Aggie's Surprise Visitor
Oh, she hoped she hadn’t dragged her niece all the way down here because The Fat Pig ran out of yellow watermelon...and Wanda, the Witless Witch of Boo! Cul- de-Sac...Happy Halloween!
photo by Betty Subrizi on Unsplash
Aggie and Her Surprise Visitor
“Are you still there?” Aggie asked as she picked up her slipper and beat the metal bed frame underneath the mattress. “Well, you’d better get out from under there and go home—wherever that is—I’ve got company coming and she’s going to need the bed.” Aggie leaned way over the edge of her mattress to peer at the woman who was stretched out underneath her bed. “And while you’re at it, take off those goofy red socks. It’s the middle of summer, for Christ’s sake!”
There was no answer to Aggie’s scolding; there never was. The old lady went on talking anyway while she beat her pillow into a more comfortable shape. “I don’t know what’s become of the neighborhood. This was a good place when I moved in here thirteen years ago. Now they’ve got the likes of you running in and out of people’s houses. I keep the doors locked—how do you get in here anyway?” Silence.
Outside, dark was falling and Aggie could hear the locusts trilling in the big oak tree in the courtyard. In the ivy that ran up the side of her building, the sparrows were settling down for the night. What should she do to fill the time? Eat? She wasn’t really hungry. Watch TV? Nothing was on anymore. She’d be glad when her niece Ann arrived. Then she’d have someone to talk to besides that old hag in the red socks.
She only hoped that when Ann did arrive, she would be able to remember what it was she had to talk to her about. What could have been so important that she called her niece away from her job in the middle of the week and made her fly halfway across the country on short notice? Aggie thought and thought, coming up with ideas and then discarding them. Was it the air conditioner? No, it was fixed by the apartment management. Was it groceries? No, her brother Ben brought her groceries. Was she broke? Her rent not paid? No, she had checked her bank statement and her retirement check was deposited right on time.
What could it be? Aggie kept worrying. Oh, she hoped she hadn’t dragged her niece all the way down here because The Fat Pig ran out of yellow watermelon. She remembered she had been pretty upset about that. Yellow watermelons were much sweeter, and prettier too. No one who knew watermelons would settle for a red one unless they had to. But what could Ann do about the yellow watermelon shortage? She wasn’t a farmer.
She glanced at the plastic clock on the wall. She’d better figure it out. Ann’s plane landed almost an hour ago in Oklahoma City. It was a short drive to Lawton from there. That brought up another thing to worry about. Had she remembered to tell her brother to pick Ann up? Aggie picked up her phone and called her brother’s cell phone number. “Ben? Where are you? Did you remember to pick up Ann?”
“Aggie, I’m here at the airport. I can’t find her anywhere. She didn’t get off the plane. They’ve got another one coming in at 8:20. I’ll see if she’s on that one.”
“Oh, Ben, I hope she hasn’t been kidnapped. I hear that happens in big cities.”
“I doubt that Ann’s been kidnapped, Sis. She’s not rich. I’ll find her. Why don’t you take a little nap? and when you wake up, we’ll be there.”
Aggie didn’t nap. Instead, she paced from room to room, from door to door and looked frantically outside. She didn’t have the strength to voice her real fear: Ann wasn’t coming. And why should she? Just because some old lady asked her to? Suddenly, she remembered one of the reasons she wanted her niece to come home. She didn’t want to die alone! That was it. She wanted to be sure that someone would be with her in the middle of the night. Ann could only stay for two weeks, but somehow, Aggie thought that would be enough.
She was remembering now. She also needed Ann to help her stay in her apartment. The management wanted her to go to a rest home. They said she wasn’t eating and taking her medicines. Well, there was a reason for her not eating: she wasn’t hungry. And there was also a reason for her not taking her medicines: she could never remember where they were.
But that was her business, wasn’t it? As long as she paid her rent, what did they care? There was some kind of meeting coming up that would discuss Aggie’s ability to take care of herself. Everybody was going to be there: the apartment management, her neighbors, and her local family members. They were all against her. She knew that. Ann was her only hope.
By now, Aggie was hysterical. She twisted her flowered handkerchief into a tight knot and began to moan. Loud, sorrowful moans echoed across the courtyard and frightened the sleeping birds out of the ivy.
Meanwhile, in Oklahoma City, Ben ran from the American Sky airplane counter to the arrival gate in his search for his niece. Sympathetic airline personnel checked their flight rosters but couldn’t find Ann listed on any of the flights. By now, even he was getting worried. He called her apartment but only heard a perky greeting on the answering machine. He was doubly worried because, unlike his sister, he was sure that Ann had gotten on the plane. She wouldn’t cancel and not let them know.
