We’re Not In Kansas Anymore - Chapter 3
I was not expecting the knock on my door, but I can’t say I was surprised, either. I scuffed from the kitchen where my tea was brewing to the front door, and I spied with my little eye a nice yet official-looking lady in a monochrome suit. A suited woman at your door in a long strand of faux-pearls during broad daylight is never a good sign.
I did not want to open the door. I was in my housecoat and sometimes-sly slippers, but I knew this lovely woman was probably here for some official purpose that could result in my going back to The Place if I didn’t answer the door as she would expect.
Opening the door with my best phony smile, I said hello. I tried to say hello. My voice cracked because I had not spoken yet today, so I sounded more like a strangling bullfrog. It was an interesting sound, and I may have thought about it a beat too long as Lovely Lady stared at me enquiringly.
“Hello there! How may I help you?” Oh, the cheer in my bullfroggy voice. No one could deny I was alert and perky.
“Are you alright?” asked Lovely Lady. “Of course! I merely had a little froggy in my throat. May I help you?” Remain pleasant, I told myself. Keep the smile. Remain pleasant remainpleasant.
“I’m Viola, from the township social services department. May I come in?”
“Why certainly!” I replied perkily. “I was just making my morning tea, would you like a cup? Please excuse the clutter. I’ve not started my cleaning yet.” I was starting to feel the familiar cheek-ache of a forced smile. I led Lovely Lady Viola to the kitchen, where my tea sat waiting, and far too strong.
I washed up and took my worn clothes to the laundry room. Finally, enough for a load! I started the washing machine with glee. I love the sound of the water shooting into the tub. It is such a refreshing sound, like standing next to a waterfall. I pulled up a kitchen chair to listen while I looked out the big windows into the sunshine.
The knock of a small hand increasing in intensity snapped me out of my eye resting. It is a good thing my kitchen chairs have arms on them, or I might have fallen to the floor as I was lulled by the washer waterfall. I opened the door to little neighbor girl. She wanted to play the piano yet again. I did not mind. She plays fairly well, and I quite enjoy watching her chubby fingers on the keys.
After about half an hour I was scooting her out the door. “Your father will not be happy with me if you are late for dinner, dear.” It was pretty early for dinner, but I had tired of the plinking and was ready for her to go.
“Whose car is that?” she asked on her way out the door. “Why I don’t know, dear. I thought someone was visiting your house. Now scoot on home and tell your father I said hello!” Before she could ask any more questions, I shut the door tight and locked it. Two visitors in one day were enough for me lately.
I walked toward the kitchen, thinking that even though I wasn’t very hungry maybe I should eat a piece of bread or something to keep from getting in that not-eating trouble again. I peeped into the linen closet at the pipes, so orderly and covered with just the finest layer of dust. The dust adds character, I have to admit. I bypassed the kitchen and went to the glider. It was such a lovely afternoon, why waste it eating bread?
I heard the bell. It jangled insistently as dusk came on. I started and leapt out of the glider as gracefully as a lame elephant and headed toward the door. I was going to catch that invader once and for all. I saw the kitchen light flip on and just as I neared the doorjamb, the door slammed in my face. I had gooseflesh and my hair stood on end, but I tried the handle. I was locked out again. This was not going to be good.
