Aunt Clara Part Nine

Yvonne asked me if she could borrow the photograph of Jack and Don, the one where they look like dandies in the Depression. I said, "Sure, but why?". She said, "Well, I think I'd like to do a painting of them. It's a cool picture." "Okay", I replied, "I think that's a fine idea. Paint away!"

      "Oh yeah", she said, "I meant to ask you...how did Uncle Don and Uncle Jack... uh...die? Do you know, Papa?" "Yes... well, I think so anyway", I said, "Uh, as far as I know, Uncle Don had a heart attack and died a few days later with his family around him and , uhmm, well, Jack was killed on the beach in New Jersey. Stabbed to death. By the mob. At least that's how the story goes. He'd gone up there on some kind of business that had to with the speakeasy. He'd gotten into debt. Gambling, I think. Anyway, the police found his body on the beach, a knife in his back. They called Aunt Clara and she had him shipped back to West Virginia. That's where he was buried. In Point Pleasant, West Virginia." "Wow!", exclaimed Yvonne, "That's wild!" "Yes", I said, "It is, isn't it."

      It was one p.m., closing time on Saturday,  and Yvonne and I were both excited and a little nervous about the coming poker game with Uncle Jack. Not the game itself, but just meeting and being with him and Aunt Clara. "I hope he shows up", Yvonne said. "Oh, I believe he will", I said. Then Yvonne whispered, "Papa, I've been studying up a little on poker, online. It doesn't really look all that hard to play." "Oh, it isn't, but Jack is a pro so don't get any big ideas about beating him just because you won a game of rummy with me and Aunt Clara." "No", she said, "I just don't want to seem like a complete dummy." "Don't worry, darlin', you're no dummy and Jack knows it or he wouldn't want to meet you." Then Yvonne said, "Listen Pop, if he's so good, a pro as you say, then why did he get into such hot water with the mob?" "Good question", I said. "I never really thought of that. Hmm... can't win 'em all, I guess." Yvonne kind of rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah... right."

      We closed up shop and went our separate ways agreeing to meet in the parking lot across the street. "What time?", Yvonne asked. "I guess about dark", I replied. "Okay", she said. Then her cellphone buzzed. She looked at the screen. "It's Uncle Jack", she whispered, "I hope he's not cancelling." "Answer it, sweetie", I said. She pushed a button to take the call. Then she pushed that button that turns on the speaker. "Hello... Uncle Jack?"" Hello yourself, Yvonne. How did you know it was me?" "Well, you know, your name was on the screen." She laughed a little. "It is a cellphone, you know... a cellphone? One of those new fangled contraptions we talk on nowadays?" "Right", he said. "I forgot. Don't get smart young lady. This is your Great, Great Uncle Jack talkin' to ya here. Jack's my name and gambling's my game! I just wanted to let you know I'm running a little late. I'm always late! Late? Get it? Late... as in... dead? It's a joke, girl. A joke!" Yvonne laughed out loud. "Yeah, I get it, I get it." Then Jack said, "Listen, I'll be at the shoeshop at midnight. That okay with you and your dad? By the way, how is your old man, your dad I mean?" "Oh, he's fine. Want to talk to him?" "No, not really, " said Uncle Jack. I'll see you both tonight. Midnight. Get ready to learn how to play poker and how to lose at the game! Later, young lady. I gotta go now. Goodbye!" He hung up before Yvonne had a chance to reply. "Holy smoke, what a character", she said, " I can't wait to meet him in person." "Me too, " I said, "... I think."

Aunt Clara, Part Eight

    Jack's half brother, Don, was handsome, but not as handsome as Great
Uncle Jack. Don was tall, over six feet, and a good deal rounder than
Jack.They both wore mustaches, Don's being longer and wilder while Jack's
lay shorter and neatly trimmed.  True, Uncle Don's mustache was wilder, but
Jack was the wilder man.
    It was okay with Don to just be more or less "normal". He liked
spending much of his time being a conductor on the train, supporting his
wife and children, going to the little Baptist church on Sunday mornings,
and dabbling on Wallstreet. He didn't call it gambling. Few did. He called
it investing.
    Nineteen-seventeen was a big year. America entered the "war to end all
wars" and, in nineteen-eighteen, the Kaiser gave up and the whole thing was
over. My grandpa came home and married my grandmother. Uncle Don got a job
on the B&O Railroad along with his younger half brother, Jack.
    No one hired "handicaps" back then, but Aunt Clara got a job, too. As
a telephone operator. They put a switchboad in her house and there it
stayed for the next forty-five years. I told you this before and I repeat
myself now, but only to refresh your memory. And mine. Remember there was
alot of striking going on in America at the time. That's how Aunt Clara got
the job. The phone company, later to become Bell Systems, put that
switchboard in her living-room, swiftly and surreptitiously, in the middle
of the night. Our hometown banker, Mr. Murray Thompson, was going to have a
telephone, strike or no strike, so Miss Clara went to work and no one, not
the banker, not the doctor or the lawyer, or the folks who just liked to
gossip, was the worse for wear. Just a few years later, when Prohibition
kicked in, Jack's speakeasy would also need a telephone.
    So World War 1 ended, Prohibition began, and the Roaring Twenties
roared. While much of Europe staggered and squirmed in its poverty, trying

