Routine Adjustment

Here's a story I've been working on for a while now. Those of you who attended Duke TIP session 1's talent show will recognize the beginning; this is the rest of the story. (I sound like Paul Harvey.) The ending still needs work. Comments are welcome.

Mary Ella both looked forward to and dreaded when her friends came over to play Scrabble once a week. She began every Wednesday morning by washing dishes from the night before, usually just a couple of plates and the Corning Ware bowl she baked the casserole in. She scratched at the cheese stuck on the inside of the bowl; it never came out in the dishwasher if she didn’t scrape it first. She hated cleaning the house top to bottom, but if she didn’t do it, her friend Ruby would think she did nothing but watch TV soap operas all day, which wasn’t true; Mary Ella never cared for that dramatic filth. She thought those women needed to learn a little self-control before jumping into bed with every man who said she was beautiful or that he loved her. Those women didn’t know what love was.
    When the dishes were done, she wiped off the mahogany dining table before spraying it with Pledge to make it shine and smell like lemons. She and Clyde had been married 47 years, and they knew that love was about staying true to each other during all the ups and downs of the relationship. They had been through a lot together–like when Clyde’s brother Jesse died in Vietnam, or the time their oldest daughter Gloria decided to drop out of Okalona High School three months before graduation, or when twenty-five of their tomato plants got wiped out by a blight. They had gotten through those times, so Mary Ella knew they could handle anything life decided to throw at them.
     “I, for one, am glad we stayed together,” she said aloud. “Lord knows I need someone to keep me company as I get older.” She stopped, afraid Clyde had heard her from the living room. She had to remind herself not to talk out loud anymore since Clyde had retired from the lumber mill last month and stayed in the house all the time. The newspaper rustled a little and then everything went quiet again.
    She wiped her damp dishtowel across the vinyl seat cushions. She didn’t consider them yet to have reached old age, they were just 65, after all, and had all their original teeth still. That was why she and the other women played Scrabble instead of Bridge or some other old-lady card game. Or heaven forbid, dominoes. Eighty-year-old grandmothers at Marshall County Nursing Home played that and she certainly didn’t want to be lumped in the same category with them. She kept active; she went to aerobics class every Tuesday and Thursday to keep herself fit. An active body ensures an active mind, she thought. That was why she never had time to clean, but Ruby didn’t understand. She had been widowed since before any of them had kids and said she could never bring herself to remarry; she loved Jim too much. Now Mary Ella thought that was taking things too far. Jim had been dead more than thirty years and she still couldn’t move on? Mary Ella wondered what she would do if Clyde died. She would be sad, but she saw no reason in mourning for the rest of her life.

