A shriveled disabled woman, Nooosh, wearing a cheap chestnut wig, tattered green jacket and gray sweat pants, sat silently across from her finger-tapping young doctor. Paralyzed below the waist, the 51-year-old patient tugged on the strap that held her torso against her chair’s backrest—a habit that typically indicated she was about to put her chair in motion.
Aware of a packed waiting room, the doctor slowly stood from behind her desk, communicating her need to end their time together.
Nooosh, in turn, wedged the steering lever at the end of her armrest between her thumb and index-finger. But after squeezing the smooth plastic knob, she released it in, then reached into her leather satchel.
The doctor stared at the blue and silver pinwheel protruding from a crease in her Nooosh’s armrest. “Is there anything else I can do, Nooosh?” she asked, turning palms up.
She wants me to scoot, thought Nooosh. Unable to speak without pausing every few words, Nooosh replied. “Knowing that ending. . .our visit. . .would be awkward, . . .I bought this toy,” she announced while pulling a black revolver out of her tote bag, then holding the weapon by her head.
Taken aback, the doctor bumped her chair while stepping backward.
Undeterred, Nooosh pulled the trigger, sending a spurt of water toward the ceiling. “It’s a squirt gun,” she assured with an impish smile.
“That was quite the prank,” replied the doctor, folding arms and shaking head.
Nooosh stuffed the gun back into her bag. “Don’t worry. . . . I know. . . I’m a rascal,” she admitted as she started for the door. “I’m in the mood. . .for gallivanting. . .and a yummy. . .hot fudge sundae.
While crossing the waiting room to exit, Nooosh pulled her cell from her satchel and rang the transport company to inform them she didn’t need to be picked up. Noticing someone entering the room, she hastily shoved her cell by her thigh in order to hurry through the door before it closed. Once outside, she rolled down the ramp that led to the sidewalk, then started what she considered to be a long overdue mini adventure.
Traveling at a top speed of four miles per hour and with a warm evening summer breeze powering her pinwheel, Nooosh planned the stops she’d make during her jaunt home. As she glided passed each of the sparsely placed streetlamps, she kept her eyes on the next hovering glow. Just focus on the light ahead, she told herself, not used to being out at night.
Not far from the medical building, Nooosh stopped at an ice cream parlor. After she’d knocked several times on the glass entrance, a pouty teenage worker, who was wiping tables, eventually looked up, then slogged to and cracked open the door.
The gum-smacking girl, who happened to be the owner’s daughter, decided a scruffy invalid was being a pest. “Whataya want?” she asked with a scowl.
“What you sell. . . . Are you going. . .to let me in?” asked Nooosh with her usual abbreviated phrasing.
“Back up,” ordered the girl as she banged the door against Nooosh’s footrest.
“OK, OK,” said Nooosh, hurriedly nudging her lever in reverse.
“You gotta get in line,” ordered the rude girl.
“Fine,” replied Nooosh while lodging her chair against the door.
Soon the last of seven patrons in line, Nooosh found herself behind a pair of drunk, loudmouth young men. After the duo glanced down at Nooosh and snickered, they continued their rowdiness. Not surprisingly, their obnoxious roughhousing escalated into a heated shoving match—a scuffle that caused the fellow closest to Nooosh to tumble backward.
Though Nooosh tried to move out of his way, the flailing man’s momentum brought about a collision that left the fellow sprawled over a nearby table.
While Nooosh escaped the impact without injury, the phone she’d tucked by her side was tossed to the floor. Startled by the commotion, neither Nooosh nor anyone else noticed the cell had careened under the base of a nearby table.
Ready to make sure the uproar didn’t get further out of hand, the owner of the store intervened from behind the counter. “Who started the ruckus?” he asked.
“The cripple tailgated me,” whined the toppled fellow as he swayed upright.
“You’re blaming me. . .just for being. . .in line,” grumbled Nooosh, oblivious to the fact that her wig had twisted a bit during the impact, causing her to appear daffy.
“Like he said, the sloshed cripple got up his rear,” stated the owner’s daughter before giving the fellow at odds with Nooosh a flirtatious grin.
The owner turned to Nooosh. “My daughter’s account is all I need. Are you sober enough to leave on your own?”
Upset with having been accused of drunkenness, Nooosh didn’t depart quietly. “Yeah, but. . .before I leave, . . .I’m gonna need. . .to let everyone know. . .I’m from the Bless. . .the Bully Agency. . .It’s. . .”
The antsy owner interrupted. “If you need me to call someone to come for you, I will. But you gotta wait outside.”
“I’m afraid. . .a quick blessing. . .is called for,” insisted Nooosh.
Wanting to impress the owner’s daughter, the fellow who’d taken the spill ridiculed Nooosh. “She’s a grungy bashed goofball!”
“That agency sounds hokey to me,” chimed in the owner’s daughter.
“Anybody heard of the goofball’s agency?” asked the deriding fellow. When no one answered, he took an intimidating step toward Nooosh. “How come nobody’s heard of your agency?”
“Well, . . .there’s only me. . .and I just. . .started up,” answered Nooosh while removing her lifelike water pistol from her satchel and pointed it at the encroaching bully.
Having had his brashness quickly hushed, the frightened fellow extended palms toward Nooosh. “Hey now, how about I apologize?” he pleaded, looking around and finding none of the frozen onlookers willing to intercede.
Nooosh straightened her arm. “OK, . . .but I still think. . .blessings. . .are in order,” she replied before squirting water onto his shirt, then aiming at and sprinkling the blouse of the flippant girl.
While several customers laughed in relief, the intoxicated fellow, feeling soundly spoofed, fist-pounded a table.
Wary of his fury, Nooosh started for the exit. “I only fill. . .my gun with. . .top notch holy water,” she joshed while bulldozing the door open.
Again cruising into the night, Nooosh decided to go to a park she’d found enchanting the few times she’d passed by it. After taking a right at the first stoplight, she turned left onto a road with an incline. Thirty or so yards up the sidewalk, she slowed to a crawl. “It’s too steep. . . . I’ve gotta. . .turn around,” she complained as she came to a stop, then swerved in reverse too sharply, causing her chair to tip sideways. “Uh-oooooh!” she called out, clutching the chair’s armrests as she plunged toward the pavement.
While the strap that snuggly held Nooosh against the backrest kept her from being jolted from her chair, it didn’t keep her head from being jarred. Left only a bit of woozy was the good news. The bad news was she had no way of righting herself. “Now what, . .numbskull?” she asked while noticing she was between streetlights and at lease 100 feet from the nearest house. After a few strained calls for help, she decided to wait for someone to happen upon her predicament. “Where’s the darn traffic. . .when a useless clump. . .needs it?” she fussed.
A few long minutes later, Nooosh’s luck changed. From her horizontal ground-view, she saw a man whisking toward her.
“Looks like a dauntless daredevil had a wheelie go whacky,” called the fellow while hand-combing a mop of auburn hair.
“How’d ya guess?” quipped Nooosh.
“Bein’ high doesn’t dull my diagnostics all that much. You gotta be a seasoned scrappy swashbuckler able to go yoga after a TKO,” answered the verbose fellow, wearing a plaid vest, yellow T-shirt and torn dungarees. “I bet your setback has you cranked for a comeback.”
Unable to tilt her head more than an inch, Nooosh again spoke to the fellow’s shins. “If you just said. . .you’re in the presence. . .of someone who’d. . .like to be upright, . . .you’re correct!”
The thirtyish unshaven fellow bent forward, then grabbed the wheelchair’s armrest with both hands—a motion that caused a smoke he’d rolled to drop from his shirt pocket and land inches from Nooosh’s nose.
Nooosh picked up the smoke just before her Good Samaritan pulled her vertical. “Thanks a bunch. . . . That was some. . .bugabooboo. . . . I guess it’s obvious. . .I don’t get out much. . . . You dropped this,” she noted while extending the smoke.”
“It’s Cape-Canaveral liftoff pot. Keep it,” offered the fellow with a kindhearted smile.
“While my. . .sputtering speech. . .has me hesitant. . .to comment on. . .how another talks, . . .I’m afraid your lingo. . .is beyond me,” replied Nooosh.
The cordial stranger clarified. “I’m telling you that, in the event you fall into a funk, the primo marijuana you’re holding will launch you somewhere better for a spell. Just hold down a few hits.”
“Hmmm,” replied Nooosh as she pushed her ruffled wig off her left eye. “I think I better be. . .in my rat’s nest. . .when I indulge,” she noted while dropping the joint into her satchel.
After squatting to retrieve items that had fallen from Nooosh’s satchel, the fellow blew a burst of air into her pinwheel, then watched it twirl. “Your superlative little windmill wasn’t winged by your washout,” he noted as he returned what he’d picked up.
Nooosh yanked the ornament from the armrest. “Please consider it. . .a modest gift.”
“That’s mighty magnanimous of you,” he replied before asking where Nooosh was headed. “Are you tryin’ to touch down at your abode?”
“Not just yet. . . . By the way, . . .my name is Nooosh. . .with three o’s.”
“Mine’s Lon, only one o, but maybe changing it to Looon by adding a couple more o’s would help me saddle up for some come-in-handy humility.”
He sounds serious, thought Nooosh.
Lon spoke respectfully. “Of course, I wouldn’t infringe on your three-o’s trademark without your OK. But if you do give me the go-ahead, I do believe calling myself Looon could be a whimsical, but needed, self-effacing boot-in-the-butt.”