to awaken from a nightmare, America staggered for a different reason. It dreamed

happier dreams of wealth and kicked up its heels and danced to the rhythm of

that new musical sensation called "Jazz".

Aunt Clara Part Seven

We were too hungry and tired to talk much as we ate biscuits and gravy, but we were both thinking and smiling alot. As we drove towards Yvonne's apartment I was thinking, I'm not alone here. I'm not the only one who's seen Aunt Clara! Yvonne's seen her too.

We pulled in front of her apartment and, as she was getting out of the car, Yvonne said, "Papa, why does Uncle Jack want to come to the shop, but Uncle Don doesn't?"

"Well," I said, I don't think it's that Don doesn't want to, but that he's afraid to, and Jack isn't. Jack was always the one to take big chances from what I was told growing up."

"Hmm," she said, "Okay Pop. Love you. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? You get some rest and I'll see you at work." 

"Alright, darlin'. Love you too" I replied.

I drove home and slept like a log. Or a dog. Anyway, I slept. I hadn't slept well lately. Just too much on my mind. Work, bills, Aunt Clara. Mostly Aunt Clara. Now that I knew it was real I could breathe a little easier and enjoy the whole  thing. Not by myself, but with my daughter. Over the next few days we worked as usual. Fixing shoes, boots, belts, handbags and any number of other things. Yvonne did some "tweeting" on our shop Twitter account, noting that we've been busy as ever. We shot another funny video for YouTube, too. In this one I hit my thumb with a shoe hammer. It's hilarious. I cringe and cry in my best Charlie Chaplin style. So far, it's gotten seventeen likes and only one dislike. Some folks just can't find the humor in pain, I guess. 

In between all the repair work, phone calls, and waiting on customers at the front counter, Yvonne also rummaged through hundreds and hundreds of photographs. Boxes and bags of pictures from through the years. My Mom and brothers. Great Grandma Thomas and Pa Thomas, the Civil War veteran. Cousins whose names I didn't know. Grandpa Mack, the artist and preacher of the Gospel. Not many photographs of him, and even fewer of Uncle Don. Fewer still, of Uncle Jack. As a matter of fact Yvonne only found two pictures of him. One was Jack wearing a white apron and a white chef's hat. He was a cook on the B & O Railroad where his half brother, Don, was an engineer. In the other picture of jack he is wearing what appears to be a silk suit. He is also wearing a fine derby and sporting a pearl handled cane. He was a dandy in the middle of the Great Depression. "How?" You may ask. Well...he was also the owner of a speakeasy. An illegal but profitable bar and gambling house. 

Aunt Clara Part Six

It was almost daylight by the time Yvonne finally won the game of rummy. We were all yawning and I was really glad it was Sunday morning. I didn't have to open the shoe shop. Announcing that she was hungry, Yvonne stood up, threw her arms back, and yawned and smiled at the same time. Aunt Clara looked at her and said, "Come give me a hug, then you and your papa stop and get a bite to eat. Then you go home and rest. It's been a long night, huh? Long, and fun!"

Bzzzzz, bzzzzz, bzzzzz. It was Yvonne's cell phone. If I call Yvonne's cell a song plays, it's Alberta Hunter singing "My Castle's Rockin". If my wife Teresa calls Yvonne a voice says "Mom". But if it's an unknown caller, there is a buzzing sound. She looked at the screen on her phone and gave a quizzical look. "Hmm," she said, "It's only three numbers, hmm."

"What are they?" Aunt Clara asked. Bzzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz. Yvonne said, "Three, four, six." Grinning just a little, Aunt Clara said, "Well, it's my half-brother Jack. Go ahead and answer it, but push the speaker button...please."

Yvonne answered, "Hello?" A voice, my Great Uncle Jack, said, "Hello yourself there, young lady. This is your late, great, and I mean really great, Uncle Jack. Jack is the name, gamblin's my game."

"Well," Yvonne said, "How did you get my number? How do you know it?"

"What do you mean how did I get your number?! I've got your number young lady! How do I know it?! Ha ha ha ha ha. I'm dead! Hell, I know everything! Everything I need to know, anyway! So there!"

