Norma Ciel
The siren slipped into her dream-state first, then growing louder it drew her out across the hazy vail back into reality — her living room, her recliner. Norma didn’t remember falling asleep or what her dreams had been. Waking up was the only trace of the minutes that had passed her by. She sat up pushing herself forward with her arms to see if should could catch a glimpse of the ambulance wailing down her street. The news paper on her lap slipped onto the floor, one corner coming to rest on the magazine stack on the bottom shelf of her lamp stand.
I hope the ambulance isn’t for the Pruits, Norma thought instinctively. Walter and Alma Pruit had been their neighbors for fifty some years. Walt and Alma were good people. They lived in the green and white house kitty-corner of theirs. Alma was 7 months pregnant with their fourth, Gina, when Norma and Roy moved in. Norma was due any day with their first. It was hot that summer. Norma remembered those sweltering July afternoons. She’d gone into labor with Jim just two weeks after they moved in. Half of the boxes were still unpacked. Alma brought over dinner the day they’d come home from the hospital with Jim. She did the same thing when David and Charlotte came along too. Lasagna each time. It became a kind of tradition.
The siren faded into the distance. In the returning stillness Norma remembered the Pruits hadn’t lived next door in.. oh, it must be three years now. No… it has to be at least eight, because they were already in Florida that April when Roy died. She’d remembered the card they sent when Roy was in the hospital and how touched she’d been that they came all the way back up for the funeral, especially with Alma’s health the way it was.
Norma sat back in her chair. How could she have forgotten that Alma and Walt moved away? They’d talked for so long about buying a place in Florida that talking about it became like a hobby. It seemed like it would never happen. Then it did. Something had changed in them that morning they thought they’d lost Alma.
That day Norma had gone to the grocery store around 10:30am that morning. On her way home as she slowed to turn into the driveway, something caught the corner of her eye. Walt and Alma’s black Oldsmobile was parked in front of the garage like it usually was, but the driver’s door was open and something was hanging half way out of the car. Norma didn’t know what, but something was wrong. She parked the car in a hurry and crossed over to the Pruit’s driveway. Coming around the back of their car she saw what it was — Alma slumped head first out the car door. Her feet were stuck under the dash and her body slumped to the side at an awkward angle. Alma’s left arm was drooping lifelessly on the pavement, palm down. Norma could still see Alma’s wrinkled hand and her wedding band with the rectangular sapphire in a thin silver setting. That image, it was imprinted in her mind. Norma could never quite figure out, in all the confusion of that day, why it was this vision she could always see so vividly and had never forgotten.
The rest of that day was a blur. Somehow she’d found Walt in the back yard and they’d called 911… lights… sirens. Norma remembered driving the Pruit’s Oldsmobile up to the hospital so Walt would have a way to get home the next day. She stayed with him at the hospital until that evening when their kids began to arrive from out of town. Roy picked her up on his way home from work. When they got home they found the forgotten groceries in Norma’s car. The milk and cottage cheese had spoiled.
None of them recognize then how things changed that day. There wasn’t time or space to think about it that frantic day even if they had been able to see how things would change. Two months later Roy finally decided to retire. He never said it was because of Alma’s stroke, and maybe he didn’t even know it himself. But Norma always wondered if Alma’s sudden brush with death shook something awake in Roy. They all suddenly realized they weren’t young anymore.