“If you’re half. . .as sincere. . .as you sound, . . you’ve got my. . .unneeded approval.”
“Not unneeded to me,” assured Lon. “I suppose I’ll have to get city hall’s hunky-dory to make a couple of overhauling o’s official. Whataya think?”
“I believe I’ve bumped. . .into another. . .rootin’ tootin’ maverick. . .who’s got the good sense. . .to dodge red-tape,” answered Nooosh, trying to complement the fellow’s way with words.
Lon was impressed. “A beguiling kindred spirit has just served up a bottom-line bull’s-eye! Thanks for reminding me I’m marooned amid madness.”
“Glade to be of some use,” answered Nooosh.
As a breeze propelled the pinwheel, Lon speculated. “I’m guessing we’re here just long enough to stumble to the next stopgap stab at evolving a bit. . . . Trying to angle our wings in order to make good use of the passing, ever-shifting breezes is tricky, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes, angling is. . .bugabooboo tricky. . . . Well, before I go. . . let me be the first. . . to call you. . .by your new name. . . . Thanks for the help, . . .Looon.”
After traveling only a few feet, Nooosh decided to treat her new acquaintance to a hot fudge sundae the following day. As soon as the sidewalk somewhat leveled off, she turned to extend the invitation. By then, however, Looon had vanished.
Finding a different route to the small pond, Nooosh parked next to a picnic table, then pulled a chocolate bar from her satchel. While munching on the treat, she gazed at the full moon above the water.
Happy to find only a handful of folks strolling along the trail that circled the shoreline, Nooosh found herself soon captivated by the sparkling moonbeam that crossed the water. “It’s a shinning. . .glorious . . passageway,” she softly proclaimed as she stopped chewing, then closed eyes. “I will, . . .in seconds, . . .find myself floating. . . along the glow’s. . .magnificence,” she wished.
When Nooosh reopened her eyes, nothing had changed. Though her failure to induce her transcendence was anticipated, it was a source of disappointment. “Why the holdup? . . .I couldn’t be readier. . .for a stomping ground. . .where I can. . .actually stomp,” she bemoaned as she watched an elegant goose glide along the glazed water as if propelled by no more than a desire to do so. “She’s a loner,” murmured Nooosh just before a half-dozen geese emerged from a thick patch of cattails, then caught up to their comrade. “I’m the. . .forlorn oddball,” realized Nooosh as a pang of loneliness settled in her chest.
After watching the platoon of geese patrol the perimeter of their private enclave, Nooosh yawned, gave the moonbeam aimed at her a final glance, then headed for home.
A half mile from her apartment, Nooosh noticed the small red light by her accelerator knob was flashing, signaling her wheelchair battery needed to be recharged. Unable to make it home on her own, she began a futile search for her cell. After double-checking every pocket and crevice, she expressed her frustration out loud. “No cell! . . . Now what?”
Aware that her chair would soon come to a halt, Nooosh turned onto the driveway of a home with dark windows. Maybe old folks who go to bed early live here, she hoped while searching for an accessible outdoor electrical outlet. After circling to the backyard of the bungalow, she found the cement patio bordering the home was level with the lawn. While rolling toward the slab, she spotted an outlet. “A quick half-hour charge. . .should get me home,” she muttered while plugging into the power source.
With little to do but take notice of the surroundings, Nooosh spotted a large red-lettered picketer’s sign that read ABORTION IS MURDER leaning against the house. Then, after taking a pill, she closed eyes to rest them. Seconds later, she did something she hadn’t anticipated: She fell asleep.
Inside the house, a 13-year-old girl, Atty, with a reddish birthmark that covered much of the right side of her face, was on her knees praying for her older sister’s return. Ever since her sister and only friend, Lenore, abruptly moved out a month ago, getting to sleep had been difficult for the teen. After climbing into bed, she found falling asleep was again a struggle. “Please, God. If Lenore comes back I’ll never again complain about being ugly,” she whispered once under the covers.
Along with causing Atty to feel unattractive, her birthmark make simple tasks trying events. Merely walking past others was unpleasant, typically prompting the teen to bow her head in order to conceal her facial blotch and, by doing so, avoid seeing a passerby cringe before looking away. Though Atty’s time at school had somewhat numbed her to taunting by classmates, adult grimaces remained difficult to bear.
While recalling the upsetting blowup between her sister and mother the night before Lenore left home, Atty once more found herself contemplating something she found particularly distressful: Her belief that she’d let her sister down. I should have stuck up for Lenore, she ruminated with regret.
With only her imagination to fall back on, Atty wished for the patch of moonlight that had passed through her window and onto the wall behind the foot of her bed to blossom into an angel who’d convince her mother to allow Lenore to return. When the requested visit didn’t materialize, her discouragement deepened. I don’t deserve what I want, she mulled with a shoulder-bobbing sigh. Needing time away from her bedroom, she sat up, slid legs off the bed and headed to the kitchen for a drink.
While passing the living room, Atty found her mother—a husky, mannish divorcee—watching TV in the dark while removing the bark off a branch with a large shiny hunting knife. “Are you making something?” asked Atty, noticing that most of the peelings weren’t landing in the bucket in front of her mother.
“I’ve taken up whittling therapy,” answered her mother.
“How does shredding wood helps you feel better?” asked Atty.
“Better to be gouging a bunch of branches than ripping into unpleasable customers,” explained her mother just before jerking the five-inch blade through a knot—a stroke that flung a large shaving at the TV screen. “Better to be peeling off bark than be dredging up spilt milk,” she added while sending a warning glare Atty’s way.
Recognizing her mother had, yet again, declared mentioning Lenore was off limits, Atty looked to the floor.
“I’m already addicted,” stated her mother with TV chatter in the background. “I doubt I’ll again wanna watch the disturbing depravity and idiocy reported on the news without hacking away.”
“Why not just stop watching the news?” asked Atty.
“Responsible citizens gotta keep track of all the haywire, worrisome nonsense,” answered her mother as she continued her rhythmic slashing.
“What good does worrying do?” wondered Atty.
“It keep people on guard. The deceitful demons are everywhere,” answered the mother, echoing a reference to the devil often used by their minister.
Atty was still baffled. “I don’t understand.”
Ceasing her whittling, the mother rested her forearms on knees, then recalled something frequently mentioned in her minister’s sermons. “It’s like Reverend Sloon says: The demons are good at faking niceness and at appearing to do what’s right. Good people have to crusade against the emboldened fakers. . . . And don’t act like you’re surprised to hear that people fake niceness. You’ll be lying if you claim you didn’t already know that’s so!”
“Sometimes it seems like people are just too busy to be nice,” offered Atty.
“It’s time to grow up, Atty,” railed the mother. “The demons take advantage of niceness, especially when they come across a gullible ninny. All sorts of aspiring devious demons with no regard for anyone but themselves are roaming the streets.”
Sure she’d heard enough, Atty headed for the kitchen.
Again whittling, her mother spoke loud enough to be heard throughout the small house. “Do right and keep up your guard, Atty. That’s how to keep from falling prey!”
While looking out the window over the sink as she took a sip of water, Atty noticed a contraption obscured by the night. Guessing the object had been put there by her mother, she called out. “What’s that thing you put on the patio?”
“Calling something a thing isn’t going to get you an answer,” hollered her mother.
After leaning closer to the window, Atty saw an electrical cord that appeared to go from the object to an outside wall. Still not recognizing the backside of a wheelchair, she again called to her mother. “What if I call it the thing you plugged into the house?”
Irritated by Atty’s questions, her mother strutted to the kitchen in a huff, stood next to her daughter and leaned toward the window. “What the heck,” she squawked before grabbing her keys off the counter and hurrying to a nearby closet. After quickly unlocking a cabinet on the shelf above several coats, she reached for and pulled down her hunting rifle. She then dropped to one knee to grab some shells from a boot tucked in a rear corner.
“What’s wrong?” asked Atty as she watched her mother load the weapon, then head back to the kitchen.
“My cell’s on the counter by the coffee pot; get it and wait in the doorway,” ordered her mother before flipping on the outside light, bursting out the rear door and marching toward Nooosh. Soon aware the snoring intruder in a wheelchair was oblivious to her presence, Atty’s mother leveled her gun waist high. “Hey, whoever you are! Wake up!” she loudly ordered.
Blinking to focus, Nooosh gulped upon noticing a rifle pointed at her chest. “My name, . . .my name is Nooosh. . .with, with three o’s,” she nervously stated.
“I’m Ms. Rix. Looks like trespassing and thievery!” replied Atty’s mother while sliding to her right so that she could yank the wheelchair’s plug from the outlet.
Turning to remove the weapon from her sight, Nooosh spotted a pajama clad girl watching from the back door. “Hello,” called Nooosh with a friendly smile.
“Hi,” replied Atty as her head tipped forward.
“Sorry if I. . .frightened you,” apologized Nooosh.
Determined to regain command of the situation, Ms. Rix moved closer to Nooosh. “Turn to me, and explain what the heck you think you’re doing.”
While complying, Nooosh noted her sobriety. “First, . . .please know. . .I only sound drunk. . . . My stop-and-go speech. . .is what it always is.”
“Get to why you’re here,” demanded Atty’s mother.