Yvonne said, "Okay...so...why did you call me instead of Aunt Clara?"

"Because I could!" Jack said, rather loudly. "I talk to Clara all the time. She said you're interesting so I just thought I'd give you a ring...okay?!"

"Alright," Yvonne replied. She was smiling, and Aunt Clara was grinning. 

There was a long pause. Then the voice of Great, great uncle Jack Thomas. "You play poker?" 

"Well, no, but..."

"Well!" said Jack, "You wanna learn how? I can show you!"

Yvonne replied with enthusiasm, "Sure!"

"Okay," Jack said, "But I'm not gonna teach you too good you know. I don't want you beating me like you did Clara and your dad! We'll play penny ante, see, with a one dollar pot limit. I don't want to take all your money! Just most of it! Now, let me talk to your Aunt Clara, okay? ...Please? Good night young lady!" Yvonne handed her cell phone to Aunt Clara, who promptly turned the speaker off. She put the phone to her ear. "Hello Jack." Then a pause. "Yes," she said, "I think that's fine. You're taking a chance, you know, but it's fine with me." Another pause. "Yes, you're right, life is full of chances and sometimes we've got to take them. Yes Jack, I know, Jack's your name and gambling's your game. Yes...I love you too, Jack, and we'll see you here next Saturday night. Okay, see you then."

Aunt Clara pushed a button on the phone and handed it back to Yvonne saying, "I love these cell phones." She spun in her amazing wheelchair and began moving away, towards the other side of the room. "Good night...or good morning...whatever it is. Love you both..." Her voice becoming fainter now, "See you here next Saturday night." The chair reached the far wall and slowly spun around, facing Yvonne and I. It was empty now as we stood gazing and smiling. We walked out the back door of the shoe shop through the alley and across the street to the car. Yvonne said sleepily, "Mmm, biscuits and gravy sounds real good to me." "Me too," I replied. 

A Normal Conversation

      It was a rainy day I was slipping down the street     

      Goin' down to Mack's to get me somthin' to eat

      By the time I got there my appetite was dead

       I decided what the heck I'll get a beer instead

       I took a big swig and lit a cigarette

       Me and the waitress started chewin' the fat

       Just a normal conversation, everybody knows

       It's, "Whatcha up to? How's it goin'?" That's the way it goes

       "Workin' some, playin' some, same ol' thing I guess"

      Ya shake your head, shrug your shoulders, and get it off your chest

       Well, I knew it was too early but I ordered up another beer

        Put a dollar in jukebox, said, "Whatcha wanna hear?"

        "Oh, it don't matter, play anything at all

       except 145... it drives me up the wall

        And don't play Eminem or any rap stuff

        And don't play Conway Twitty, I've heard that thing enough

        218's alright if ya like that sort of thing

        I think Dylan's pretty good myself...if he'd just learn how to sing"

        Well, I played Knockin' On Heaven's Door

        And somthin' by the Stones I'd heard a thousand times before

        Then the regular lunch crowd started driftin' in the place

        Meat and two vegetables at six bucks a plate

         I sat back down on my stool and ordered up one more

         It was about this time an old best friend of mine wandered in the door

         I wouldn't have recognized him 'cept for the tattoo on his arm

         but I didn't act surprized or show any kind of alarm

         It was plain to see he didn't know me, though I didn't think I'd changed much at all

         His eyes were cloudy 'n he couldn't see straight thru the maze of alcohol

         His shirt was all dirty and ripped up the side

         His barn door was open 'n his shoes were untied

         Well, he walked over 'n sat on the stool next to mine, lookin' the other way

          I wanted to say somthin' to him, but I didn't know what to say

          He ordered up a burger and a beer

          Then our eyes happened to meet in the reflection in the mirror

          He turned to me kinda slow, stuck out a shakin' hand

          He said, "Hey, it's been a long time, how ya doin' man?

          Ya know I knew ya when I first came in the door   

          I didn't think ya knew me or I'd've shook your hand before"

          Then he said, "What brings you back to this Godforsaken town?"

          I said, "Oh, I'm goin' up to West Virginia, just dropped by to have a look around"

         He said, "Man, there ain't nothin' left here for anybody to see

          I been here the past twenty years 'n take a look at me"

          Then there was a moment of silence...seemed like an eternity

          when I had nothin' more to say to him 'n he had nothin' more to say to me

          Well, I called the waitress over 'n ordered us up another beer

          Slipped him a dollar for the jukebox...he said, "Whatcha wanna hear?"