Norma leaned forward in her recliner again. She used to be able to see the hunter green wood siding and the faded white trim of the Pruit’s front porch from her chair. But now the juniper bush had grown up so much she couldn’t see much of anything out her front window on that side. She still got some sun from the south windows for her house plants, and she could see a little way down the street. The big cottonwoods stretched their branches over the road from both sides. In some places now the grass didn’t grow as thick and green as it used to before the trees grew up and took all the sunlight. The thinning grass in the front and the completely dirt and pine needle tracts on either side of her house didn’t bother Norma really. Roy had always taken care of the yard. That was his domain. It didn’t come into her thinking, even after he passed away. The boys, however, had thought of it and hired a company to take care of the ever-shrinking lawn. A young man came every Thursday usually around 9am and cut the grass, unless it was rainy then sometimes it was Friday, or even Saturday. No, she didn’t worry about the grass. It was that growth, the stiff, lichen-like growth creeping along their concrete steps in the front of the house that bothered her. It had become an intimate irritation, glaring up at her from the shadowed cement while she rested climbing the stairs. The stairs she’d hardly noticed in her younger years had grown to become like mountains to be scaled. This past Tuesday when the bus brought her back from bingo at the senior center, she’d glared at it between exertions for a full five minutes. That lichen slowly grew on the stoop and into her mind. It was always there to greet her when she came and went, and she never failed to respond, always with a scowl.
Oh yes, we spend lots of time together these days don’t we — you pale blue-green growth?
She knew it was also growing all up the north side of the house too, but at least she didn’t have to look at it.
I bet they don’t have lichen in Florida. Too much sun. And they don’t have winter either. Always summer, never winter!
Norma disliked winter more and more each year. With the ice and snow every foot step became treacherous and the summit to her front door could spell disaster at any moment.
No winter. Must be nice.
She envisioned Walt and Alma carelessly strolling down a sunny street without so much as glancing down at where their next step would land. A pang of jealousy bit Norma for a moment then subsided.
They’re not walking down any streets, sunny or otherwise. You know that.
Rapidly declining health had forced them to sell their condo and move into a nursing home. Norma seemed to recall something about Alma needing to use a wheelchair all the time now. What a shame. All that beautiful sun and they could do nothing more than look at it through some window in a dingy care facility.
The boys better not ever send me to one of those places. Count your blessings. At least you still have your home.
Norma looked her whole living room up and down. It was tidy and familiar. Nothing to write home about. But it was comfortable and it was home. She began to see it anew through the eyes of thankfulness. The matted carpet and dated furniture radiated a profound goodness she hadn’t perceived the moment before. No one else could have seen that living room the way she did in that moment.
A stiff spring wind was blowing billows of October clouds in quick succession across the sun. The room dimmed and brightened around her in a quickly alternating pattern. Dim, bright, dim bright, dim — ticking away the afternoon. This place which her body had inhabited for fifty years now occupied her mind. In her thoughts she moved from room to room, lingering in each one, seeing it not only as it was now but also its memories — what it had been. Remembering the life that had been lived out in these rooms brought them once again to life in her mind. The birthday parties that had taken place around the dinning room table and then spilled out into the yard or the living room as the newly unwrapped presents were assembled and tried out. Norma could still envision, like snapshots, the kid’s grinning behind birthday cakes full of candles. Moving in her remembrance into the kitchen she heard the familiar sequence of sounds of Roy coming home from work — the low rumble of the car in the driveway, the hum of the engine cut off, the car door clapping shut, a moment of quiet then the side door creaking open and foots steps up the three steps into the kitchen and the soft clink of him setting his brief case on the linoleum floor. She could feel Roy come up behind her as she was working at the sink or the stove and wrap his arms about her waist and put his cheek beside hers. “Hi honey, I’m home,” he would say. “How was your day?” She could feel his smile on her cheek. It has happened that way a thousand times and all the times were wrapped up and contained in each time. Her mind moved through the house to their bedroom, the bathroom, and back into the living room, and then to… She opened her eyes.
The stairs.
She hadn’t left her chair, but the stairs had arrested her even in her mind — the stairs to the second floor of the house. She’d looked at them across from her chair everyday since the boys had gotten her the new flatscreen TV and rearranged the living room to make it fit. But somehow the stairs had grown invisible to her now. And everything beyond them, above them was a blank.
How long’s it been since you’ve been up there?