“I was rolling. . .past your house. . .when my battery. . .got close. . .to conking out,” answered Nooosh.
“Bring me the phone, Atty,” coldly instructed her mother.
Afraid the police were about to be called, Nooosh hurriedly pulled two bills from her satchel. “Hold on! . . . Here’s 40 bucks. . .for your electricity. . .and your trouble. . . . Please let me scram.”
“Why can’t we let her leave?” urged Atty, feeling it was the kind thing to do.
The mother hesitated, then took the money. “Alright, get going.”
Nooosh quickly reeled in her recharge cord, then scooted from the residence.
“Some demons have unbelievable gall!” charged the mother once Nooosh was out of sight.
Her mother’s conclusion seemed hasty to Atty. “You think she’s a demon?”
“Nice people don’t steal electricity, do they?” pointed out the mother.
“But she paid you,” pointed out Atty.
“Only because she knew I meant business,” replied the mother before once more highlighting what she thought was most important. “You’re gonna haveta find a way to ingrain what I’ve been repeating: It’s all about doing right and keeping up your guard. . . . She didn’t do right and you’re not keeping up your guard! . . . Let’s get to bed.”
After finally making it home, Nooosh wearily dealt with bathroom duties, then crossed the cluttered living room portion of her studio—an area that has six stained-glass lanterns hanging from stands placed around its outer edge. Once parked alongside her bed, she plugged her chair into an extension chord draped over a bedpost. Having long been too weak to use the trapeze that hung from the ceiling, she loosened her chest brace, pulled a blanket over her, then let head fall onto a pillow propped on the edge of the mattress. A few seconds later, she was sound asleep.
Stiff-arming her upper body upright after waking late the next morning, Nooosh tightened her chest brace, pulled the recharge plug from the wall outlet and headed for the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, she was out her door, again attempting to treat herself to a sundae.
About 50 yards from Nooosh—too far for her to see—two boys were passing Atty. “Out of the way, red face,” taunted the taller boy, prompting both boys to laugh.
Approaching from the opposite direction, the boys soon crossed paths with Nooosh. “Out of the way, wheelchair wacko,” spewed the smaller boy, triggering both younsters to chuckle. Preoccupied with obtaining her treat, Nooosh barreled ahead unruffled.
Soon, Atty was close enough to catch Nooosh’s attention. “It’s good to again see you again?” called Nooosh while coming to a stop. “In case you. . .missed it last night. . .my name is Nooosh. . .with three o’s. . . . Thanks for getting. . .your mother to let. . . me hightail it home.”
With her head well bent, Atty shared how rare it was for her to contradict her mother. “The money convinced her, not a wimp, like me. . . . My name is Atty.”
“I’ve been. . .a scaredy-cat. . .all my life,” revealed Nooosh.
Atty didn’t expect such openness. “You have?”
“I expect. . .few people are as. . .cowardly as me,” assured Nooosh.
Atty looked away before replying. “I’m one of the few. . . . I let down my one and only friend—my sister. I did nothing to keep my mom from shouting Lenore out of the house.”
She needs to talk, thought Nooosh. “Can we move. . .under the shade. . .of that maple,” she asked, pointing to a large tree.
“OK,” timidly said Atty as she followed Nooosh across a bumpy lawn.
“When I catch an ear, . . .I yakety yak. . .my bugabooboos,” noted Nooosh as she came to stop.
“What’s a bugabooboo?” asked Atty while sitting on the grass.
“A regret. . .that tugs at ya,” answered Nooosh.
“The Reverend at the church I belong to over there preaches about regret a lot, especially when she goes on about abortions,” replied Atty, pointing to the nearby place of worship.
“Is an abortion. . .what got between. . .your mother and sister?” asked Nooosh.
“Yeah, my mom wants Lenore to name her dead baby and to carry a sign that says abortion is murder. . . . I’m too afraid of my mother to even mention Lenore’s name,” admitted Atty.
Nooosh rubbed the back of her neck, then began an unexpected reply. “I was about. . .your age. . .when my older sister. . .left home. . .after months of. . .trying to make peace. . .with our parents.”
“Did she get an abortion?” asked Atty.
“Yes. . . . Because I felt. . .like I’d let. . .my sister down. . .by never standing up for her, . . .I did something. . . really dumb after she left. . . . I stood up. . .for a frail girl. . .being bullied at. . .the top of a flight. . . of stairs at school. . . . Instead of getting help. . .from a teacher, . . .I called the bully. . .a name. . . . The bonkers bully pounced, . . .sending me barreling. . . down the stairs. . . . I ended up. . .in this chair. . . . The bully ended up expelled, . . .and the girl. . .I stood up for. . .ended up. . .with a ton of guilt.”
Atty looked over at Nooosh. “I guess standing up for someone can make a lot of hurt.”
“If only I’d taken. . .the bullied girl’s hand…and walked away,” regretted Nooosh.
“I guess my face is good for something,” shared Atty.
Nooosh wanted to be sure she understood what Atty was saying. “You mean your face. . . keeps you from. . .getting involved. . .with people.”
“No one wants to be around me,” shared Atty. “I even overheard Reverend Sloon tell my mother it wouldn’t be good to have me picket with them.”
“That’s good news, . . .right?’ said Nooosh
Atty’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, but I still think about the laser treatments the school nurse told me about. She said the redness might lighten. . . . My mom says that, because our health insurance won’t pay anything, she’s gotta come up with a few thousand dollars. . . . We just get by on what her landscaping job pays. . . . There’s something else in the way.”
“What?” asked Nooosh.
Embarrassed by what she was about to divulge, Atty spoke softly. “Another time I overheard my mom and Reverend Sloon, they said my face should keep me from doing what Lenore did.”
“So, . . .you figure it’ll be. . .an extra long time. . .before the money. . .for the treatments. . .gets saved,” said Nooosh.
“There’s always a new excuse. Last year the refrigerator went kaput. A month ago the truck cost a bunch. . . . When I bring it up, Mom gets yellowjacket mad.”
“Yellowjacket mad. . .sounds pretty mad,” noted Nooosh.
“When my dad was around, he’d say Mom’s yellowjacket mad and ready to stick her stinger into whoever’s handy,” recalled Atty.
“How long has. . . he been gone?” asked Nooosh.
“About four years. Mom says he has a gambling problem. All I know is he didn’t like being around me. When he did talk to me, he always looked away. . . . Knowing I made him feel yucky made me feel yucky. I guess that’s why I was kinda glad when he left.”
“Hearing your dad. . .is no help, . . .makes me wanna. . .take a crack at. . .talking to your mom. . .about the laser treatments,” replied Nooosh.
Atty squirmed a bit before replying. “I don’t want to be hurtful, but I think you should know my mom thinks you’re what Reverend Sloon and her calls a demon.”
“That’s a yikes. . .of a putdown,” noted Nooosh.
“Reverend Sloon says a demon is someone who becomes one of the devil’s soldiers on Earth,” explained Atty.
“My little stop-by. . .last night. . .made a worse impression. . .than I thought,” said Nooosh.
“I’m going to get a cat when I get out on my own. They don’t care what people look like,” said Atty before asking about Nooosh. “Who do you live with?”
“A bunch of scrunched-up, . . .grumpy nibblers. . .corralled at the. . .Freewheeling Apartments,” answered Nooosh.
“Nibblers?” questioned Atty.
“It’s just a way. . .to joke about. . .life in a wheelchair,” replied Nooosh. . . . “You see, . . .some wheelers. . .nibble like little mice. . .so that we don’t. . .have to deal with. . .the rigamarole. . .going potty involves. . . . Anyway, . . .I won’t be. . .at the Feewheeling. . .much longer.”
“Where are you moving to?” asked Atty.
“I’m hoping it’s. . . a place where I can. . .do a better job. . .piecing together. . .the bamboozling puzzle. . .I’ve been working on. . . . The only hitch is. . .I’m going sight unseen,” answered Nooosh.
Atty was curious. “You mean you haven’t been to where you’re headed.”
“No,” answered Nooosh before changing the subject. “Any chance you’ll. . .let me treat you. . .to a sundae?”
“Sure!” quickly replied Atty.
“Super!” said Nooosh.
While standing to leave, Atty spotted something scary: Her mother pull up along the curb.
Out of her pick-up truck in a flash, the cantankerous mother marched toward Atty and Nooosh without bothering to remove her leather work gloves.
While watched the mother tug on her gloves as if preparing to apply a stranglehold, Atty made her fear known. “Mom looks yellowjacket mad.”
Soon within pouncing range, the mother plunked hands on hips as she barked orders. “Get home, Atty.” An imposing woman at 5’10” and 230 pounds, the rugged no-nonsense landscaper had no problem standing over someone strapped to a wheelchair. Once Atty had left, the mother glared down at Nooosh. “Whaddaya think you’re doin’?”
“I’m gulping,” warily answered Nooosh.
Ms. Rix remained stern. “I don’t put on kid gloves when it comes to protecting my daughter!”
While backing up to put some distance between them, Nooosh continued to be sheepish. “With your permission, . . .I’d like to confess something?”
“What?” asked Ms. Rix.
“I’m guilty of being. . .a buttinski,” confessed Nooosh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” snarled the mother.
“Having gone without. . .a meaningful chat. . .for some time, . . . I hoodwinked Atty. . .into telling me. . .about her sister’s departure. . . and about her interest. . .in laser treatments. . . . Please accept. . .my apology.”