          I said, "Oh, it don't matter, play anything at all

          except 145, cause it drives her up the wall

          And don't play Eminem or any rap stuff

          And no Conway Twitty...she's heard that thing enough

          218's alright if ya like that sort of thing

          I think Dylan's pretty good myself, if he'd just learn how to sing"

         Yeah, it was just a normal conversation everybody knows

          Whatcha up to? How's it goin'? That's the way it goes

          Workin' some, playin' some, same ol' thing I guess

          Ya shake your head, shrug your shoulders....'n get it off your chest.

Les...For Short

Hi folks, we're taking a little break from the Aunt Clara stories for St. Patty's Day. Enjoy!

I've come to sing ya an Irish song you've never heard before

and if yer lucky yer chances are you'll never hear no more!

I picked it up in Dublin Town from a Leprechaun i met

Whilst I was chasin' butterflies he fell into my net

Oh, I let him go though, straight away, for he was a friendly sport

He said, "My name is Leslie O'Connery...they call me Les...fer short!"

Well, I could scarse believe my eyes, he wasn't one foot big

as he tipped his hat and twirled his cane and danced an Irish jig

And he says to me, "What be yer name? 'n don't gimme no balarney!"

Well, I puffed me chest and told him proud, "My name is Duffy Shoney!"

He turned a flip 'n give a "hoot!" 'n says, "You don't look the Irish sort!!"

I says "Just the same, it's still me name...they call me Duff...fer short!"

Well, he lit his pipe 'n took a puff 'n blew a smokering in the breeze

'n says to me, "My good friend, Duff, I owe ya one good wish!

Ya coulda kept me in yer net 'n never set me free

'N I feel as if I'm in yer debt, so what's yer fancy be?

I'm an Irishman of my good word, of this ya can report!

My name is Leslie O'Connery, they call me Les...fer short!"

   

"A wish", I says, "I've got one, perhaps you'll find absurd

But  after all, if you'll recall, ya did give me yer word!"

"Aye, aye yes" he says, 'n stared in disbelief

as I asked him to present a plate of cabbage and corned beef!

"What!!!??? What kinda wish is that to wish!?" he says, 'n give a funny snort

"Now I know the reason why they call ya Duff...fer short!"

And he says, "ahh, come now man, it ain't everyday

that a real, live leprechaun should come along yer way!

Why I can grant ya anything ya fathom in yer head

Don't ya want fer somthin' else besides just bein' fed?

Don't ya want some finer thing that you could never afford?

My name is Leslie O'Connery, they call me Les...fey short!!!"

"Well", I says, "Perhaps there is one more thing you could do for me

Could ya teach me how to sing an Irish melody?"

"Ah ha!" he laughs 'n say's, "I knew I wasn't wrong!

If ya was a true Irishman...ya'd KNOW an Irish song!

But even though ya fibbed to me I'll still strike up a chord

for my name is Leslie O'Connery, they call me Les...fer short!"

And so he sang his song for me with sincerity and wit

'n it makes me laugh to this day to think of it...

but I ferget the words... and the melody... is gone

but after all, if you'll recall, I learned it from a leprechaun!

And his name was...O'Calla.....O'Cana...O'Lear...y...oh, anyway...

They called him Les...fer Short!!!

Aunt Clara, Part Five

      I walked through the alley to the sidewalk. My car was parked in the lot across the street, but I decided to take a walk instead. Downtown was dark and deserted and the air was cold. I breathed in deep through my nose and felt the frost. I put the keys back in my pocket and turned towards Main Street. I needed some time to think. I turned and walked up past the frame shop, the pawn shop, and the furniture store. It was two o'clock in the morning, cold as hell, quiet, and...lonely. I was alone. Alone with my thoughts, and alone...in my life. That was nothing different, but now I was by myself in a predicament. A problem.
      If what I had seen and experienced, Aunt Clara flying in her wheelchair and talking to me, was real, then it was a beautiful thing. An awakening thing. But if it wasn't real, if it was a fantasy or an illusion, then...I was losing it. But it seemed, it felt, so absolutely real!
      I realized there was only one way to know for sure. I had to tell somebody. I had to trust someone. I had to take a chance. There was a part of me that was almost willing to just keep it to myself. To enjoy this dream, or new reality, whatever it was. It was exciting and intense. But still. I had to know if it was real, or if it was just...me. Who do I trust more than anyone in the world, even more than I trust myself? I thought. My daughter. I trust Yvonne the most. I will tell her. No, wait. I know. When I see...if I see...Aunt Clara again, I will ask her if I can, if I should, tell Yvonne. But what if Aunt Clara says "No, don't tell Yvonne. You mustn't tell anyone." What if she says "No, Davey, it's our little secret."? Should I go along with her or against her wishes? Just give in to the dream and enjoy it...or maybe be swallowed up by my own craziness?
      At the corner, a few blocks further up Main, I stopped and wondered whether to go left or right on Wayne Avenue or just turn around and head back down Main Street to my car. To just go home. My walk in the cold had not gotten me any closer to peace of mind. I took a deep breath, stuck my hands in my pockets, and walked slowly back toward Arch Avenue, back to my car.
      I put the key in the ignition but before I turned it, I heard a song. It was coming from my coat pocket. "Like a Rolling Stone". It was my ringtone. I looked at the little screen, beaming brightly in the darkness. I didn't recognize the number, but it was a 304 area code, West Virginia. "How does it feel? How does it feel? To be on your own, no direction home? A complete unknown, like a rolling stone?" it sang. Great, Bob, it feels just great! I didn't answer. Maybe whoever it is will leave a message. There was silence for a minute, then just as I was about to see if there was indeed a message, Bob sang again. "How does it feel..." I flipped it open and said, "Hello?"
      Aunt Clara said, "Davey, why are you sitting in your car in the parking lot at three a.m.?"
           "Thinking," I replied, "just thinking."
           "Well, Davey, I think you think too much, you know?"
           "I know, but I can't help it."
           "Well...it's late, but why don't you come on back in the shop, okay? We need another player."
           I swallowed hard and said, "What do you mean?"
           "For our game of rummy, Davey, the more the merrier!"
           "I'll be right there" I answered.
      I unlocked the back door and as I closed it behind me, I heard laughter and giggles. I heard the voices of Aunt Clara and Yvonne.