Her mind paused a moment and then her memory climb to the top of the stairs. The second floor consisted of a carpeted hallway with a bedroom on either end and a small half bath in the middle across from the linen closet. The bedroom at the top of the stairs had been converted to Roy’s “office” after the boys moved away. Norma could picture it as it had been: the beige three-drawer filing cabinet in the corner, the bottom drawer partially sticking out bulging with rumpled files because it never shut right. Decades of National Geographic magazines stacked on the floor of the half-opened closest. Above the magazine collection hung a couple of Roy’s old suits, the shoulders of which had gathered enough dust to make them several shades lighter than the rest of the suit. And she could see Roy sitting at the computer desk squinting toward the screen with his glasses up on his forehead looking at emails with pictures of the grandkids. The computer desk was a mess of papers and “computer” books. The only surface in the whole room that was consistently kept clear was the printer. Roy would print out emails from his cousins to read to Norma or print addresses on envelopes for mail he was sending out. After David had showed him how to print them, Roy never hand-wrote another address on a letter. It took him twice as long as witting them by hand, but Roy always had a satisfied expression on his face as he inspected the neatly printed finished product.
A moment of panic struck Norma. Was that mess still there cluttering the desk and the whole office? Even the printer, having fallen silent since Roy’s death, would be thick with dust.
Alarming images of cobwebs, pigeon holes stuffed with unanswered mail, shelves of sagging papers, and piles of disheveled books filled her mind.
Unpaid bills! Were there bills up there collecting dust and late fees? The late fees will cost a fortune after all this time!
Upset Norma pushed herself up out of her chair shaking as she stood.
No, there can’t be any missed bills up there. It’s been too long. The collection calls would have come long ago or her service would have been cancelled by now.
She subsided. But as the shock of possible financial delinquency slowly faded another idea grew up to take its place — mold.
Suddenly Norma heard the familiar diesel rumble of the bus on the street out front.
2 o’clock already?
It was her weekly senior bus ride to her beauty operator. She had a standing appointment at Sandy’s Hair Care every Friday at 2:30pm. Like clockwork, Norma was there, come hell or high water. The last time she missed was last year, the week after Thanksgiving when she was in the hospital with pneumonia. They let her go home the following Thursday afternoon and at 1:55pm the next day, purse on her arm, boots on her feet, Norma was standing on her front stoop waiting for the bus to take her to get her hair done. After missing a week she wouldn’t feel back to normal until Sandy had her done up once again.
Norma glanced at the clock.
1:52pm. He’s early! I’m not ready.
But it didn’t matter because she wasn’t going. She struggled out of her chair, pausing for a second once she was up to get her balance. She had to wait for “all her old pieces to agree on which way they were going” before shuffling in a prolonged rush toward the front door. She pushed the storm door open hanging on to it tightly in one hand to steady herself and waved the bus driver on with the other hand. It was that young fellow. She could never remember his name — Zach… Justin… something. She liked him. He was always cheerful and friendly, and he didn’t gripe all the time like the older gentlemen. And he always walked her to the door. If only he didn’t drive so fast!
He started to climb out of the driver’s seat when he saw her at the door, but she waved him on again and tried to call out “I’m not going today” but she was out of breath. She waved him on a third time and backed quickly into the house and shut the door, hoping he would understand and not wait for her.
Once back in her recliner Norma clutched the phone from off the lamp stand and quickly dialed the number labeled “Bus” on the piece of paper taped on the handset. She was thankful it rang several times before they answered so she could catch her breath.
“Oakwood Transportation this is Cindy, how can I help you?”
“The bus is here to pick me up, but I’m not going.”
“Ok. Who is this?”
“Oh I’m sorry. Norma Ciel.”
“Hi Norma, ok we’ll cancel your ride for today.”
“Thank you.”
Norma hung up and dialed Sandy’s number. The machine picked up.
“Sandy’s Hair Care, I’m either busy styling or gabbing. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”
*Beep*
“Hi Sandy, it’s Norma. I can’t make it today. Sorry. Have a nice day.”
Norma heard the bus rumble off. Quiet returned but she wasn’t still.