Skeptical of Nooosh’s contrition, Ms. Rix gave a simple, but firm warning. “I’m determined to make sure Atty’s not led astray by perverted ideas. Am I getting my message across?”
“Most definitely,” politely assured Nooosh. “Could I please. . .explain why I’d. . .like to meddle. . .a smidgen more?”
Still riled, Ms. Rix resisted. “I’ve gotta get back to work.”
“I promise. . .to be brief,” assured Nooosh.
“Hurry up,” said Ms. Rix, letting hands drop to sides.
“Before landing. . .in this chair, . . .I was a horrible. . .single mother. . .with a teenage daughter. . .I badly failed. . . . Because she knew I kept. . .my moralizing head. . .in the sand, . . .she didn’t come to me. . . before or after. . .she got pregnant. . . . When I eventually found out . . .about her abortion, . . . I made living. . .with me hell. . . . It’s been decades. . .since I’ve seen her.”
Caught off guard by the grim story, Ms. Rix briefly looked away. “The taking of an innocent life can’t be overlooked.”
“That’s just what. . .I told myself,” shared Nooosh. Worried that Ms. Rix was about to walk away, Nooosh spoke with greater candor. “I realized too late. . .that I was trying. . .to convince myself. . .judging was the same. . .as healing.”
After a brief nose-sniffle, Ms. Rix was again adamant. “None of that is true for me. I’m not you, and my daughter is not your daughter! I fully expect my prayers and Lenore’s conscience will soon prompt her to atone in the ways provided by our Reverend.”
“Your Reverend is. . .a source of support,” noted Nooosh upon recalling what Atty had said about the religious mentor.
“There’s no one I respect more than Reverend Sloon,” replied Ms. Rix.
Aware her time with Ms. Rix was running out, Nooosh made a request. “Before you go, . . .I’m hoping you’ll. . .agree to an offer.”
“We’re done,” curtly replied the mother while turning to leave.
“I know it’s quite. . .forward of me,” admitted Nooosh, . . .”but I’d like to pay. . .for Atty to have. . .the laser treatments.”
An inflexible Ms. Rix quickly pivoted. “We don’t mooch!”
“How about. . .a loan?” asked Nooosh.
“No, no, no!” griped the mother. “Stay away from Atty! The next time you need someone to talk to, call social services,” demanded Ms. Rix, shaking her head as she again started for her truck.
Nooosh followed. “Atty’s a lovely girl. . . . I’m sure you’ve been. . .a far better parent. . .than I was,” she called out in frustration while thumping palms on her chair’s armrests. “Who can enjoy a sundae after that?” moaned Nooosh as she headed home.
The 54 year-old ex-best-friend of Nooosh, Brill, whose apartment was on the opposite side of the courtyard shared by all Freewheeling residents, rolled across her studio to open her door for the building caretaker, Arl—a pudgy, gray-haired soft-spoken fellow. Also stuck in a battery-powered wheelchair, Brill had lost the use of her legs jumping from a second floor window after carelessly starting a cooking fire that left her with a scar covering much of the left side of her face. Especially traumatic, her mother died in the blaze.
“Though the chemical isn’t toxic, I know you like to wait outside,” noted Arl, wearing a mask and carrying a two-gallon container connected to a hose with a nozzle.
“Don’t you think it’s odd to be told not to worry about what’s getting sprayed from someone wearing a mask?” replied Brill as she passed the sixtyish baggy-eyed custodian.
“It’s a 30-second under-the-sink job,” noted Arl as he entered, then closed the door behind him.
Once outside, Brill spotted Nooosh on the other side of the courtyard. “Great, she has to be out here just when I need to be,” bristled Brill before noticing something unsettling: Nooosh began waving a hand gun in an effort to get Brill to join her. “What is that damn liar up to,” fretted Brill, unaware Nooosh’s revolver was a water pistol. Determined to maintain their month-long estrangement, an indignant Brill turned to re-enter her apartment.
“All done,” said Arl, spotting Brill enter as he headed for the door.
Still annoyed, Brill dumped on the caretaker. “I thought you were supposed to make sure there’s no weapons on the premises. I just saw Nooosh with a big asinine smirk waving a gun.”
Alarmed by the mention of a gun, Arl pulled his mask off as he hurried to the window, only to find water spurting from Nooosh’s weapon. “There’s no rule against using a squirt gun to shoo flies,” he noted. Aware of Brill’s falling-out with Nooosh—the only resident she’d befriended, Arl knew their split had left both lonely. “You gals must miss each other, at least a little bit.”
Despite his gentle tone, Brill took offense. “I don’t miss that phony at all!”
“I know it sounds like I’m making an excuse for Nooosh, but I think she’s well-meaning when she tells yarns,” suggested Arl.
That wasn’t what Brill wanted to hear. “You don’t know her like I do.”
“Loneliness worsens when people are cooped up much of the time,” warned Arl.
Brill remained cross. “Second chances aren’t very tempting when your trust has been gutted.”
“I know too well do-overs aren’t always possible, . . .but I also know bad feelings can fester and turn people against themselves,” pointed out Arl.
Remaining ornery, Brill lectured Arl. “You feel badly about killing civilians while fighting in a crazy war, but that’s what soldiers are sometimes forced to do.”
Arl was ready to self-incriminate. “I went to war because I didn’t have the courage to be called a coward.”
“You’re going on about dealing with the lingering stress caused by a war that occurred decades ago. . . . I’m talking about dealing with the lingering distrust caused by someone who told a big fat lie a month ago. They’re two different things. You’ve gotta learn not to mix up your wreckage with someone else’s,” admonished Brill.
“I suppose trying to figure out another’s hardship is a roundabout way of trying to figure out our own misery,” posed Arl.
“Sometimes staying irked is simply a way to fend off someone who’s persistently irksome!” carried on Brill.
“Please know my intent is to be helpful when I say it seems you’re more than irked, Brill. . . . I suspect the stockpile of hurt and guilt we’ve each got means we’ve been shoveling it against the tide when it comes to healing,” offered Arl.
Brill remained contrary. “Someone who’s stewing in his own stash of pain shouldn’t be playing therapist!”
Feeling put in his place, Arl hung his head.
Aware she’d been harsh, Brill managed an inkling of sympathy. “Just stop clubbing yourself with something you can’t change. People with less brains than you manage that much.”
“That’s a suggestion I guess most everyone should seriously consider,” replied Arl, hinting Brill should think about taking her own advice. “Well, I’ve more than worn out my welcome,” he added before heading for the door.
Later that day, after getting Nooosh’s apartment number from Arl at the Freewheeling’s office, Atty lowered her head and rang Nooosh’s bell.
“It’s open,” called out Nooosh.
“It’s Atty,” greeted the girl as see entered.
“It’s good to see you,” replied Nooosh.
Though relieved to hear that Nooosh didn’t seem to mind getting tracked down, Atty stammered a bit. “I got, I got your apartment number from the man at the office. . . . My, my mom told me you took the blame for what I told you,” noted Atty while noticing the metal bar hanging over the bed.
“You couldn’t have come. . .at a better time. . . . I’m heading to the market. . .to buy items. . . for a hot fudge sundae. . . . Will you join me?”
“I’m worried my Mom will see us and make a big fuss. She drives around town a lot,” said Atty.
“You need to. . .go undercover,” advised Nooosh.
“Undercover?” asked Atty.
“You need. . .a disguise,” said Nooosh as she beelined to a bureau, where she searched a drawer.
Still looking around, Atty asked about something she hoped to see. “Where’s the puzzle?”
“The what?” said Nooosh.
“The bamboozling puzzle,” described Atty.
“Oh, that. . . . I already packed it,” fibbed Nooosh. “I know what you. . .need is here,” she assured just before declaring success by holding up a reddish-brown wig similar to the one she was wearing. “Whaddya think?”
Atty was surprised. “That’s for me to wear?”
“Too spiffy?” asked Nooosh.
“No, it’s terrific,” gratefully replied Atty.
“We’re just getting started,” informed Nooosh as she dashed to open a bathroom drawer and pull out a bottle. “Use the mirror. . .in here to smear. . .on as much of. . .this makeup. . .as you want. . .while I find. . .you a sweater. . .and sunglasses.”
Atty had read about camouflaging birthmarks, but she hadn’t been allowed to do so. Seeing her huge blemish begin to disappear as she applied the cosmetic with a small pad was like watching a stranger slowly emerge. Once she’d coated both sides of her face, she found herself suddenly focusing on facial features other than her birthmark. Now, there were pleasant blue eyes, a fitting nose, light pink lips, and a nicely curved chin. She cracked a smile, not because she felt beautiful, but because she felt ordinary.
That Atty’s enhancement was due to an artificial veneer didn’t diminish the moment at hand. Anxious to complete her transformation, she slipped on the wig Nooosh had placed on the sink, then tucked her own hair out of sight. After taking a step backward, she was pleased to find that, once further from the light over the mirror, her skin shade appeared more natural.
“Hey, stranger, . . . I think I know you, . . .but I’m not sure?” kidded Nooosh before holding up yellow sunglasses and a pink sweater. “After you slip on these, . . .you’ll be full-fledged. . .undercover snazzy.”
“This is fun,” said Atty.
“I’m glad,” replied Nooosh.