(To Be Continued)

___________________________ 

Be Careful, Davey.

After a generous hug and a big kiss on each other's cheeks and a long look into each other's eyes I stood up. I sluffed around there in front of Aunt Clara in her wheelchair. I was a little embarrassed and at a loss for words. Embarrassed, I suppose, because only an hour before, I had felt afraid. Afraid that I was teetering on the outer fringes of sanity. Afraid of Aunt Clara. I was at a loss for words, but she was not. She touched my arm and said, "Would you mind  bringing me another drink of water, Davey, please?" I looked at her and instinctively reached up and touched my mustache and beard. The goatee she had said she liked. I felt fear once again. This time I was afraid to look away from her. Afraid to turn and walk to the water cooler at the other end of the room. I was afraid if I looked away she would not be there when I turned back to her. "Don't worry," she said, "We've still got some time left tonight."
"Tonight?" I asked, "What about...?" Aunt Clara touched my arm again and tapped her finger gently there and said,
"Davey, swallow your fear and go and get your old Aunt Clara a drink of that delicious, cold water. Then we'll talk a bit more before we say good night. Okay? Get yourself a cup, too. I know you're thirsty, aren't you Davey?"
I still couldn't bring myself to look away, much less turn away, so I began slowly walking backwards, still looking at her. "Davey," she said, "Don't be a Doubting Thomas. And don't fall while you're walking backwards!" Feeling a little foolish I stopped and closed my eyes. I waited only seconds before opening them and smiling because Aunt Clara was still there, only a few feet away, gently shaking her head as if to say "silly boy". I looked at the floor and turned gradually, and continued walking towards the water cooler. After going only about ten feet I just couldn't stand it and had to look back. I slowed my pace, turned my head, and looked over my shoulder. Aunt Clara was still there, only now she was waving at me with just her fingers, as if she were waving at a small child. "Be careful, Davey," she said, just as I bumped smack dab into the large rack which holds dozens of cans of shoe polish. The cans clattered to the floor, making a terrible racket. "Now you've got a mess to clean up, Davey. I told you to be careful and now look what you've done! Will I ever get that drink of water, Davey?" I took a long, drawn-out deep breath letting it out in a sigh, closing my eyes simultaneously. I opened them, not looking in Aunt Clara's direction. I turned and continued my walk to the water cooler. I was thinking to myself- "If she's there, she's there. If she's not....what? Then what? What if she's not there?" It took everything I had to keep from turning around, but I didn't. I think I picked up my step a little as I walked the last ten feet. I filled one cup and sat it on top of the cooler. Then, slowing my actions to show myself, and her, that I trusted her. She would still be there. I'm sure...I'm sure...almost. I filled the second cup, picked up the other one, and carefully turned toward the other end of the big room. Even in the darkness, I could see. I could see...she wasn't there. My heart sank. My mood darkened, like the room itself. Then, in a flash, I thought of something that made me smile. I smiled because not only was Aunt Clara not there, but neither was her wheelchair! I gazed towards the ceiling and there she was, Aunt Clara and her beautiful wheelchair, spinning in...I would call it...a bubble. A bubble of light.