In the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, hundreds of miles away, Ann fought her way through crowds of people decked out in cowboy hats and turquoise jewelry and waded knee-deep through puddles of heat thicker than pancake syrup on the runway tarmac. Tar patches between her and the ramp to the commuter airplane were imprinted with impressions of women’s heels that had sunk right through the melted tar. In her mind, Ann saw chalk outlines of travelers scattered around the bases of the small jets. Evidence of bodies that had succumbed to the heat—inches away from the cool sanctuary of the air-conditioned cabins. How hot was it? One hundred and five? Ten? Whatever made her think she was too old and fat to wear shorts? Every surface seemed to absorb the heat, double it, and radiate it back out in all directions.
Clamoring on board, the over-heated passengers began to regain their cheerful demeanor when their backs touched their cool seats. These short flights were alcohol-free, but the men and women clutched their plastic glasses of soft drinks as if they were filled with the finest alcoholic cocktails. A few iced sips and men returned to their normal selves—flirting with the flight attendant—and women felt revitalized enough to open the latest issue of Harper’s and Vogue.
Everyone was relieved to feel the plane lift off the hot runway and force itself through the layer of heat and into the air space. The plane’s arrival in Lawton, forty-five minutes later, was celebrated with a cheer from all aboard. Each uncomfortable passenger rushed to a cooler place to spend the rest of the day—in front of an air conditioner of their choice. Except for Ann. There was no doubt in her mind that her aunt’s apartment would only be a few degrees cooler than the tarmac she’d just left. None of her aunts could tolerate cold air on their thin frames even when they wrapped themselves in blankets so thick that they were immobile.
The few family members who dared to come home in summer had long ago given up on ever getting permission to turn on the air conditioning. Most clutched glasses of iced tea and lay panting on the floor, trying to survive the unbearable heat that they’d happily romped in from sun-up to sundown when they were children. Seasoned visitors drank their iced tea without sugar in case—in desperation—they found themselves pouring the drinks over their heads.
Still, heat and all, Ann was anxious to get to her aunt’s. The absence of her uncle who was supposed to pick her up wasn’t worrisome to her at first. Most likely, he was finishing up a round of golf. She gathered her bags when they came off the plane and sat in the cool arrival area of the airport. Any minute, he’d come racing in, a twinkle in his eye and a laugh on his lips. Or so she thought. Forty-five minutes went by and Ann found herself deserted in the airport except for the woman behind the rent-a-car counter and the security guard.
She resisted calling her aunt to check on her ride because she didn’t want to be a bother and, anyway, time didn’t mean as much as it used to. In years past, her tardy arrival might have held up a planned trip to an outdoor art show, or the October Fest. Those times had passed, and nowadays, Ann spent most of her time sitting in one living room or another, visiting with her fragile aunts who rarely left the safety of their living room couch.
The sun was leaning toward the horizon when Ann hesitantly dropped a coin into the pay phone. “Aunt Aggie?”
“Ann…” Aggie started to weep into the phone. “You’re not coming are you?”
“Aunt Aggie, I’m here! Where’s that uncle of mine? I thought he was going to pick me up.”
“He’s there in the airport, looking all over for you. Why don’t you have him paged?”
“Aunt Aggie, I can see every corner of the airport from here. He’s nowhere in sight.”
“He just called me from the American Sky ticket counter. I know he’s there.”
“There’s no American Sky ticket counter in this airport—what airport is he in?”
“Why, the Oklahoma City Airport.”
“Oklahoma City?! What’s he doing there? I flew into directly into Lawton.”
“Oh. Maybe I got confused—I sent him to Oklahoma City early this afternoon so he’d be sure to be there on time.” Ann was alarmed. Her aunt had taken charge of the family’s travel details for years, and she’d never sent someone to the wrong airport before. “There’s my other line. I bet it’s Ben. I’ll tell him to come pick you up.”
“Aunt Aggie, I’ll just catch a cab.”
“No! Don’t do that! Cabs aren’t safe around here at night.” The old lady was so distraught that Ann promised to wait for her uncle. Over an hour later, when the good-natured man finally raced through the door, he had a smile on his face. You’re a better man than I am, Ann thought. What a day he’d had. The family matriarch had run his legs off—maybe they’d better do their own scheduling of future visits. “Let’s go.” The harried man said as he picked up Ann’s bag. He shook his head as he headed for his car. “Uncle Ben, I think we need a new travel agent!” Ben laughed. “She’s been doing things like this a lot lately. And she’s not taking care of herself. She’s still smart though. Smart enough to make sure she has at least one friend at the meeting tomorrow.” “Damn straight. Isn’t the rest of the family going to be there?” “Yes, but they all agree with the apartment management. They think she should go to an assisted-living place somewhere.” “What do you think?” “I think she needs to move where someone can keep an eye on her, but I also think she should make her own decision. I’m over there several times a day, it’s not like she’s totally alone. But they’re all against her staying. The old girl doesn’t have a chance.” When they pulled into the parking lot at Aggie’s apartment, they heard a loud wail bouncing off the brick walls of the courtyard. Glory saw concerned faces framed in gray hair inside almost every screened door. There were several women with Aggie when Ann burst through the front door. “Aunt Aggie! I’m here! I’m here!” “Ann, is that you? What a surprise! Do you want some watermelon, honey?” The little face brightened at the company she didn’t remember inviting. Tomorrow would be a great day!