As Nooosh and Atty passed through the market’s automatic door, Atty, kept her head tilted downward. After grabbing one of the baskets used to gather items, she hurried to catch up to Nooosh. Both then proceeded to a freezer against a rear wall, where they got a quart of ice cream. While entering an isle to pick up chocolate syrup and marshmallow, Atty briefly glanced at a passing woman. Though fleeting, the woman’s friendly smile allowed Atty to enjoy her newfound ability to feel she, too, could be just another carefree, unremarkable shopper.
“Can you think. . .of anything else?” asked Nooosh.
“No,” answered Atty as they headed the front of the store.
After placing their basket on a conveyor belt, Atty watched a thirtyish gal briskly ring up and bag their items.
Nooosh, meanwhile, fished her satchel for money. “The money’s here,” she assured herself as a hunched elderly man with a loaf of bread got in line behind Atty.
Quickly becoming impatient, the cashier spoke up. “The gentleman behind you looks ready to pay. Move out of the way so he can checkout.”
“Fine,” said Nooosh as she reached for her chair’s throttle.
“I can wait,” assured the easygoing white-haired fellow.
“Thank you, sir. . . . My name in Nooosh. . .with three o’s. . . . My friend is Atty.”
“I’m Ruther,” said the fellow.
“It’s my job to keep the line moving,” gruffly informed the cashier. “Move out of the lane, Noodles.”
Though offended by the obvious name-calling slight, Nooosh remained calm. “My name is Nooosh.”
“Yeah, yeah, with three o’s!” testily replied the cashier as she moved Nooosh’s items to the floor.
“Why are being unkind?” asked Nooosh.
“Because you won’t move!” growled the cashier.
The clash sent a quiver through Atty, prompting her to pat her moist face with a sleeve and, as a result, wipe off some of the makeup concealing her birthmark.
Noticing yet another customer get in line, the cashier delivered an ultimatum. “Either hand over $13.47 this second or leave the store!”
Rather than hand over the $20 she’d found in her pouch, Nooosh gathered the composure needed to suggest a reason for the cashier’s bitterness. “When my bundle. . .of hurt gets. . .the best of me, . . .I often find. . .someone is reminding me. . .of something I haven’t. . .dealt with well.”
The cashier wasn’t interested in an impromptu counseling session. “If you don’t start for the door, Noodles, I’m calling the cops!” she fumed.
“There’s gotta be. . .a big bugabooboo. . .that’s weighing. . .you down,” continued Nooosh.
The remaining iota of self-control the cashier had vanished. “Take your pain-in-the-butt nonsense the hell out of here!”
Though too intimidated to speak up, Atty stepped closer to Nooosh—a gesture of support that put her partially exposed birthmark in the cashier’s line of sight.
Concluding yet someone else was challenging her, the cashier transferred her loathing stare to Atty.
Shamed by the snarling woman, Atty buried chin in chest.
“Who are you. . .to put us down?” bellowed Nooosh while pulling her water pistol from her satchel, then stiffening her arm. “Time to bless. . .another bully!”
As the other customers scampered away from the incident, the cashier stood frozen.
Pumping the trigger as fast as she could, Nooosh sent a stream of water toward the cashier’s shirt.
Enraged by the prank, the cashier lunged forward, then violently ripped the toy from Nooosh. With both hands quickly wrapped tightly around the gun’s stock, the woman began soaking Nooosh’s face. “I’m sick and tired of you and your unreasonable demands!” she shouted.
Though the ferocious look on cashier’s face frightened Atty, she blocked the stream of water with her hands, permitting Nooosh to lead the way to the door.
“Stay out of here!” screeched the cashier before lowering the gun.
Only 30 or so feet from the store, Nooosh and Atty heard Ruther, the fellow who’d been in line behind them, call out. “Wait up!”
“What do you think he wants?” fretted Atty.
“I don’t know,” suggested Nooosh as they came to a stop.
Hustling to them, Ruther took a second to catch his breath, then shared something he hoped would be helpful for them to know. “I live across the street from the cashier, Gladys, and her wheelchair-bound senile mother. Feeling as put upon as anyone can feel for some time, Gladys scapegoated you.”
“Thanks for filling us in,” said Nooosh before taking a pill.
“It’s the least I could do given I was no help in the store,” said Ruther as he turned to Atty. “Watching someone step into the line of fire was uplifting, Atty. Well, I better get back to the store and get the loaf of bread my wife sent me to pick up. It was nice to meet you both.”
Nooosh and Atty replied with brief waves, then resumed their jaunt home.
“That was some to-do in the market,” said Atty.
“It sure was. . . . I almost wet my pants. . .when Gladys leaped at me,” chuckled Nooosh. “You’re a super sidekick. . . . Like Ruther said, . . .it took a lot. . .of courage to get. . .between Gladys and me.”
Spurred by Nooosh’s flattery, Atty shared a personal insight. “Gladys is like my mom. . . . She’s got hurt that keeps her from being nice.”
“Don’t let the world. . .teach you to forget. . .what you’ve figured out,” advised Nooosh.
“I’m also figuring out getting back at people just makes them wanna get back at you,” noted Atty.
“Yes, squirting Gladys. . .just got her. . .to squirt us,” said Nooosh. “You’re becoming. . .an expert on hurt, . . .Atty,” declared Nooosh.
The following day, Nooosh decided to try to enlist the help of Atty’s mother’s mentor, Reverend Sloon. While waiting under the maple tree that bordered the church’s parking lot, Nooosh saw a lean brunette, wearing a white collar and black suit, exit the church and head for the only car in the lot. “Excuse me, . . .are you. . .Reverend Sloon?” called Nooosh.
Always looking for new congregants, the 45-year-old minister was cordial. “I am. How can I help you?”
“My name is Nooosh. . . . That’s with three o’s. . . . Do you have. . .a few minutes?”
“Sure,” said Reverend Sloon.
“The accident that put me. . .in this chair. . .left me speaking in spurts. . . . So, please. . .don’t think I’m tipsy,” requested Nooosh.
Reverend Sloon pushed black-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose, then joined Nooosh under the tree. “Tragedy can bring us closer to God. I speak from first hand experience. An auto accident I was in two years ago brought about the death of an older man the police said likely feel asleep at the wheel.”
Nooosh readily contrived a similar circumstance. “My accident brought about. . .the dreadful death. . .of a teen. . . . The girl in the other car. . .veered into a tree. . . . I hit a guardrail, . . .then flipped over.”
Somewhat surprised by the account, Reverend Sloon folded arms.
“I still have guilt. . . . How about you?” asked Nooosh.
The minister showed a hint of annoyance. “I told you; the police said the fellow likely fell asleep.”
“So, you’re. . .not haunted,” pressed Nooosh.
Reverend Sloon tightened arms against chest, then spoke in a no-nonsense tone. “No, I’m not haunted. My ongoing state of spiritual devotion no doubt helped me recover.”
Realizing the Reverend’s defensiveness meant trying to forge a survivor’s bond was backfiring, Nooosh apologized. “Sorry, for putting. . . my remorse onto you.”
“Regarding your self-reproach, I recommend you look to our heavenly father for forgiveness,” urged the Reverend.
Get to the reason for being here, thought Nooosh. “I should get to. . .telling you. . . . I’m here on behalf. . .of Atty Rix. . . . I’m hoping you’ll. . .convince her mother, . . .who has great respect for you, . . .to let me pay. . .for the facial treatments. . .Atty wants.”
The minister abruptly started for her car. Just as she was about to clutch the car door’s handle, she turned back toward Nooosh and spoke bluntly. “While I’m sure you see yourself as benevolent, I’m afraid I can’t be of assistance.”
Though upset with the brisk dismissal, Nooosh tried again to obtain Reverend Sloon’s help. “The girl merely. . .wants to try. . .to lighten her birthmark.”
“The eagerness to undo what God intends is peoples’ undoing,” declared the Reverend.
Now peeved, Nooosh had a question. “Are you saying. . .such an unfortunate roll. . .of the darn dice. . .is some sort of. . .blessing in disguise?” questioned Nooosh.
Reverend Sloon stood her ground. “In a few moments, I’ll be meeting with a handful of warriors willing to picket against yet another undoing—the aborting of an unborn innocent life. Some think the creation of a fetus is also no more than an unfortunate roll of the dice?”
“I’m talking about. . .easing the burden. . .of a bad-luck birthmark!” emphasized Nooosh.
The fervent minister spoke as if standing behind her lectern. “I’m talking about choosing virtue over sin—about choosing the restraint that results in goodness over the self-indulgence that results in wickedness.”
In spite of recognizing she was up against a stance that very much defined the identity of its beholder, Nooosh battled back. “Telling people to restrain. . .is like telling them . . to stroll day after day. . .along a slippery ledge!”
“Gratification is a choice, not a necessity!” insisted the Reverend.
“Feeling like a somebody. . .worth connecting to. . .is a matter of survival. . . . People take. . .the desperate paths. . .available to them.”
Reverend Sloon again reeled off a well-rehearsed belief. “Abstinence is always available. And the so-called desperate paths you speak of are no more than convenient rationalizations for doing what’s selfish and craven!”
Though feeling she was no match for the Reverend, Nooosh did her best to try to underscore human fragility. “It appears you’ve. . .only knelt. . .with poise and pride.”
“I mightily kneel with praise for the Almighty! Those who do the same also find morality to be a gold shatterproof chalice from which to heartily drink.”