"Fooled you, didn't I, Davey? But you caught on quick." I nodded my head yes and raised a cup in her direction. "Mmm, be there in a second," she said. I walked to the bench and sat down, taking a sip of water and noticing, for the first time really, how good it did taste. She was right. It was delicious and I consciously tasted it as I watched Aunt Clara in her wheelchair float, not unlike a leaf in the breeze, gently to the floor. I started to stand up, but she said, "No, Davey, keep your seat." She wheeled across the room to where I sat. "Oh, thank you, Davey," she exclaimed as she reached out with one hand to take the cup of cool, ever-so-delicious spring water. She raised it to her lips, closed her eyes, and drank.
Lowering the cup, Aunt Clara raised an eyebrow and asked, "Any questions, Davey?"
"Well, I've got one," I answered timidly, "Uncle Don seemed to hang up on me too quick. When I told him I wasn't dead, he sounded to be in a real hurry to get off the line. Why?"
Aunt Clara shifted in the wheelchair and said, after taking another sip of water, "Because he knows he's not supposed to speak with...anyone who's...well, on the other side. Your side. The so-called 'living' side."
"What about you?" I asked, "You're not talking to me on the phone, you're actually talking to me right here in the shoe shop, face to face."
Aunt Clara brightened and said, "Oh, I know. And talking in person with you is a double no-no, but I don't care. You know, Davey, I've always been fond of breaking the rules. I wasn't supposed to work and make money and be a vital part of society either, but I did all those things. I was supposed to depend on others, not be depended upon, but I was, and I liked it that way. So now, here I go again. Old Clara Pearl, breaking the rules. Talking to the living. Talking to you, Davey."
      "Yes," I replied, "You are." We both smiled and touched our plastic cups together.
      "Here's to us," she said, "And them."
A thought occured to me then and I asked the question, "Aunt Clara?"
      "Yes?" She answered,
      "What about...during the day? When Yvonne and I are here in the shop? Customers coming in and going out all day long? Where are you then?"
      "Believe it or not, I've asked myself that question from time to time. Sometimes, I think I'm really...nowhere. Or maybe, everywhere?" Then, she continued, "All I really know is I'm here right now, I'm here, alive, with you."
        "Yes," I said, "You are."
Aunt Clara yawned a short little yawn and said, "Oh, Davey, I'm getting sleepy." I shuffled my feet and drank the rest of my water. She finished hers and handed me the empty cup. "Good night Davey," she said, "Don't forget to lock the back door. C'mon, give us a hug." I stood, then leaned over and hugged her neck.
      "Good night," I replied,
      "Don't worry," she said, "I'll clean up your mess."
      "No," I said, "That's okay, I'll clean it up."
      "Too late," she said, grinning. I turned and looked and saw that every can and jar of polish was back in its place on the rack. I shook my head, laughed a little, and turned back to Aunt Clara. She was gone. Or, at least, I didn't see her there. The wheelchair was there, but not her.
      "Oh my Gosh," I said out loud. "I'll be damned," I thought. I reached out and touched one of the cranks on the wheelchair. I touched a photograph on the wall. I took several deep breaths. I looked to the other end of the room, to the water cooler. I began walking towards it, turning only once to look back. I got a cup of water, that delicious spring water, drank it in a few gulps, looked towards the wheelchair--empty, and went out the back door, making doubly sure to lock it behind me.

Aunt Clara's Telephone (Continued)