The end
Art courtesy of Microsoft
Wanda, the Witless Witch of Boo! Cul-de-Sac, by Janelle Meraz Hooper
A sophisticated Halloween story for the ladies…
Wanda, the Witless Witch of Boo! Cul-de-Sac circled twice around her split-level home in an expensive neighborhood before she landed her broom on the roof. As always, she slid into her home through the air duct to the kitchen fan. “Darn!” she cried as the blades sliced her black hat and ripped her hair. “I forgot to turn the fan off again.” See why they call her witless? Okay, she was a little addled. But beautiful. Blond, and petite, she bought all of her clothes at Hoardstrom’s and flew to LA every week to have her hair done at Chez Cher-Fawcett’s.
Stopping only to check her makeup in the mirror, she opened the sliding French doors and threw out the pot full of frogs, slugs, and spiders left over from her morning spells. “Darn crows!” she cried as the blackbirds flew down from the trees and covered her yard. “Why is it all the crows in the neighborhood end up at my house?” Trust me. She’ll never figure it out.
“Who’s at the door?” she’d call toward the front of the house whenever she heard a scratching noise on the porch. But no one was ever there. She’d been glad when her husband had agreed to fix the doorbell and had left one morning for the hardware store. That was over three years ago. He’d been working so hard on it that she hadn’t seen him since. Each day she noticed the hole by the front door was a little bigger and the red and green wires from the doorbell were all over the porch, so she hoped he was getting close to finishing.
Each night, she tried to wait up for Clyde, but about twelve o’clock every night she’d get tired, so she’d put his supper on the table and go to bed without him. The next morning, his plate would be empty. The cat, that grew fatter and fatter, never seemed to miss Clyde. Wanda didn’t know why.
While Clyde was off at the hardware store buying a new doorbell, she kept plenty busy. All day long she ran back and forth, chasing the crows off the back deck, and answering the front door whenever she heard scratching. No one was ever there. Wanda was getting lonely. Maybe, when she saw Clyde again, she’d tell him to forget the doorbell, board the hole up, and put up a doorknocker. Of course, then he would have to go to the hardware store to buy the knocker, so she was reticent to do that.
The beautiful witch got lonelier and lonelier. And witlesser and witlesser. Wanda decided she was too slow, and that was the reason she never saw anyone when she heard noises on the porch, so she began riding her broom down the seven steps to the front door. The problem with that was her broom was too fast, and she could never stop in time. Over and over, Wanda had to peel herself off the inside of her front door.
And so her life went. Year after year. The crows got noisier and noisier. She didn’t know why. The cat got fatter and fatter. The hole by the front door got bigger and bigger. “When is that man going to finish?” she asked her fellow witches. “I swear, he’s slower than a dead June bug.”
Did I tell you yet that she was totally witless? I think I did. Finally, Wanda was at the end of her broom. She’d fix the doorbell herself. She knew nothing about electricity, but how hard could it be? The first thing to do was go to the hardware store and pick up some doorbell stuff. Maybe the women there had seen Clyde. Maybe they could tell him to come home and change clothes. He must be getting pretty ripe.
The women at the store pretended not to know Clyde, but Wanda wasn’t fooled. She knew they were trying to keep him all to themselves. After all, he was quite a catch and a heck of a doorbell fixer. When she got back she got right to work. It started to rain so she decided to work from the inside (Witches melt in the rain, you know). With her brand new sledgehammer, she broke a hole in the inside wall. That’s when she discovered that, all those years, it wasn’t company at her front door. It was birds, nesting between the walls; they came and went through the hole left by the broken doorbell.
The house quickly filled with blackbirds of all sizes. Flying. Diving. Squeaking. And making a mess on her orange wall-to-wall carpet. Wanda closed the doors and windows and opened the fireplace insert doors so they could find their way out, but they were very comfortable inside and showed no inclination to leave.
That’s because the birds were bats, and it was still light outside. Bats hate sunlight as much as witches hate rain. Not that Wanda knew they were bats. Say it with me: witless!
Finally, Wanda called a fellow witch for help. “Esmerelda? Get over here right away and help me get rid of some birds, will you? Somehow, they’ve gotten into the house.” After Esmerelda cleared Wanda’s house of bats with a few spells, she was a happy Witless Witch, and she knew things would be perfect once Clyde got home.
And he would come home. After all, she was Wanda, the Witless Witch of Boo! Cul-de-sac. And quite a looker. How could he live without her?
And where was Clyde? At the hardware store, wandering around the parking lot, looking for his car. He’d completely forgotten that Wanda had dropped him off on her broom years ago. Turns out, he was the perfect match for Wanda. Zero wits. None.
Happy Halloween!