Eileen Slovak

Chapter Eight: OCD, BFF’s and Funeral Jitters

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

“What the heck are you doing? It sounds like you’re in a tunnel.”  Maggie asks on the other end of the receiver.

      “Um, scrubbing the toilet.” I’m on my knees. A toilet brush is in one hand and cleanser in the other. The cell phone is pinned between my ear and shoulder. It’s a careful balancing act so I don’t accidentally drop the phone into the porcelain throne. The yellow plastic gloves I’m wearing are making me sweat. Not wanting to wipe toilet water onto my forehead, I let the perspiration drip into the bowl. The phone slips, but I manage to swat it away. It skids across the linoleum floor.

      “Hellllooooo!” I hear Maggie shouting.

      I flush the toilet, remove the gloves, wash my hands, then retrieve the phone. Thankfully it didn’t break.

      “Sorry, I dropped you.”

      “Sounded more like you chucked me across the room. It’s eight o’clock at night honey; cleaning can seriously wait until the weekend.”

      “I know but I’m on a roll here. You’ll love the new bathroom wall color too; it’s called Evergreen Fog. It’s very Feng Shui. I only have one wall done, but I can finish it up this weekend, no big plans.”

      “Oh boy. You’ve been painting again,” Maggie says, in a knowing voice. “Listen OCD, I’m bringing vodka. Don’t say you’re not up for it. You know how stubborn I can be. Plus, I need it. The hospital was a nightmare tonight. Why did I become a nurse again?”

      “Because you’re awesome at it. Okay, I’m jumping in the shower. I’ll see you soon.”

      On the way home from work, I called Maggie at Rhode Island Hospital. I told her about Sean. I also shared my work horror stories and how my life seemed to be going nowhere fast.

      Maggie arrives at 9 p.m. to find me vacuuming the wall-to-wall carpet.

      “Your neighbors must love you!”

      “Thankfully, it’s only my landlady. She takes her hearing aids out when she goes to bed!” I shout over the whir of the vacuum cleaner. “The third-floor apartment is empty right now if you know anyone looking.”

      “Come on! Give it a rest, will you? I just risked my life to get here. We have more serious business to attend to,” she says, shaking the bottle in a teasing gesture. “Bonus, I found sugar free lemonade.”

      “Too bad they don’t make low calorie vodka, huh?”

      “I know, but that would ruin it, right?”

      “I assume this is a sleep over?” I ask, pointing to the tote bag Maggie has slung over her shoulder. She tosses the bag next to the couch.

      “If you think I’m driving home in this crap, you’re crazy! I’m off tomorrow anyway. I have the whole damn snow day to myself.”

      “My couch is all yours,” I say, wrapping the vacuum cord into place.

      Maggie stands five-foot-ten in flat shoes, which she never wears. Her theory is, if you’re already tall what’s the point in trying to hide it? Tonight, she’s sporting three-inch wedge, fur lined snow boots, skintight jeans and an over sized turtleneck sweater. Her wavy blond hair falls wildly around her shoulders. She stands in my small kitchenette concocting with bottles and ice. In one swift movement, she hands me a drink with one hand while removing the vacuum cleaner from my grasp with the other. Maggie is accustomed to working with doctors, her reflexes are lighting quick. She tucks the vacuum away in the coat closet.

      “Over the lips and through the gums, look out liver here it comes!” Maggie cheers, raising her glass.

      “Oh, that’s good,” I say. “You really missed your calling. You’re the best bartender I know. Don’t ever tell Corky I said that.”

      “Never!” Maggie says stretching out on the couch. “So how are you really doing?”

      “I’m fine, a little shocked. I can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem real somehow.”

      “I know. I feel like he was just here.”

      “I should have tried harder to get him to stay. I mean, if he never left…”

      “Scarlet, don’t do that to yourself. What happened to Sean was NOT your fault. It was an accident. He chose to leave. You can’t blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

      “I still feel responsible somehow.”

      “Put your Irish Catholic guilt on a shelf, will you? Listen, if you’d been with Sean, you would be dead too. I would be sitting here right now, talking to a fricking corpse. Well not really. If you were a corpse, I wouldn’t be able to talk to you anymore. That’s even more reason why you couldn’t have moved there. Knowing you, you’d come back to haunt me anyway. Plus, who wants to live in Arkansas? There’s no ocean. So, no more blame game.” With a look of satisfaction at her logic, Maggie takes a giant sip of her drink.

      “I’m glad you came over. I do feel better.”

      I can’t argue with her reasoning. Drink in hand, I move to the kitchen, wiping down the appliances. Maggie relinquishes the couch, takes a stool at the small u-shaped kitchen counter pouring herself a refill. While she listens to me, she moves to top off my glass but it’s still full.

      “After he moved away, I knew things wouldn’t last between us. I never expected him to be gone…forever.”

      “How could you? You know, it’s pretty pathetic to have to drink alone.”

      “Geesh, I’m sorry, Maggie. Maybe I do need to be alone. I’m too depressing for company.”

      “Are you kidding? Stop cleaning and chill.” She sips her drink, then places it on the counter next to a large statue of the Virgin Mary.

      “Why do you have this in your kitchen?”

      “It’s from my mother’s garden. Someday, I’ll have a garden of my own. Until then, I haven’t found the right place for it yet.”