      I got up off my knees and began walking slowly to the other end of the big room toward the water cooler. I needed that drink of cold water more than ever. I pulled a plastic cup from the dispenser and filled it up. I raised it to my lips, closed my eyes, and drank. I filled the cup again and just as I was raising it again, I heard a slight creaking sound. I knew that sound. I'd heard it many times as a child. It was the sound of Aunt Clara's wheelchair. Her adjusting herself in it, causing the wood to squeak just a little. I closed my eyes again, half sighing, and slowly turned and looked towards the other end of the room. Towards the wheelchair. And there it was. And there she was. One hand on one of the cranks, the other under her chin. She grinned at me and motioned with her index finger for me to come down there. I set the full cup of water on top of the cooler and started towards her.
      "No, no," she said, "Bring the water, Davey, I'm thirsty, please." I picked up the cup and carried it with both hands. They were shaking and I did not want to spill the water. "It's okay, Davey. Don't be afraid. I love you, Davey. You know that, don't you?" I shook my head yes and felt a smile spread over my face. As I got closer to her I felt...what? I felt...that's it...peace. Long remembered joy. "Don't worry," she said, in a reassuring tone, "Isn't the water good? I love it, don't you, Davey?" I shook my head again and handed the cup of water to Aunt Clara. At the same time I knelt in front of her and laid my head in her lap. With one hand she smoothed my hair and whispered, "Davey, Davey, Davey, why are you crying? There's no reason to cry, Davey. Come on, tell Aunt Clara why you are crying, huh?"
     I lifted my head from her lap and looked at her face. I looked at her gentle smile. As our eyes met she said, "Why?" I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and whispered,
    "Because I've missed you."
    "Well," she said, "What a silly thing to do. Why should you miss me? You have me in your dreams, right? By the way, Davey, it's fun sometimes to be standing up. I wouldn't want to do it for a long time, but it's fun for a little while, like when I am in those dreams of yours. I know you like me standing up in dreams, but in real life I think you like me better in my wheelchair, right?"
   "Yes," I said, "I do." Aunt Clara said,
   "Now, let's see. You have me in your dreams. What else? Well, you have all of your wonderful memories of me. We had a lot of fun, Davey. Remember? I showed you how to fill the bird feeder beside the front porch. And how about when I showed you how to strike a match so that you could burn the trash in the big barrel out back? Well, the first time you tried you burned your thumb and I know that wasn't fun, but you got it right the next time and I was very proud of you. And you were proud of yourself too, right?" I smiled and said,
   "Yes, I was."
   "So," she said, "Dreams, memories...what else do you have, Davey?" It came to me then, as a revelation. I stood up there in front of her and said,
    "I have your...love." Quickly she laughed and clapped her hands.
    "That's right, Davey. You've got my love. I told you then, when you were just a little boy, that I loved you bunches and bunches and that it would always be that way. And it still is! So you see, you shouldn't cry. You can't miss me. I haven't gone away! I've never gone away!"
    The phone rang again. I looked at it. I looked at Aunt Clara. She rolled her eyes and shook her head no. "Don't answer it," she said, "It's Don. He still calls me on that old static-y phone. And all he does is complain. I love him, don't get me wrong. He's my brother, but I just get tired of all his negativity. Plus, he's a little boring. He still wants to talk about prohibition. It's either prohibition or the Great Depression. Or, Lord have mercy, politics. Phooey, phooey, phooey. I'm just not interested. It would be a little better if he'd call me on the cell phone. I'm glad you added that to your collection. It's much clearer and easier to use. When I turn on the speaker I can talk on it when I'm flying around the shop, but you know that. You saw me last night, didn't you?"
    "Yes," I said. "I did."
    The old phone had stopped ringing. "Orville always calls me on the cell. Wilbur too. It took me a while but I've convinced a few others that those old phones are simply outdated."
   "Like who?" I said.
   "Well, besides Orville and Wilbur there's Helen Keller. Such a person she is. She was always one of my heroes and now she's one of my best friends. Then there's Sam. Sam Clemens. He is so funny to talk to. A bit of a pessimist but he's still hilarious. And let's see...oh my, yes, I love talking to Will. Will Rogers. I wish I could get Don to call him sometime. I think Will could maybe help Don look at things in a better light, but Don's stubborn. I'm the only one he calls and he always calls me on this old thing."
   She motioned me to the benched and I walked over and sat down. I had a feeling about what was to come and I was anxious about it. I sat and watched Aunt Clara turning the cranks on the wheelchair. She rolled to the center of the room, winked at me, and began to slowly turn, clockwise. In a few moments she was gracefully spinning around and around and she was laughing. I clapped my hands like a child and, naturally, slapped my knees in happy fascination. She came to a stop facing my direction, smiled big, held open her arms and chimed, "Davey, Davey, come give us a hug." I rose from my seat and walked towards my Aunt Clara as the light on her face spread to mine and soon filled the whole room.

