a sealed can to a dish. Miss Gracing removed her dress and shoes to take her usual catnap in the bed in the next room with her happy confused companion.
Perhaps it was due to the scare Simon had given her; perhaps it was due to the curious questions Zeke was asking; or perhaps it just happened to be scheduled in this time slot; Eloise
proceeded to have a dream that was not exactly new territory, but it covered one she preferred to go around.
“Salem Institute for the Criminally Insane” warned the black painted wood sign on the road. The ten foot light gray stucco over cinderblock walls did not increase how inviting the facility appeared. If one could get over their probable initial queasiness, there was a guard holding a rifle sitting behind the closed iron gate.
There was approximately one acre of lawn, devoid of trees, bushes, or anything else one could hide behind. Though the season wasn’t clear, the browned out short grass with bald patches suggested fall, winter, or poor maintenance. The facility itself also had a light gray stucco over each of its five stories, iron bars on all windows and culminated in a flat roof. A visible sloping roofline would have been an improvement, but its existence would have also indicated a too complete and tended feel for the solemn least cost structure.
The feel of the interior was consistent with its outside partner and evinced completely white cinderblock walls and plain white ceilings, barely set off by whitewashed oak thin planked floors. What little furniture, was domiciled, substantially benches and seats, seemed to be attached to the walls or floors with black iron bolts and chains.
Eloise was seated catty corner on one of the larger benches, which fortunately had a red cushion. Her single piece light gray institutional dress almost covered her naked splayed legs. The open top four uniform buttons showed flesh, which like her legs, looked as if they had never visited with any sun.
Her disheveled, slouching and unadorned appearance was only besmirched by smeared bright red lipstick below hard, knowing and laughing eyes.
Other inmates were more agitated. Some were on an important mission quickly walking somewhere, perhaps late for an appointment. Others were babbling to anyone they could get near and mostly to no one in particular about something of the utmost importance. Some were doing both and some sat on the floor, interchanging crying with angry yells.
The attendants seemed to be taking everything in stride, another typical work day. Eloise periodically tried to get their attention with a derisive laugh as she stared into their elusive eyes.
As there was nothing new or shocking going on Eloise was not jarred awake; rather she relaxed into the customary ambiance; perhaps enjoying her vantage point until her body and mind were refreshed from the nap. She then uneventfully fully woke up with a happy, furry cat huddled in her belly, who did not have the slightest intention of moving. She patted his head
gently and then more furiously, hoping it would induce him to get up of his own volition. When that didn’t work she picked him up by his belly, Simon doing his best to keep his weight to the ground. She put him to her side, stood up and walked to the kitchen. The light still streaming in jolted her back to full reality. She lost her sense of complacency as she recalled events that took place just prior to her dream.