“The overwhelmed have. . .only a brittle cup. . .from which. . .to timidly sip,” wearily replied Nooosh, sure what she said would be quickly dismissed.
“You can’t explain-away free will. People choose wrong over right. They choose to become demonic,” lectured the minister just before climbing into her car, slamming the door shut and driving off.
“Abstaining is a luxury. . .when survival. . .is a struggle,” murmured Nooosh for her own benefit.
Atty was washing the supper dishes when, while glancing out the window over the sink, she saw her sister, Lenore, walk onto the patio. Darting out the rear door, Atty flung arms wide.
“It’s so good to see you,” said Lenore as the sisters relished a long embrace.
“I missed you,” replied Atty before intuitively turning around when she felt Lenore’s arms loosen. As suspected by Atty, her mother was in the doorway.
“Go to your room, Atty,” commanded the mother, holding a thick branch in one hand and her whittling knife in the other.
“I want to stay!” insisted Atty.
The mother checked to her left and right to ensure neighbors weren’t outside. “I decide who visits my home,” she declared.
Lenore calmly requested a compromise. “Will you please let me talk with Atty when you and I are done?”
“Five minutes, no more,” begrudgingly agreed the mother.
Believing she had to accept the deal Lenore made with their mother, Atty reluctantly entered the house. Once inside, she crouched behind a kitchen cabinet—a spot within earshot of her mother and sister.
After sitting on a patio chair, the mother whittled while wasting no time making it clear nothing had changed. “You know what’s required.”
Lenore also sat, then brought elbows to knees while dropping head into hands. “What you want is all that matters, isn’t it?”
“What I want for you is all that matters,” claimed the mother.
“I know I did something horrible,” confessed Lenore. “Why isn’t hearing me say I’ll take regret to my grave good enough?”
“Reverend Sloon answered that question: You need absolution, not regret,” stated the mother as she steadily stripped her branch of its sheathing.
Resting hands on thighs, Lenore looked skyward, then toward the sign, ABORTION IS MURDER, by the rear door. “My mistake is a permanent part of who I am.”
The mother stayed stern. “It won’t be once you make amends in the way provided by Reverend Sloon!”
While shifting her gaze to the patch of patio where the whittled shavings were landing, Lenore recalled the Reverend’s recommendation. “You still want me to name the baby I killed and to join the picketers.”
“Once you atone, your soul will be repaired,” declared the mother.
Lenore’s hands clawed her kneecaps as an inner reservoir of regret ruptured. “What I did isn’t reparable!”
“It most certainly is! As Reverend Sloon says, demonic sinfulness can be extracted,” pronounced her mother, sending a slashed strip of bark airborne.
No longer able to contain her inner turmoil, Lenore straightened, then stared into her mother’s eyes. “I’m not fixable!” she stressed.
“Only atonement will purge the demon from you, Lenore. You’re my daughter. You can do it!. . . . You’re not what you did!”
With an eyes-widening, fist-vibrating flash of hysteria, Lenore shouted what she badly wanted her mother to appreciate. “You’re wrong! I am my abortion!”
Halting her whittling, the mother jerked a glance toward her neighbors’ backyards to make sure no one had stepped outside to investigate what she saw as a humiliating display. Seeing no one, she again sought to bend her daughter’s will. “You can’t spend time with Atty until you’re willing to name your baby and picket with us.”
After a lung-filling breath, Lenore said what her mother wanted to hear: “You win.” A few seconds later, however, she announced something her mother didn’t want to hear. “The dead baby will be named Rhea, after you, and the picket sign I’ll carry will be one that I make.”
“What will your sign say?” asked the mother while hacking into her branch so deep that the blade jammed.
Lenore was ready to show she’d returned home with backbone. “For me, simply calling an abortion murder would be gutless. I’m gonna carry something more personal—something that will require an extra-large sign.
“What will it say?” again asked the mother.
“It’ll say I, Lenore Rix, deserve to be mercilessly flogged for savagely killing my baby!”
Hearing the public disgrace Lenore intended to bring about outraged her mother. “You can’t say that!”
“Why not?” pressed Lenore.
“It’s not what Reverend Sloon said was needed!” contended the mother.
“You mean it’s only OK for me to condemn others. What do you think calling someone a murderer does to her?” asked Lenore.
“The unborn need to be protected!” argued the flustered mother.
Lenore persisted. “You’re not answering my question.”
“What’s important is that you atone for your sin, Lenore!” insisted the mother.
“It’s cruel to deem someone’s salvation requires atonement, then keep her from truly atoning!” charged Lenore. “A demonic murderer should be exposed!”
“You’re going too far!” argued the mother.
Lenore leaned toward her mother. “You and the Reverend have again and again railed against the deceitfulness of demonic murderers. . . . I want to give you the justice you say you want!”
Now whittling at a furious pace, the mother struggled not to raise her voice. “You think you’ve found a way to punish me!”
Lenore pretended to be confused. “Why would you need to be punished?”
Rather than answer her daughter’s question, the mother expressed disbelief. “You’re not serious about carrrying the sign you described.”
Lenore called her mother’s bluff. “Your group meets on the commons after Sunday services. I’ll be there with my sign. Now, please keep your word and let me have some time with Atty.”
The mother stood, walked to the ABORTION IS MURDER sign, then turned to again face Lenore. “This is the sign you’ll carry,” she dictated, swinging her arm backward in order to stab the sign with her knife.
“You don’t have the stomach for real condemnation,” weakly countered Lenore as she watched her mother yank the knife free, then enter the house.
Soon sprinting onto the patio, Atty pulled an empty chair close to Lenore, sat, then revealed she’d been eavesdropping. “I heard everything. The way you stood up to mom was great!”
Lenore spoke with an air of defeat rather than satisfaction. “The truth is I haven’t figured much out. I was able to stand up to Mom because I’ve accepted I’m likely never moving back home.”
“I met someone who’s good at figuring out stuff,” shared Atty. “Her name is Nooosh and she lives at the Freewheeling Apartments—a place for people in wheelchairs—about a mile from here on Piffle Road. I was going to go see her tomorrow. Can you meet me at her place? She’s in apartment four.”
“I can meet you there at noon,” replied Lenore
“Great,” answered Atty before asking about something she’d overheard. “What does flogged mean?”
“It means to beat on. But don’t worry. It was just a way for me to express my frustration. . . . I’m sorry for not coming by sooner. I’ll explain more tomorrow.”
Snooping from behind an open kitchen window, Ms. Rix watched her daughters hug good-bye. Keeping them apart is the only leverage I have, she reminded herself.
Noon the next day, Lenore propped her bicycle out side Nooosh’s door, then rang the bell.
“It’s open,” called out Nooosh.
Lenore stepped inside. “Hello, my name is Lenore; I’m. . .”
“Atty’s sister. . .,” finished Nooosh. “Please come in and sit. . . . I’m sputter-talking. . . three-o’s Nooosh.”
After easing into a comfort chair, Lenore glanced at the trapeze over the bed and the lanterns circling the room. “Atty was supposed to be here to introduce us. My mother must have interfered.”
“Learning Atty and you. . .have reunited. . .is terrific news,” assured Nooosh.
“I’ve been busy scraping by in a dumpy part of town,” said Lenore.
“Talking with your mother, . . .and then Reverend Sloon, . . .let me know. . .what you and Atty. . .are up against,” informed Nooosh.
“You spoke with our mother and Reverend Sloon?” replied Lenore, somewhat surprised.
“I’ve been a. . .meddling menace,” noted Nooosh before making a cut-to-the-chase request. “So that I don’t. . .feel like a pretender. . .who’s riding a high horse. . .she should be. . .knocked off, . . .can I tell you something few people know?”
Unsure what to expect, Lenore shrugged.
Nooosh spoke slowly. “Before the illness that. . .put me in this chair,. . .I also had an abortion. . . . I was about your age. . .when I got pregnant. . . . Right after the boy. . .I’d been seeing. . .acted as if. . .he didn’t know me, . . .the panic. . .I was already feeling. . .turned into desperation. . . . The result was. . .an abortion. . . . The shame that followed. . .wasn’t removable.”
Hearing Nooosh’s ordeal mirror her own left Lenore limp. “You just described what happened to me. I’ve been trying to forgive myself for something I don’t believe is forgivable,” solemnly shared Lenore while wiping wet eyes with a sleeve.
Nooosh was impressed. “Wow! . . . You’ve already figured out. . .some big mistakes. . .aren’t forgivable! . . . It took me years to discover that notion.”
“What good is it knowing forgiveness isn’t possible?” wondered Lenore.
Nooosh had a thought-provoking question. “Isn’t it good to know. . .when we’re trying to do. . .what we know. . .we can’t do?”
After a brief hush, Lenore answered: “I’m clueless, Nooosh.”
“Are you sure?” asked Nooosh.
Lenore puckered lips while she struggled for insight.
She needs some nudging, thought Nooosh. “Seems to me. . .you’re saying it’s time. . .to scream uncle, . . .to really and truly. . .give up on pretending. . .you’re forgivable.”
After hesitating, Lenore straightened. “You didn’t say give up on pretending my abortion is forgivable; you said give up pretending I’m forgivable.”
“Isn’t that. . .what you said?” asked Nooosh, trying to empower Lenore.