Aunt Clara's Telephone

        I went back to the shoe shop the very next night, at the same time as the night before when I'd witnessed Aunt Clara flying in her wheelchair, but this time she wasn't there. No wooshing sound, no elegant gliding in the half-light around the room. All I saw was the room with its myriad of antiques and collectibles, including Aunt Clara's wheelchair, just sitting there. I swallowed hard, gritted my teeth, and rounded the corner. In the incredible silence I slowly walked to the far end of the showroom. As I made my way to where the wheelchair sat on display, my mind was spinning around the vision I'd had the night before. The gentle gliding of the chair and the radiance on Aunt Clara's face. I did not want to think that it might've been a figment of my imagination. It was too real. Too beautiful. Still, I couldn't help doubting my own eyes. It was also too fantastic. My mind still spinning and my heart pounding, I reached out and touched the photograph of Aunt Clara which hangs on the wall near the wheelchair. In the photo she is sitting in her chair in front of the telephone switchboard. She is wearing headphones and a small mouth piece. She is plugging a wire into one of the small holes on the switchboard. I think the photograph was taken in the nineteen twenties or early thirties. I brushed the picture with my fingers and then walked over to a bench on the other side of the room and sat down. I was simply gazing at the wheelchair and the many pictures of Aunt Clara on the wall behind it.  In the dimness of the room there, I suddenly felt overwhelmed with exhilaration. At the same time a wave of fear washed over me.
       I needed a drink of water. I needed it badly and was just about to make my way to the other end of the room to the water cooler when there was a clanging sound over by the wheelchair. Clanging? No. I realized as the sound continued, that it was a ring. The ring of a telephone. "Brrrring, brrrring, brrrring, brrrring..." I don't know how many times it rang before I got up from the bench and leaped across the room towards my collection of telephones. I picked up the receiver on the nearest phone and put it to my ear, but the ringing continued, and I hung the receiver back on the cradle and reached for another one, an even older phone. This was the one which had sat beside the couch in Aunt Clara's living room. Her personal phone. As soon as I picked up the receiver the ringing stopped. I raised it to my ear and reached out with my other hand to the wheelchair, to steady myself. I felt dizzy and weak. Then a voice, amid the static said,
"Hello...hello, Clara? Clara, is that you? Hello..."
      I dropped the receiver and it fell with a dull thud to the floor. I bent down quickly, shaking, and grabbed the thing. I held it an arms-length away, staring at it. I was breathing hard now, but I could still hear the voice, whoever it was,
"Hello? Hello? Clara?"
     I sat it on its cradle and lowered myself to the floor and rested my body against the wheelchair. I wanted to run but I couldn't. I could only sit there and breathe, heavily. Actually, I was gasping. Had that old phone actually rang? Had I heard the voice on the other end? Was it real? Had I lost my mind? I'd had dreams about Aunt Clara many times in my life. I was ten years old when she died so I remember her well. When I was five or six, I remember standing on the footrest of the wheelchair and Aunt Clara riding me all around the house. Sometimes we would ride out onto the large porch. Then I would sit in the porch swing and watch as Aunt Clara deftly turned the wooden cranks just so, and would slowly begin to spin in place, the small swivel wheel in back making this possible. Very difficult, but possible for someone like my Aunt Clara. I would clap my hands and slap my knees wildly, as she spun around and around laughing and laughing. Then she would bring the wheelchair to a stop, facing me. She would give a big smile and open her arms wide, saying, almost singing,  "Davey, Davey, come give me a hug," and I would jump down from the swing and run to her and she would wrap her arms around me, whispering, "Davey, Davey, Davey."
       Later on, after she's passed away, I began having dreams about her. Not bad or unpleasant dreams, just dreams. The only thing that might be a little unusual about them is that she's walking. Or rather standing, usually by her kitchen sink or stove, but never in a wheelchair. Also I don't remember her even speaking in my dreams.
      But now, I wasn't dreaming. I was sitting on the floor of the shoe shop, leaning against the wheelchair, remembering. I was breathing normal now and my heart had calmed down and I was actually wishing, hoping, that the phone, her phone, would ring again. I wanted to know who it was. Who was trying to call Aunt Clara? Then, again, I began to question my own eyes. I had seen her flying the night before. I doubted my own ears and yet I had heard, just minutes before, the ringing of the phone. I had heard the man's voice. Hadn't I?
     Then, indeed, that phone rang. Again. Not believing, but knowing it was real, I swallowed hard and began to crawl across the floor. I reached the phone and picked it up on the tenth ring. I put the receiver to my ear. Static. Then a distant, muffled voice.
     "Hello, Clara? Clara? Hello? It's Don, your brother Don. Hello?"
I took a short breath and spoke into the receiver. "Hello....who is this?"
     The voice, Don's, said,  "I can't hear you, speak louder. Clara?"
I said, much louder now, "Hello, who is this? Who are you?"
     "It's Don, Don LeMaster. Clara LeMaster's brother! Who are you?!"
I said, "This is David, Aunt Clara's great nephew, but...Aunt Clara's...dead. She's been dead for more than forty years..."  It felt strange, even awkward, nearly shouting these words.
     Don said, "Hell, I know she's dead! I'm dead! Aren't you?!!"  Static. Then Don, again. "Aren't YOU??"  Static. My own silence.
     Then I said, too softly, "No, I'm not...I think..."
Then Don said, "Did you say...you are NOT...dead?!"
     Louder now, I replied, "No, I am not dead."
Uncle Don answered, "Well...alright then, David...goodbye. Goodbye, David."
Static. I said nothing else and hung the receiver in its cradle, my heart telling me this conversation was over. My heart was also telling me I was not dead. Crazy maybe, but not dead.



(To Be Continued)