New Phase 6: Si & Sy

Westlake Village, California

January 2, 2011

From as far back as Mitchell Lipensky remembered he had a left knee problem.

His first remembrance was when, he thought, at about age twelve, kneeling alongside his bicycle, as he stood his left knee locked with excruciating pain, but as he stood the knee popped back into place and the moment of pain had passed.

Throughout the years of his life, every now and then his knee would lock and he would quickly straighten it and the moment of excruciating pain would immediately pass.

However, as he grew older the knee would lock more and more often until, now at age seventy-seven, it began to happen so often that Mitchell had asked for an X-ray that showed nothing, but then asked for and received an MRI that was performed in December of 2010 which did show a meniscus problem requiring orthoscopic surgery that was then – in mid-December— scheduled for surgery on February 14 (Valentine’s Day) 2011.

Okay, yes, this was a long time to wait for surgery, but he’d waited all of his life and, even though the knee began to lock more and more often, he knew the — although painful, secret to unlocking it…

Until the second of January 2011..

On a beautiful Sunday morning, the two couples: Milt and Sherry and Marsha and Mitchell had taken Milt’s boat to The Landing Restaurant for the restaurants weekly Sunday brunch when the knee locked… and would not unlock.

Somehow, with a lot of help — actually all but being carried by Milt and Marsha, he made it out of the restaurant, down the steps to the dock and onto Milt’s boat.

Fortunately, Mitchell had his little bottle of ‘Vicodine’ with him which actually didn’t help a hell of a lot but — more or less hanging between Marsha and Milt was able to make it up the uneven railroad tie steps onto the deck, into the house and onto Marsha’s sofa that now resided between his two old lounge chairs in what they refereed to as ‘the office’.

Going back to…

Returning to mid March 2010

Other than thinking them rather weird, after meeting them mere minutes earlier, having no idea what to make of Si and Sy — as the only sixties throwback they had known had been ‘Morgan Joseph’, and that was at Elysium Fields way back in 1986, and stretching the ‘sixties’ look to year 2010 was doing ‘some’ stretching!

But of course, with their bedroom wall but two sheetrock walls and some insulation away from their bedroom wall, Marsha and Mitchell hoped there would not be any noticeable noise coming from now Si and Sy’s bedroom.

Mitchell never heard noise when Mona and Missy lived next door. But they were women, after all, and how much noise could two elderly women make even if they shared the same bedroom — even if they shared the same bed?

As days became weeks, as it turned out Si and Sy were more than just ‘coincidental conversation’ kind of people that actually seemed to care how those two old people living just sheetrock boards and insulation away were, and seeming sincerely concerned, constantly offered help if ever, or when help might be needed.

Mitchell had made it a personal rule to never be too friendly with next door neighbours as friendships might end, but then you are still neighbours— Milt Abrams being Mitchell’s exception to his rule.

Si and Sy had never extended an invitation, and neither had Marsha or Mitchell, so neither neighbour had ever been invited into the others home.

What lay beyond those sheetrock walls of the hippies home could only be speculated upon by the old couple on the other side of their own sheetrock walls.

And to Marsha and Mitchell — having no reason to think that way, it was not a pretty picture.

May 15, 2010

10:15 AM

Planting two rose bushes that Marsha had purchased yesterday, two occurrences came to my attention. One more a split second sense of…? Da'ja'vu.

Lakeside, Michigan

July 4, 1957

Taking the few steps from the car to the stairs of the cottage, for the few seconds it took from the car to the steps, Mitchell’s eyes were riveted onto the face and body of his errant wife.

Noting she was not wearing a bra, he saw the natural form of her breasts and, because, embossed upon the thin, still slightly damp material of his old T-­shirt, he also saw the very sharply defined protrusions of Marsha’s erect nipples.

His eyes traversing their length, her long, dark, slender legs… Those long, dark, slender legs that seemed to go on forever where, in his mind’s eye, he pictured the juncture of Marsha’s naked thighs and hairy vulva and at that moment Mitchell Lipensky would have given his life to have his face held tightly between Marsha’s smooth, cool thighs.

The da'ja'vu image felt within his gut dissipated as a vague puff of clear smoke...

Westlake Village. California

May 15, 2010

10:156 AM

...As Marsha came from within the house wearing short cut shorts and one of my old T-shirts, although my seventy-six year old eyes could not tell from this distance whether or not she was bra-less beneath that T-shirt as, from this distance, my lovely, seventy-four year old wife once again looked to me as though in her thirties... With platinum coloured hair.

The second, much stronger, realistic occurrence was the sound of my next door neighbours garage door opening.

Standing, I walked over to greet either Sy or Si: whomever was backing out of their garage.

Si was backing his black ‘Hummer’ — always thought it a strange vehicle for a ‘make love, not war’, mired in the sixties, hippie wann’a’be’ to be driving a military style Humvee.

Waving, “ ‘Morning!”