That is what I said,/em> realized Lenore. Finding it difficult to believe she was in the process of coming to a new understanding of her depression, Lenore spoke slowly. “I’m struggling to surrender to me. . . . I haven’t given up on forgiving myself because I haven’t accepted I’m flawed. . . . I can work at being less flawed, but I’ll always be flawed. Does that make sense?” asked Lenore.
“So, you’re saying. . .you need to figure out. . .how to finally throw in. . .the tattered towel,” said Nooosh, nudging Lenore to claim what she was on the verge of accepting.
Lenore’s ah-ha moment struck. “I need to truly accept that humbly plodding ahead is the best I’m going to do!”
“That’s sounds familiar. . . . Welcome to the. . .plodding-ahead-with-humility club,” congratulated Nooosh.
Lenore expressed a hint of optimism. “Staying humble is the challenge.”
“I’ve found backsliding. . .to be more likely. . .when I get too big. . .for my plodding-ahead. . .britches,” coached Nooosh.
Lenore glanced at her watch. “I wish I didn’t have to get back to my job.”
“I’d like to take. . .Atty and you out to eat. . .and a movie. . . . How about tomorrow?” asked Nooosh.
Lenore stood to leave. “Because of my work schedule, it’ll have to be a late lunch and matinee. I’ll rap on Atty’s bedroom window tonight so that she and I can come up with a plan.”
Spotting Brill by an elevated courtyard flower box, Nooosh dashed toward her ex-friend. “Don’t rush off. . .I’ve got something. . .important to tell you,” noted Nooosh.
“Stay over there,” ordered Brill, pointing to the opposite side of the planter full of pansies.
After doing as she was told, Nooosh began plucking weeds—a task that gave her a reason not to look at Brill’s scowl. “I’ve got a super. . .opportunity for you,” began Nooosh.
“More baloney from the phony,” criticized Brill.
Time to fess up, Nooosh told herself, as she busily continued to attend to the flower bed. “Because of the terrible. . .thing I did to you, . . .I don’t deserve. . .to be believed.”
Though surprised to hear the admission, Brill keep silent.
Say what you did wrong, Nooosh told herself. “Feigning I was grieving. . .a tragedy similar. . .to the devastating. . .one you suffered. . .was despicable. . . . I was horribly hurtful.”
“You totally trashed my trust!” blared Brill.
Nooosh’s follow-up remark lacked finesse. “I should have known. . .my beans would. . .get spilled.”
Hearing Nooosh feel bad about getting caught caused Brill’s resentment to erupt. “You were wrong to cook up the beans!” she heatedly snapped.
“Yes, . . .you are, of course, . . .stating the real. . .bugabooboo,” admitted Nooosh, trying to smooth over her blunder.
Brill was in no mood to be placated. “Cut the bugabooboo bunk! You’re a damn liar!”
“You’re right! . . . I am a damn liar,” assured Nooosh, deciding it was time to reveal the real reason for her visit. “Regrettably, . . .while trying to. . .help a young girl, . . . I again resorted. . .to disgraceful lying.”
“You mean your do-gooder tall-tale telling has set up a child to get sucker punched,” charged Brill.
“Yes,” said Nooosh before taking a moment to carefully choose her words. “While trying to. . .be useful. . .I lied to the girl. . .as well as to her mother, . . .her minister. . .and her sister. . . . They each got. . .a somewhat. . .tailor-made tale.”
“You’re addicted to lying! It’s that simple,” summed up Brill.
Nooosh then revealed a request. “I want you to have. . .the satisfaction. . .of telling the people. . .I just mentioned. . .I’m a liar. . . . The group meeting. . .I’ll arrange. . .will be therapy. . .for them and you.”
Sure she was being conned, Brill declined. “The gutless liar wants me to clean up after her. No thanks!”
“Please think about it,” appealed Nooosh.
Neither interested in the offer or in repairing their rift, Brill spun toward her apartment.
Refusing to give up, Nooosh tried to buy Brill’s help. “I’ll give you. . .a $1000 to do it.”
“You’re on your own!” adamantly answered Brill as she opened her apartment door.
“It’ll help them. . .and you heal!” again claimed Nooosh in a last ditch effort to change Brill’s mind.
“Saying no to you is all the healing I need and want!” loudly declared Brill before closing her door.
Disappointed, Nooosh winced as she reached for her medication.
Managing to outfox their mother, Lenore and Atty arrived at the Freewheeling the next day as planned.
“I’m afraid I’m feeling. . .weary today. . . . So, I’ll be. . .staying put. . . . Knowing you two. . .are painting the town, . . .my treat, . .will lift my spirits,” said Nooosh while lifting several bills.
“I’ve got money, Nooosh,” said Lenore.
“Please take this,” said Nooosh, holding her hand out until Lenore took the cash.
“Can we bring you back a sundae?” asked Atty.
“That’s thoughtful, . . .but I’d rather. . .you both stick. . .with having fun,” replied Nooosh.
Looking toward the bathroom, Atty hinted she hoped they could briefly delay leaving. “There’s something I was thinking.”
Nooosh caught on. “The wig and sunglasses. . .are on the bureau. . . . The makeup is on. . .the bathroom sink. . . . While you’re sprucing up, . . . I’ll get some shades. . . and a hat. . .for Lenore. . . . Ready to go. . .undercover, . . . Lenore?”
“Count me in,” said Lenore.
That evening, after meeting with Arl to drop off an envelope, Nooosh used his land line to call an ice cream shop that made deliveries. She then returned to her apartment and began lighting the candles in each of her six lanterns. Once done, she flicked off the overhead light and enjoyed the colors emanating from the stained-glass. The mood is set, she told herself as the doorbell rang. “It’s open,” she called out.
A clean-cut young man with a cheerful smile entered, then shut the door behind him. “I’m Josh with a delivery for Nosh,” said the fellow as he handed Nooosh a paper bag.
“For Nooosh. . .with three o’s, . . .Josh,” said Nooosh before putting the bag on her lap, looking inside it, then shaking her head while handing him a 20-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Everything OK?” asked the 19-year-old as he pocketed the money.
“Maybe the. . .mighty muckamuck. . .is messing with me,” answered Nooosh.
“Huh?” replied Josh.
“For some time. . .I’ve been trying. . .to satisfy a yearning. . .for a hot fudge sundae. . . . You, Mr. Josh, . . .have delivered. . .a banana split, . . .which leaves me. . .to wonder. . .if I’ve miffed. . .what some call. . .the Almighty!”
“Sorry, . . .I just deliver what they hand me,” explained Josh as he handed Nooosh a booklet he’d pulled from his back pocket. “Maybe I can make up for the mistake with something my church gives out.”
After taking the information the fellow gave her, Nooosh read the first sentence out loud: “‘Time is running out.'”
“Enlightening, isn’t it?” said Josh.
“Actually, . . . I know that too well,” said Nooosh.
“So, you’ve been saved,” assumed Josh.
Nooosh held a deadpan expression. “Do I look or talk. . .like I’ve been saved?”
“You mean you haven’t been saved?” feared Josh.
“I mean after decades. . .of stubborn doubt. . . . I’m still a stumped lump. . .with a sore rump. . .who can’t fathom. . .catapulting from. . .a sandbox. . .to a skybox,” explained Nooosh.
Ignoring her answer, Josh again relied on what he’d been taught. “Our loving God only asks you to choose to be saved.”
“The rub for me, . . .Josh, . . .is all the. . .supposing I do,” respectfully answered Nooosh.
Josh persisted. “But you don’t need to suppose. Accept the Lord before you die and you get eternal paradise. Can I offer up a prayer that’ll help you overcome your doubt?”
Nooosh made her willingness conditional. “Will you first tell. . . me what you think. . .of my grand notion?”
“Your what?” asked a perplexed Josh.
“The big suppose. . .I’ve arrived at,” answered Nooosh.
Suddenly anxious, Josh declined. “I should be on my way.”
“No need. . .to be fearful,” gently assured Nooosh.
“I’ve gotta get going,” replied Josh as he stepped backwards.
Nooosh had a final question. “Why has such. . .a young fellow. . .dropped anchor so soon?”
Josh checked his watch. “Read the pamphlet. It’ll explain things better than I can,” he suggested before rushing out the door.
Alone and dismayed, Nooosh moved to the center of the room with a box of matches and the marijuana cigarette Looon had given her. After lighting the gift, she took the first of several full, long drags as tears trickled down her face. Then, while watching the pale glows surrounding her blur into a soothing spiritual sanctum, she felt a sense of comfort and wonderment.
When her doorbell rang the following morning, Brill was again letting the sense of betrayal she harbored dash a temptation to give in to Nooosh’s request. “Hold on,” she barked as she started for the door.
“I’m here about Nooosh,” glumly said Arl, holding an envelope as he entered.
“Don’t tell me she’s asked you to try to get me to go along with the meeting she wants to arrange,” moaned Brill.
Arl closed the door, then stood slumped forward.
“What’s wrong?” questioned an impatient Brill.
Before responding, Arl rubbed his mouth and chin. He then spoke softly while looking down. “I found, . . .I found Nooosh dead in her wheelchair this morning.”
Overcome by the unexpected news, Brill was speechless.