      “You ever heard of storage?”

      “Religion is nothing to be ashamed of.”

      “I know. But I feel weird drinking in front of Mary.”

      “So, give up drinking,” I say, sipping the vodka lemonade that’s both sweet, sour and adequately strong.

      “Not happening. When’s the funeral?”

      “Tomorrow night at five at Saint Vincent’s in Barrington. His family is from there. I’ll leave work early.”

      “That ought to get them all talking.”

      “The wake was tonight at Davidson’s Funeral Home. I decided I’d only go to the church. It’s not like I was close to his family. God forbid I run into Trish.”

      “Amen to that.” Maggie nods at Mary, as if they would be in agreement. “That chick freaks me out. There’s something not right about her. What did Sean ever see in her anyway?”

      “They grew up together. Sean’s parents are her parents’ best friends. I’ve never liked her either. She certainly isn’t a fan of mine.”

      “It was like she was always there, years after he dumped her, weird. Seriously, if you change your mind and want company for the funeral, call me. You know I would only agree to go because I’ve been your best friend since eighth grade.”

      “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll be fine.”

      Jolted awake, I’m soaked with sweat. It was a horrendous night’s sleep, riddled with bizarre anxiety filled nightmares. In the first, all of my teeth cracked, then fell out. In the second, alligators were living in my bathtub. I check my teeth in the mirror and take a quick peek at the bathtub. All clear. Then, I leave Maggie snoring on the couch. I bundle myself in layers of cotton and spandex before slipping out into the frozen dawn for a four-mile run. The snow is compacted enough to make for a good, solid, running surface. I do a few quick stretches. I pop my ear buds in on low volume. I start with a slow jog before breaking into a run. The freezing air shocks my still sleepy lungs as I push harder. My muscles fight against the speed. I embrace the pain. I quell my mind to focus on the steady breathing required to maintain my pace. Vodka! At least I kept it sane last night and stopped at one. The pre-sunrise world is mine alone. I power up my tempo for one final thrust, willing my legs to fly before beginning my cool down.

      Stepping off a curb, I hear the car. Then, I see it speeding from the alley. It’s careening toward the main road with no signs of stopping. Seeing me, the driver screeches to a halt within inches of my legs. I’m close enough to rest my hand on the car’s steaming hood. I guess neither one of us expected the other to be out at 5:45 a.m. The driver, a gray-haired, male shouts something inaudible through the closed window before tearing off down the road. I bend over in recovery mode, hands on my knees, trying to breathe.

      “Idiot.”

      The incident brings me back to thoughts of Sean. I walk the rest of the way to my apartment, working to control my breathing. It’s never fair losing someone so young. Regardless of faith, I struggle with it. I’ve asked, but no priest has ever presented me with a valid explanation.

      In the Fall, when we last spoke, Sean had called me after weeks of silence. I told him it wasn’t working out, the distance. I can only think of how high I felt when we met. And how low I felt when I knew it was over. I didn’t mention my suspicions, it would have been too awkward. Our last weekend together when I was packing to leave Arkansas, I discovered something in Sean’s bathroom. I stumbled upon some feminine items that weren’t mine. Instead of confronting him, I was worried. I thought he would think I was snooping. I imagined the worst and assumed he was seeing someone else. My fatal flaw remains, prone to react rather than communicate.

      Physically refreshed after the run, my mind is still muddled. When I arrive at home, I find Maggie making coffee.

      “You’re up early,” I smile, “thanks for making the coffee.”

      “Are you kidding? My legs barely move without a coffee IV. I don’t know how you go running without it. This early shift sleep pattern is a pain in the butt. I’ll probably go home and go back to bed.”

      I shower, dress, then sit on the couch with my friend, full coffee cups in hand.

      “I’d say help yourself to breakfast, but I don’t think there’s anything edible in my apartment.”

      “It’s fine. I’m in the same boat at my place. I’m going to see Corky. I’ll get something there.”

      “Say hi for me. I’m jealous. Sometimes, I wish I had a different job. I miss having weekdays off.”

      “You need to take some off.”

      We sip in silence for a bit, lost in thought, until Maggie breaks it.

      “It was an accident, Scar. You couldn’t have done anything to stop it.”

      “I know. I’ll go to the funeral, say my goodbyes. Eventually I’ll make peace with it.” I look at my watch. “Crap! I have to go. Lock up for me? You still have your key?”

      Maggie dangles her key ring.

      Driving to work, I consider skipping the funeral; then realize that’s not an option. I owe Sean that much. I form a plan in my mind. First, get through the service. Next, offer condolences to Sean’s family, friends, and anyone else I recognize. Finally, make a hasty exit. I coach myself in this manner. I hope that I’ll get through it without incident. I have a habit of acting inappropriately when I’m nervous. Certain patterns of behavior permeate my life. I’m hopeless at small talk, dreading cocktail parties, weddings, and funerals. Everyone dreads funerals. But I worry so much about doing or saying the wrong thing that I actually do or say the wrong thing. Oddly, I’m fine when it comes to business, but in social situations, I need a pill. My mother always said I marched to a different beat. I think that was a nice way of saying I’m socially awkward.

      Sean got me, but Sean is gone. I’d rather remember him as he was: vibrant, sexy, smart and amazingly kind. I don’t want to face the fact that he will never be any of those things again.