By Bob Liter
I was nine years old when I struggled into my big brother Jay’s ghost costume. The black costume’s white lines suggested bare, skinny bones. The face included a diabolical grin. Jay’s frayed and dirt-smeared canvass tennies added what I thought was a scary touch.
I sneaked out of the house and crouched behind a bush near the front sidewalk. Buster, a little brown and white dog that got more attention from Mary Lou Fortino than I did, trotted by. I jumped out and growled. The trot became a mad dash preceded by a yelp.
Later, as I had hoped, Mary Lou came skipping down the sidewalk on her way to Jeannie Welk’s home where they played house and other girly stuff. Sunlight glanced off her shining, dark hair and reflected from her brown eyes as she skipped along. I jumped in front of her and made what I imagined were ghost noises. The oversized shoes became entangled and I sprawled on the sidewalk. She stepped around me, still skipping. Laughter faded as she continued down the walk without turning back.
Several days later I was kicking a tattered soccer ball. She caught it when it skidded toward her. She gazed directly into my eyes as a wonderful smile spread across her face. She turned her head slowly from side to side and tossed the ball toward me. I stumbled and failed to catch it.
One of my attempts to impress her during high school involved a spotlight and a blown fuse. Mrs. Forster, the English and drama teacher, talked me into being a part of her variety show. I had rehearsed it several times with the spotlight operator, Harry Will. He was supposed to direct the spot around the stage until it landed in my outstretched hand when I would stuff it in my pocket. The curtains rolled back and Mrs. Foster shoved me on stage. I was numb with fright, but after a second or two of silence I managed to call, “Here Spot.”
Nothing happened. I called again, louder this time. Still nothing. People in the audience snickered and then laughed out loud. I mumbled, “I guess Spot’s not here,” and ran off the stage.
It got a big laugh from the audience of my classmates and their parents. I imagined I heard Mary Lou’s voice among them. It did no good to explain what was supposed to happen and that a burned out fuse put the spotlight out of business.
“Here Spot” was a common comment for months afterward whenever most students came near me. But not Mary Lou, when we passed in the halls she just smiled and shook her head.
The next semester the basketball coach, Mister Brand, said I could be a star because by then I was six feet tall. I didn’t believe him, but Mary Lou was often seen with Brad Thomas, the star of the team. So I went out. After a few days of stumbling around I was sent in as the center during a scrimmage. Brad was the point guard and his job was to feed the ball to the other players when he wasn’t making three-point shots.
He dribbled, passed and moved so fast it was hard for me to keep track of him and at the same time move around near the basket like the coach said. I was backing against a defender near the basket when Brad whipped a pass in my direction. The ball bounced off my head. Practice stopped and laughter erupted among the players and the students who were scattered in the bleachers. I thought I heard Mary Lou’s laughter, but I didn’t have the nerve to look. Coach Brand led me off the court, insisted I sit, and practice resumed.
From then on I shunned after-school activities. I even dropped out of The Science Club. I spent a lot of time in my room learning things from books and the computer and writing stuff. One of my letters was published by the local newspaper. It was about geopolitics and how it had meaning for everyone, even the citizens of our town. I wrote other letters. Soon most of them were published and by my senior year in high school I was a regular contributor. One letter about global warming was published by the Chicago Tribune.
My dad, a truck driver, and my Mom said they were proud of me, but the few kids at school that noticed seemed to think it some nerdish thing that didn’t compare with the ability to catch a ball of one kind or another.
Soon after World War II broke out I joined the Navy. Nearly everybody was either drafted or joined up. I managed to get my hands on various science books. I studied hard even when I was seasick, which was most of the time. I entered the state university a month after I was discharged and wrote scientific articles for the college paper. Some of them were reprinted by other papers. I hoped Mary Lou was somehow aware of this, but I doubted it. Last I heard she was dating a variety of guys and studying journalism at Columbia in Missouri.