“She gave me this yesterday,” noted Arl as he slogged to Brill, then tenderly placed the envelope he’d brought on her lap. “Nooosh asked me to check in on her before giving it to you today. . . . Though she’d done a good job keeping mum about her health, her request should have been cause for concern. Instead, I acted as though she was intruding. I couldn’t plunk my fanny back in front of the dopey TV fast enough. . . . I figure that, though it meant shortening what little time she had left, Nooosh didn’t want to go to a hospital. . . . Some people want to be wherever has been home when they’re at death’s door. . . . I think that would be true for me.”
“Me, too,” whimpered Brill as arms hung over the side of her wheelchair.
“I don’t know whether the lie Nooosh told you is something you can or should get over. But I do know that when she told me she had killed a woman she mistook for a deer while on a hunting trip with her father—a trip she said she went on because she didn’t have the courage to turn her dad down—I didn’t need to believe her. I just needed to know she was trying to tell me I wasn’t alone. . . . I believe Nooosh was trying to help us see that we’re run-of-the-mill screw-ups, struggling with hurt we can never completely overcome.”
Unable to keep her emotions from surfacing, Brill let tears burst.
“Maybe you should talk with the social worker who stops by,” suggested Arl.
“I don’t need help figuring out what I did to Nooosh,” replied Brill as she wiped eyes.
Feeling Brill had more she needed to share, Arl kept silent.
“I held a grudge to try to unload the self-hate I carry around. You were right when you talked about ‘shoveling it against the tide when it comes to healing. . . . I deserve whatever Nooosh left for me to read.”
After pivoting to leave, Arl turned to again face Brill. “I don’t believe Nooosh would take a deathbed potshot at you.”
While extending the envelope, Brill made a request. “Please look at what she wrote and tell me if you’re right.”
Arl took and opened the envelope. After reviewing what Nooosh had written, he smiled, then read the first paragraph out loud: “Dear Brill, I’m once more asking for your help. If you again decline, please ask Arl if he will give what’s detailed below a try. Tell him I trust him to be the caring gentleman I’ve always known him to be. In any event, please know I truly came to greatly regret the grief I caused you.” Looking up, Arl gave Brill a reassuring nod while handing her the letter. “There’s more. . . . I’ll come back later to hear what you’ve decided,” he assured.
With a sulking Reverend Sloon and a grieving Atty also in the cab of her pickup, Ms. Rix’s turned into the parking lot near the pond Nooosh had visited. Bicycling from another direction as the twilight hour approached, Lenore peddled into the lot a few seconds later.
Given there had been no funeral for Nooosh, all were quick to feel mislead when they saw the backside of someone in a wheelchair parked alongside a picnic table.
Reverend Sloon was ready to recriminate. “Faking her death is appalling! She’s gotta be more demented than I thought!”
Atty’s mother also jumped to judgment. “She’s a deceitful demon!”
“Nooosh is alive!” happily exclaimed a wide-eyed Atty as she bolted from the vehicle calling out. “Nooosh! Nooosh!”
Realizing someone thought she was Nooosh, Brill spun around, then watched Atty’s small frame droop in disappointment. The initial awkwardness felt by both was, however, quickly replaced by mutual curiosity. Finding themselves in the presence of another with a this-is-all-people-see facial blotch, they gave one another the sustained eye contact they were typically denied. Rather than a dismissive glimpse, they each displayed an accepting stare.
Soon approached by the others, Brill gave a brief introduction. “I’m Brill—the gal who invited you all here. Please, sit. This won’t take long. I apologize for not letting you know I’m wheelchair-bound. . . . I believe I know who is who from the letter Nooosh left behind; so, there’s no need for you to identify yourselves.”
As Brill positioned herself at the end of the table, Atty and Lenore sat on her right, while Reverend Sloon and Ms. Rix plop down on her left. Ready to get the meeting underway, Brill pulled out Nooosh’s letter. “I’ll first relay how Nooosh wants the money she left behind dispensed. . . . There’s $7000 for whatever facial treatments are appropriate for Atty. In addition, $1000 will be given to Ms. Rix for any lost wages and travel expenses brought about by the treatments.”
Atty’s mother was quick to object. “I told her we don’t take handouts!”
Brill noted Nooosh had anticipated the mother’s reaction. “In the event Ms. Rix declines to cooperate, $8000 will be made available to Atty when she’s old enough to accept the sum on her own.”
Turning toward Lenore, Brill continued. “Nooosh left Lenore $2000 as well as whatever amount Lenore gets for selling the contents of Nooosh’s apartment. Nooosh hoped the money helps you get a better living circumstance, Lenore. You can make plans with Arl, the caretaker of the Freewheeling.”
“I’m very grateful,” replied a surprised Lenore.
Brill took a full breath, then continued to read. “‘After years of feeling overwhelmed, I came to suspect everyone, not just me, is a sitting duck who, time and again, gets ambushed by misfortune. Briefly confessed, the lies I told each of you were a bumbler’s attempt to be a humble healer. . . . To Ms. Rix and Reverend Sloon: I’m sorry for not better appreciating your piousness. To Atty and Lenore: Your insight is amazing and your precious bond is inspiring.'”
Ms. Rix was ready to detract from what she’d heard. “God bless Nooosh. . . . She sure slung some wild whoppers.”
Taking offence, Atty immediately stood up to her mother. “Nooosh was giving us all a chance to see the truth!”.
Reverend Sloon sided with Ms. Rix. “What truth? . . . We should pity those who come under a demonic influence.”
Clutching fists, Atty spoke forcefully. “Saying peoples’ flaws and mistakes make them demonic isn’t being a good person. It’s being unkind and unfair!” she declared before turning to embrace Lenore.
Aware that Brill was nodding agreement as the sisters hugged, Atty’s mother and Reverend Sloon looked down.
“There are two brief closing comments I’d like to make,” said Brill. “First, it was Nooosh’s wish, and it’s mine as well, that I become friends with Atty and Lenore. Second, Nooosh asked me to give Atty $50 dollars at the end of this meeting. The money is for the ice cream sundaes Nooosh wants the four of you to enjoy in celebration of what she called her relocation.”
Remaining at the park until darkness arrived, Brill pulled up to the edge of the pond. After inching forward until the moonbeam reflecting off the water met her chair’s footrest, she reached into her satchel and took out a canister containing Nooosh’s remains. She then paused to briefly focus on the evening’s horizon-hovering moon. Next, she dropped eyes and gazed at the gleaming trail of light extending from the far shore to her feet. Imagining a shimmering pathway was before her, she removed the canister’s lid and, as Nooosh had requested, tossed Nooosh’s ashes into the glow below. “I hope to see you, Nooosh with three o’s, when I, too, relocate,” wished Brill.
Finally ready to leave, Brill pulled the throttle into reverse, only to find her wheels unable to gain traction. When another try at leaving the soggy sand failed, a quick search revealed the park was vacant. Frustrated, she shifted her weight from side to side while again trying to move backward—a tactic that only made things worse.
Fortunately, someone was suddenly approaching. “You must be in a newfangled hovercraft able to pluck you from muck,” called the stranger, approaching from Brill’s rear. The fellow was Looon—the eccentric young man who had rescued Nooosh.
“Nope. I’m in an oldfangled jalopy that’s stuck in the muck,” answered Brill.
Looon moved closer. “With your go-ahead, I’ll help you get your roadster back on terra firma so that you can get to your abode.”
“If you’re saying you’re willing to get me on dry land so I can go home, the answer is pretty please,” replied Brill.
With hands gripping the top of the chair’s backrest and heels dug deep in mud, Looon tipped and tugged until he jerked Brill’s chair onto dry ground. “Sorry about the turbulence,” he apologized while banging sneakers together to remove mud.
“Your footwear is ruined,” noticed Brill.
Looon smiled. “Don’t worry. A few tokes on the joint in my pocket will head off any bellyaching I might be inclined to indulge in.”
“My name is Brill.”
“Mine used to be Lon, but I changed it to Looon with three o’s upon a recent encounter with a charming daredevil by the name of Nooosh.”
“You knew Nooosh!” replied a surprised Brill.
“We had a brief, but indelible, happenstance that garnered me an exquisite pinwheel,” noted Looon.
Brill paused before relaying the bad news. “Nooosh died a few days ago. She’d been very sick.”
The light-hearted fellow became subdued. “Sorry to hear that. . . . I bet that perky pathfinder has some plucky pioneering well underway.”
“I expect so,” agreed Brill.
Looon placed his joint in his mouth, then dropped it back into his shirt pocket. “Though I fancy myself to be a no-nothing who often finds Planet Earth run-for-cover confounding, I’m inclined to believe the landing gear mishaps that bring people together are, on occasion, enigmatic marvels.”
Brill was curious. “Are you saying a supernatural force may have caused you to come upon Nooosh and me?”
Looon looked at the glistening moonbeam. “I’m just another blindfolded bungler trying to pin the tail on the divine donkey,” he humbly offered.
While turning and starting for the street, Brill sought friendship. “I plan on coming here routinely,” she announced with her back to Looon. Wondering why he didn’t respond, she turned to face him, only to find she was alone. Again drawn to the scintillating moonbeam, she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure appear at its far end—a sight that prompted a gentle smile.
1. Why is it sometimes hard for people to stand up for others?
2. Why did or didn’t Lon have a good reason for changing his name to Looon?
3. Nooosh said everyone is a sitting duck. Why is or isn’t that so?
4. Explain why you agree or disagree with Arl’s view of Nooosh’s lying.
5. What was Nooosh’s grand notion?