What was up there? Had they cleaned it out after Roy died? Norma tried to remember. She played back through those blurry days — the funeral arrangements, the visits, the cards, the calls, and the meals, the boys stopping by and calling to ask how she was doing, then the quiet. Yes, she remembered now: the pile of trash bags sitting by the curb waiting to be hauled away. After the boys went home, she’d watched the pile for three days until trash day came and the garbage men hauled it all away. They’d moved the essential things down to the credenza to make it easier for her. She remember that now. Roy’s office must be clean she knew but she still couldn’t see it. What was it like right now, just feet above her. She searched her mind. She couldn’t see it. There was nothing. Blank. Empty. She realized she was closing her eyes tightly. She opened them and sat back in her chair but the blankness was growing now. The office above her was no longer the way she remembered it had been. And if the office had changed, what about the bathroom, the linen closet, the room at the other end of the hall? Her visions of what the rooms had been faded. Blank. What were they now, just beyond those stairs?
I’ve lived in this house fifty years. I know it like the back of my hand.
She climbed the stairs in her mind again. Nothing.
The blankness and the mystery of the forgotten upstairs hung over her head. It completely filled her now.
What if someone’s been living up there? All this time, sneaking and spying. They could slide one of the windows open and climb in through from the old boxelder in the back yard. The back window lock had never latched properly. What if the glass was broken and squirrels and birds and all kinds of things were making nests and messes all over the rooms! Norma, you know that’s nonsense. You’d be able to hear it. No, it must be neat and tidy. Frozen in time. Like a memorial. Like a photo album you could walk into — full of memories and time.
Suddenly she ached to be there in those rooms to smell them and touch the carpets, to see the light shining through the windows. The ache was deep inside her, deeper and stronger than the stiffness in her joints. She got up. She stared over at the cutout in the ceiling where the stairway went up into the second floor. It seemed like a gapping a hole. If you flipped it over you could fall into like a pit and get stuck, perhaps forever. She shuffled over to the bottom of the stairs. She could see the autumn light through the window on the landing.
Well at least that window isn’t broken. No squirrels are getting in through there.
She lifted her left leg up — that was her “good” knee — and slid her foot onto the top of the carpeted step. She strained forward to grab the railings and pulled her body wait up with her forearms. Her right leg slid in place on the first step next to the other. She paused a moment then repeated the process. Another success.
Not so bad.
By the time she reached the landing her arms were shaking from the strain and she could barely keep them steady enough to keep the shaking from overpowering her weak grip on the rails. She was doubled over trying to catch her breath, no longer confident she was going to make it. She lifted her left leg again but couldn’t quite get it high enough to get above the stair. Her shoe caught the lip of the step. Norma steadied herself as best she could then let go of the rail with her left hand and lowered it to pull up on her pant leg. It gave her knee enough of a boost to get the foot planted on the next step, but as she reached back up to grab the rail again, she lost her balance and tilted backward. Panic swept through her body.
You’re gonna break your neck. Her vision went black. She blindly clutched for the rail and miraculously gripped it with enough strength to keep herself upright. But as she pulled herself forward her left foot slid back and off the sept and she pitched forward. She landed face first with her chin resting on one stair and her forehead on the next, her nose and mouth in the right angle between the run and the rise of the step. Her head had hit pretty hard and was throbbing. All of her was throbbing. She lay there for a long time, staring at the carpet inches from her face. She began to cry. From pain or from fear she wasn’t sure.
No one would find her. It was the weekend. The bus wouldn’t come back until Tuesday. Four days. She’d be sprawled out on these steps four days before anyone would know it.
Can you go four days without eating, drinking, without your pills? Who will notice something is wrong first — the mail lady, the bus driver, the paper boy?
Norma lay there without moving for a long time, the only thing moving were the small tears moving slowly down her cheeks onto her chin. She envision a pile of soggy papers rolled in rubber bands in a heap on her front stoop, day after day after day, all the while she would lie here.
At least the lichen will be covered up. Till they clean everything out and all your things are piled up on the curb for the garbage man to haul away.
Slowly she turned her head to the side and shifted her body sideways and looked up. The office door was open. She could see the ceiling and the corner of the old filing cabinet. It was clean on the top, no piles of files or magazines. She realized she was only a couple of steps from the top.