Backing to the right and pulling to my curb, “Good morning, Mitch.” Spoken through the open window.

Dressed as I’d never seen him. Meaning he was wearing regular twenty-first century clothing including— very much out of character, a dress shirt and tie. His pony tail was tightly twisted into a bun that sat, I thought, as awkwardly inconspicuously on the backside of his head.

“Doing a little planting…” he said, nodding his head towards the hole I had been digging.

“Yeah. Marsha wants to get a few more rose bushes in.”

“Might not be the right time of year to be planting roses.”

“What the hell do we know, we’re from Chicago.”

Noting Si’s eyes linger on Marsha.

“You know, you’ve one hell of a lady there, Mitch.”

“If I don’t know anything else…” I said sincerely “… ‘that’ I do know.”

“Well, got a meeting in LA, and the ‘101’ and ‘405’s’ are both jammed, so better hustle.”

“Curiously…” I asked “...what is it that you and Sy do?”

“Oh, we create children’s web sites.”

“Like ‘Yogi Bear’?” I asked.

“Yogi Bear is college stuff.” Si laughed. “Sy and me create little green trains and yellow birdies that babies watch while in high chairs dribbling mashed sweet potato glop onto their bibs, or in cribs falling asleep.”

“Really exciting stuff, huh?”

“ ‘Yeah’! Today I’m presenting a purple honey bee playing tag with a yellow humming bird.” Si said bitterly as, jamming the gear into ‘Drive’, the Hummer loudly hummed away from the curb.

January 5, 2010

4;10 pm

 Opening the front door.

“Marsha, hi! I haven’t seen your husband for a while…”

Stepping aside. “Come on in, Si.”

“Thanks…” stepping inside “...Sy and me haven’t seen Mitch around for a while and were wondering if he was okay?”

Looking about. Both the same square footage, theirs a three bedroom with smaller rooms, this, a two bedroom with larger rooms. Outside of furnishing and any interior structural past or present owners might have made, the structure of both units were the same only flipped from left to right giving an immediate sense of difference.

Leading Si from the front foyer into the basic living area, Mitchell was on one of his old easy chairs with the foot extender forward, with Mitchell’s left leg stretched onto it.

Looking back and to the side. “Hi, Si!” Jerking his thumb to the side. “Have a seat.”

Sitting on the matching recliner. “Sy and me have been wondering if you were okay.”

Dressed in his ‘sixties’ stuff, Si’s hair no longer in a somewhat inconspicuous bun at the back of his head, a pony tail once again hanging a bit below his shoulders.

“Thanks for asking. I’ve had this knee problem…” petting my left knee “...since I was a kid. It would go away for years, then come back every now and then. And if I straightened my leg, it seemed to pop back into place and not bother again for a while. Only now it was happening more and more often and when Sherry and Milt and Marsha and me were having brunch at The Landing on the second, my knee popped out of place and I was never able to get it to fully go back.”

“Probably you’ve a ‘meniscus ‘ tear.”

“Yeah…” leaning forward and repositioning my leg “… that’s what the doctor said.”

Sincerely concerned. “So, what are they doing about it.”

“I’m scheduled for surgery…”

“Good!”

“Not till the fourteenth…”

Asked incredulously. “Nine days from now?”

“No. The fourteenth of February.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“I’m with Kaiser, and it could have been worse.”

“That’s longer than a month from now! Don’t see how it could be worse.

Shrugging my shoulders. “Least I’ve a good supply of Vodka and Vicodine.”

“ I know how much that can hurt…” pointing to my knee “...and ‘that’s’ all they gave you was Vicodine?”

“Yeah.”

Standing. “Hold on. Sy wants to say hello also, and I’ll send her back with something better than shitty Vicodine.”

“Bye, Marcie”

“That was rather abrupt.”

“He says he’s got something better than Vicodine.”

“Considering where he thinks he and his wife are from…” adding “...in years, it could be heroine.”

“Suppose it could be.”

“Would you do it?” Marsha asked negatively. “Take heroine?”

“No. Of course not.”

No more than three minutes later. “Hi, Sy, come on in.”

Looking about. Noting the difference in room sizes. “Si sent me over with some cookies for Mitch.”

Still in the same position on the recliner.

“Here.” she said, handing me a small plastic bag with what appeared to be five cookies.

“Thanks’...” I said “...but why cookies?”

“Oh…” Sy said, with kind of a sly smile “...these are ‘special cookies’.”

“ ‘Special cookies’?” I questioned.

“Yeah...” Sy said, adding emphatically “...do not eat more than one. Better yet, better not eat more than half a cookie!”

“Only half a cookie, huh?” Catching on. “These are, uh…”

“Yes, they are.”

 “Okay to kudunk?” I asked.

“Couldn’t hurt.” Sy said.

“In vodka?” I asked.

“Vodka probably not such a good idea.”

New Phase 7: Heavenly Cookies