It was agony thinking about it. I supposed she still was wearing those tight, fuzzy sweaters that outlined her breasts. I had visions of her slender legs extending above bobby sox that had the privilege of caressing her ankles.
Eventually I got so involved in my studies I didn’t think about her for hours. By the time I earned a BA degree Dad had retired and he and Mom were living in Florida. I took a job that summer as super at Elmwood Apartments in my hometown. I had time to study and write essays. I wasn’t much of a super. But at times it was exciting. Like the time the woman got her toe caught in the hot water faucet of the bathtub in Room 103 and I had to get it loose.
Elaine Hopper, that was her name, was kinda fat but still there were points of interest when I examined her naked body while I freed her toe. She clung to my leg when I was done, but I managed to get out of there.
I was reading chapter ten of Elements of Physics when Mary Lou entered my basement office below the apartments. I didn’t recognize her voice when she cleared her throat a couple of times to get my attention. I marked the page with a Greeley Office Supply paperweight and looked into her smiling eyes. She seemed taller, more assured than ever. God, she was beautiful. Later she insisted she might be beautiful in my eyes – she hoped she was – but that she was as common as your average movie star or fashion model. It was a few seconds before I realized the humor in her remark.
“Harold Weeks, as I live and breathe,” she said.
The top of her partially unbuttoned sheer blouse stretched. It was even more impressive than the sweaters she used to wear.
“I saw the ad in the Daily News. I need an apartment. I suppose I’m too late.”
I managed to stand and said, “There’s only one.”
She smiled. “One is all I want. May I see it?”
“How have you been, Mary Lou?”
“Fine Harold. Just fine. Except for my divorce. But even that was for the best. I’ve had it with living with my parents in Florida. I need a place of my own here.”
I stumbled getting around the desk and led her to Apartment 103. Miss Hopper, the one with the caught toe, had moved out and left a mess behind.
“I haven’t had a chance to clean yet. The previous occupant just moved out a couple of days ago.”
“Harold, you’ve filled out. Not so skinny.”
“So have you,” I said. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
She smiled and shook her head slowly.
“Remember how you used to try to show off for me. It was so funny. You kept me laughing all the way through elementary and high school. I didn’t understand what a compliment it was. Looking back, I think you were in love with me.”
“I was. I am.”
“Still?”
“Yes, still. I mean, well, I’m no good at this. I’m sorry.”
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much rent for the apartment?”
“Oh,” I managed to say.
I told her the amount of the monthly rent and she said, “I’ll take it if you’ll help me clean it, wash my back when I call, and keep trying to impress me.”
Desire took control of my brain. I bent to one knee, nearly lost my balance as it rested on the floor, and whispered, “Will you marry me?”
“Why Harold. This is so sudden.”
I feared she was making fun of me but blurted out, “Well, will you marry me?”
“Of course not. I’m just getting over divorcing Brad Thomas. You remember him. The jock. He ran off with a blonde. Elsie Goodwin. I don’t think you knew her. At first I was furious, but it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m glad he’s gone.”
I struggled to my feet. She smiled and shook her head.
“Let’s get started,” she said.
“I want to move in as soon as possible.”
We hauled partially empty cereal boxes, some rags left in the closet, and a broken chair out into the hallway. I swept the kitchen and living room floors. She spot cleaned the carpet in the living room. I cleaned the bathroom.
As I scrubbed the tub I imagined her in it and me washing her back. Of course she didn’t mean it, I told myself, but still . . .
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said. I nodded and watched as she left.
It all seems so long ago, in some ways, but in other ways, well you know.
We live in a house on Elm Street now. Have for fifty years. She and our daughter, Eleanor, are talking in the living room.
“What’s he doing now?” I heard Ellie say.
”He’s trying to make soup. He loves to try to cook for me.”
I stirred the bean soup. It smelled different. Probably too much spice again. She’d probably want to eat out again. I didn’t mind. I still liked showing her off.