You’ll never be able stand back up, but maybe you can scooch your way up.
The presence of hope brought some strength back to her. She began to squirm and kick. Somehow she made it up two steps. Only two to go. But she was exhausted and sore and gasping for breath. She rested her head face down on the steps again, her face in the crook of the steps once again. She could feel the warmth of her head and her breath fill that small space. She remembered burying her face in the stairs just like this as a child and counting to ten when she played hide-and-seek.
Seven-eight-nine-ten! Here I come.
She lay still on the stairs, the last pools of hope draining away.
You’ve got ten more pushes in you. If you make it, you make it.
She pushed once again and inched herself up. Two, three, four. She wasn’t moving much now. Five… six… seven… eight…
Once more, then once again. She pushed and pulled and to her surprised she got her body above the waist on to the hallway floor. She rested a long time then rolled onto her side, sighed, and opened her eyes. She was looking down the hall into the room at the far end. The sunlight was streaming through the window catching the dust in the air like swirling stars. She saw it then: Lottie’s room, the room at the end of the hall. Their daughter Charlotte’s room. Her twin bed on its cast iron frame jutting out from the wall toward the open door. The cream colored comforter with the delicate chicory floral pattern hung down neatly over the foot of the bed.
Lottie…
It was August 11th, 4:38pm, when she heard the life-halting news. She always remembered the time. The black lines against the green background of the digital clock on their brand new microwave oven were imprinted permanently in her mind.
“Mrs. Ciel, I’m so sorry. Lottie’s gone.”
Gone? Where? How?
Drowned, they assumed. She and boys had been swimming down at Pott’s lake. One moment she was playing out in the water. The boys turned around and the next she was gone. Gone.
Gone! How could she just be gone? Just disappear at twelve years old?
When they found Lottie’s body the next morning, it was a comfort and a terror. The insanity creeping in at the edges was swept away in fierce inescapable grief. She hadn’t just vanished. It wasn’t a mirage or a horrible bad dream. Her body was there in the casket. But she was gone. Their youngest, Charlotte, their only girl was laid to rest.
The next two years were blurry and cold, like a damp foggy October morning—aching and darkness.
When summer finally came again, the the light and warmth caught up with Norma as though she was someone else, already in motion, just awaiting life to come and fill her. Then life went on. They always celebrated Lottie’s life on her birthday, September 22nd, with hugs and tears and joy filled stories of memories. Every August 11th was also marked, but with silence. Everyone moved more slowly about the house in a hushed manner as though trying not to disturb each other or the long buried pain. At supper Roy or one of the boys would deliberately start talking about something superficial to avoid the “subject,” and in such obvious avoidance they told each other they knew exactly what each was thinking without having to speak about it. It acknowledged there was a kind of knowing that was beyond speaking.
Looking down the hallway Norma saw twelve year old Lottie tucked in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, her straight light brown hair lying lightly on the pillow. So peaceful, so young, as she would always be. Frozen, as if, in time by her death. They had all grown old — the boys, Roy, the Pruits, Norma — but Charlotte had not.
Oh Lottie, who would you have been? What woman? She would have been in her forties by now, lines of grey in her hair and wrinkles showing under her eyes.
Norma rolled her body the rest of the way onto her back, dragging her legs up the stairway with the help of her rotating body. She no long felt the pain in her body. Lying fully on her back now parallel to the length of the hallway, she looked down over her body and past her feet. From that perspective she could see into the office but just a narrow slit formed by the open door. A calendar hung on the wall, a stripe of sun shining on it from the window. The month showing on the calendar was May. The grandkids had made it for her as a Christmas present that year — their last Christmas with Grandpa. They had put different family pictures for each month. May’s had their anniversary picture in the middle with smaller photos of all the grandkids around the edge.
***
Norma’s body was found on Sunday — a friend stopped by after church to drop off the fern Norma had bought for the junior high band fundraiser. When no one answered she called the police. They found Norma lying on her back in the upstairs hallway, arms calmly at her side, her eyes open looking straight ahead.
