CHAPTER EIGHT

Home Again

By Miz J

IT'S LATE, AND SANDY IS EXHAUSTED. THE FOOD, set out in an appetizing buffet style in the dining room, has grown cold and congealed.

The TV moans softly and Sandy awakens on the couch, wipes a little spit from the corner of her mouth, and gently nudges Kathleen out of her warm couch cocoon and into her bed. Emily stirs. "Shh," Sandy tells her. "Go back to sleep. I’ll put you in bed in a minute."

Whirr, ka-chunk. Whirr, ka-chunk. The oxygen machine is still going strong, and, in a way, so is Anthony. He's sleeping somewhat peacefully, with an occasional gasp letting forth from his embattled torso. Sandy peeks in to make sure his chest is still rising and falling. She exhales deeply, reassured for the moment, and heads down to retrieve Emily.

I watch him sleep for a moment, and then he opens his eyes, as if he knows I'm there, lurking in the quiet, waiting and watching. He can't say much, but I know what he's thinking: Is it time?

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May 03, 2009

CHAPTER SIX

Over The Fence

By Miz J

AT THE VET'S OFFICE ON CLYBOURN AVENUE, BETH WAS WONDERING if this guy might have been sent her way by me. Again, if I could be there to tell her so, I'd set the record straight: sometimes fate intervenes, and sometimes fate just minds her own damn business. This is one of those times where fate is just not getting herself involved in the mess Beth's about to create for herself. I guess that's why I'm here right now.

The cat, a tangled mess of orange fur, bloody paws and feisty energy, growled on the metal table as Mrs. Olson stood watch, glaring at Beth. "I don't even understand what you were doing on our block again," she snarled at Beth. "Once your parents left, I thought that would be the last I'd have to deal with you!"

"Yeah, well, think again, lady. I guess I was put here on this Earth just to piss you off." Greg snickers.

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April 12, 2009

CHAPTER FIVE

What We Don't Know

By Miz J

INSIDE TWO ELEVENT, THE CHILDREN ARE GOING CRAZY.

"Mrs. Olson's a meanie!" they screech, bouncing on the couch. Outside, down the street a little way, Mrs. Olson's arms are flailing and Ella can faintly hear the sound of one neighbor berating another. This is the least friendly street she's ever lived on and she misses the hell out of New York. The quiet streets upstate could have been the perfect setting for raising Brittany and Brian, and now look at them. Hyperactive, sometimes insane. Are these even my kids? she wonders sometimes.

Ella turns her attention back to the dimly lit Campbell Street, wondering who is going to take Mrs. Olson to the vet center with that damned cat.

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April 05, 2009

CHAPTER FOUR

Something In The Way

By Miz J

BOBBY IS CHANGING OUT OF HIS OIL-STAINED DICKIES AND into some jeans when the phone rings.

"Cyn? Honey? Can you get that?" he calls down the hallway to my always-frazzled daughter-in-law.

There's a mess of dishes in the kitchen, the baby is covered in strained carrots, and Cynthia is fielding questions from Debbie about… well, everything. Deb's at that age now. Kindergarten. Why, why, why, she's constantly asking.

"Deb, honey, now is not the time. Let's talk about this later, okay? Can you wipe your brother's face while I get the phone?"

I see Deb give her mother a little sideways glance and I think, "Better nip that in the bud."

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March 29, 2009

CHAPTER THREE

No Place Like Home

By Miz J

BETH IS DRIVING DOWN THE HIGHWAY, and detours off near Western Ave., by our old house. There's something about this house that keeps all of us coming back from time to time, perhaps just the fact that, at one glorious moment, all five of us lived there, together and happy.

But time marches on -- with or without us. Beth turns up the radio a little and I watch her cry from inside her car. That damn cat -- it's still alive after all this time -- peers at her menacingly from across the street.

"Stupid fucking cat," Beth says bitterly. I’ve never known her to be so angry. Tonight, there's something different about my youngest daughter. As she puts the car into gear, I see the cat's hind legs spring up in anticipation. It's going to pounce in front of her.

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March 22, 2009

CHAPTER TWO

Things With Meaning

By Miz J

THE LAST OF MY THINGS ARE WITH SANDY, AND she is sitting on the bed with my beautiful little granddaughters, showing them my watch and my wedding ring. I can smell the perfume in the air and hear the clunk-clunk of too-big shoes on the floor. The girls are playing dress up again.

"Someday, Emily, you can wear this watch. It was your Nana's favorite." Emily bends sideways across her mother's lap to take a look. "It's very old, sweetie. Be careful." A short, pudgy finger strokes the watch face for a second. "Can we go play Princess for a while, Mom?" she asks.

Sandy chokes back tears when she hears this. Emily doesn't understand what her mother is feeling -- she's only four, after all. "Yes, go play Princess." Emily bounds out of the room with her sister Kathleen wobbling behind her. My Sandy. Such a good girl, and so strong! I am glad that Anthony is here, with her.

"Dad? Hi, Dad." I hear Sandy's voice as she wanders into his room and sits down on the bed, raising her father up with the remote. He grunts in response, trying to tell her about the dreams he's been having about me. He's just too weak today, though. Maybe tomorrow, he thinks, but I know better. That's why I'm at Sandy's today, and not nosing through my children's business or snooping on our old house like I normally do.

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March 14, 2009

CHAPTER ONE

All Is Quiet Here

By Miz J

YOU SHOULD HEAR THE WAY THESE PEOPLE SAY the address. "Two-one-one North Campbell. That's right, two-one-one." They must be from the East Coast or some place, because they don't have that Chi-caa-go accent. Their voices are pinched somehow.

All this family does is run around—soccer practice, band rehearsal, tap-dancing class and PTO meetings. Meanwhile, things stay quiet in the street. Garbage cans stay on the curb. Mrs. Olson's cat crawls along the yard undeterred. The neighbors all stay tucked cozily away in their cavernous living rooms, staring into their flat screen TVs.

And then there's Two Eleven, sitting, waiting, in need of some repairs and a family to love it instead of driving past it, pretending it's not theirs. Pretending the situation isn’t as dire as it is. Pretending they belong on this otherwise picturesque street. At least we knew the score. We were here first, before the Whole Foods, the mall, the movie theater, and we wanted so much to stay and keep the neighborhood somewhat as it was.

We had good intentions, despite the messes piling up in the den and Anthony's increasing inability to climb the stairs. Picking up the tipped-over trash outside just wasn't possible -- if only our new, Starbucks-guzzling neighbors understood, or at least reached out to see if they could help. But, before we knew it, the neighborhood had changed and left us behind.

The dog went first. When he attacked Mrs. Olson's cat, we knew it was the beginning of the end. The day they made us put Smokey down was one of the saddest in my life.

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