    When she got to the chair at the head of the table, Mary Ella found a handful of tiny screws and nuts in the crevice between the cushion and the chair back. Probably from one of Clyde’s model kits, but she couldn’t tell which one. She swept them into a leftover cardboard Velveeta box and set it on the side table next to some tiny plastic engine parts and a broken radio with the wires hanging out. If that man couldn’t learn to keep his hobbies contained in one room, she would– she didn’t know what she’d do. Or if he could just pick one and stick to it, she’d be happy. But no, one week it was ships in a bottle, then it was model trains and airplanes, then he got the idea to fix the radio they bought when they first married. It was enough to drive any woman batty, and Mary Ella thought she had more than the usual amount of patience compared to other women.
    In the chair facing the front window she found Leroy’s banana-colored chew toy that was in the shape of some animal face, maybe a lion? She couldn’t tell anymore because it was covered in little white indentations where the dog’s teeth had almost pierced the rubber. Leroy’s nails clicked on the linoleum kitchen floor. It was almost time for his morning walk. He was a white mutt with brown and black spots, pointy ears, and a rough coat that never laid down in the same direction, like shag carpet.
    “Leroy,” she said, loud enough so that Clyde could hear, “why are you always leaving your toys in the dining room? You know they don’t belong here.”  She carried the wet toy away from her face between her index finger and thumb, through the living room, where she stopped briefly in front of Clyde.
    “Can you believe that dog, leaving his dirty toys where we eat?” she said and shook her head.
    Clyde looked up for a second, smiled and grunted, but didn’t say anything. She thought he would talk more now that he was retired and they saw each other all day, every day, but instead he just sat in his recliner reading or holed himself up in the study, straining his eyes over one of those model kits. She continued walking to the laundry room, where she dropped the chew toy in a pile with others that were equally unidentifiable. While there, she put a load of clothes on to wash and hummed a little tune under her breath as she loaded the machine. “I’ve got rhythm, I’ve got music, I’ve got my guy, who could ask for anything more?” Mary Ella didn’t have rhythm, nor could she sing that well, but she liked the song anyway. 
    When she got back to the living room, Clyde was gone. His green slippers sat neatly at the foot of his recliner. She called his name as she walked through their bedroom to the bathroom, but he didn’t answer. He better not have left the house again without telling her. He wasn’t in the study, where freshly painted plane parts sat drying on toothpicks on the desk. Creased instructions and diagrams labeled “F-4 Phantom” lay unfolded nearby along with some newspaper clippings. “Leroy?” she called, then she noticed the dog’s leash was missing from the peg by the kitchen door. So he had gone off with the dog again. She preferred to walk the dog herself; it fit better in her schedule. Three times around the neighborhood was 45 minutes, then she would be back in time to fix lunch before noon. But when Clyde took him, there was no telling when he’d be back. Sometimes they went as far as the park or Ashbury Cemetery, and she never knew when to start fixing lunch when he stayed away longer than an hour. Oh well, lunch was just going to be leftover vegetable beef soup today; she could leave it simmering on the stove all afternoon if that was how long he wanted to stay away. Still, she found herself looking through the blinds every few minutes, hoping it would be a short walk today.
    At 12:17, she spotted him slowly walking up the sidewalk, his back hunched in his gray corduroy coat. It was early March, and winter weather hadn’t left Okalona yet. She predicted that they’d have another week or two of cold cloudy weather before spring arrived. He held the leash limp in his right hand and stared at the ground as if he were looking for loose change. Even Leroy seemed to drag his paws. She went back to the kitchen and got the soup out of the refrigerator while they came inside. Clyde cleared his throat and coughed twice as he hung up the leash.
    “You’re back,” she said from behind the refrigerator door. “Where’d y’all go today?” She put the bowl on the counter then crouched beside the dog. “How you doing, Leroy? Did you have a nice walk?” she said and ruffled the fur around his face. Leroy panted and licked her fingers, but he didn’t act excited or energetic like he did after their walks together. She wondered how much exercise he got when he went with Clyde. Neither of them looked any better when they got back.
    “Just to the park,” Clyde said, and coughed again.
    “I hope you’re not getting sick,” Mary Ella said as she poured the soup into a Dutch oven. “You must be tired; sit down. Soup will be ready in a minute,” she said and twisted the stove knob. Clyde sat at the kitchen table with his legs spread and knees slightly bent, his hands clasped between them. She noticed a grass stain on his left knee and black mud stuck to his boots.
    “You’re gonna get dog hair in the soup,” he said.
    “What? Oh, forgot to wash my hands,” she said and turned away from him, toward the sink. “You been wrestling with the dog or something? You got grass on your pants.”
    “Uh, I fell. Leroy pulled the leash too hard and I lost my balance.”
    A few minutes later, Mary Ella ladled the soup into bowls and sat down opposite from him and watched him while they ate. When they married, she knew he’d always be handsome. His gray-streaked brown hair lay in smooth wavy lines across the top of his head; she had been relieved when she realized a few years ago that he would never go bald. His skin hung loose from his jaws. He didn’t have many wrinkles yet except for a deep crease on each side of his mouth and the diagonal gash on his forehead where a flying splinter had cut him twelve years ago.

    The women usually started their game at 8:00, but Janice arrived at least fifteen minutes early. Mary Ella was putting away the Ranch dressing and bacon bits when Janice knocked at the kitchen door. They had been friends since they were thirteen, and Mary Ella liked her best, though she would never tell the others. A petite, plump woman with bobbed red hair, Janice looked only about fifty. She immediately began helping Mary Ella bus the table, raking leftover bread crusts and green bean strings into the garbage. That’s what they all liked about her; she was so helpful.
    “How was your day?” she asked.
    “I hardly know, I’ve been so busy scrubbing everything,” Mary Ella answered. She lowered her voice and eyes. “Clyde’s been acting real strange lately.” He sat in the living room, where Bill O’Reilly shouted from the TV. “He hardly talks to me anymore.”
    “Well, maybe he’s still getting adjusted to being at home all the time. When Howard retired, it took us six months to get a regular routine going.”
    “That’s just the thing. We’ve got a routine– avoiding each other.” She paused to wipe her hands on a striped dishrag. “I’m just worried he’s unhappy.”
    Glenda and Ruby arrived at the front door, and Glenda’s voice filled the foyer. After setting the game on the dining table, they entered the kitchen.
    “It smells good in here. Did you have lasagna for supper?”
    Mary Ella scratched the back of her neck and said, “We did. It was just a frozen one, though. Did you get your hair cut? It looks nice.”
    Glenda patted the top of her curly black hair with the palm of her hand. She was a tall, high-waisted woman with a large bosom and a commanding voice. “I sure did. I went to that new place, Snips and Such, you know, on Anderson Street. A girl named Allison did it. Not bad for someone straight out of cosmetology school.”
    “You’d never know it to look at your hair,” Janice said.
    “I could never go anywhere new to get my hair fixed.” Ruby said. “Sarah and I have such a long-standing relationship, she’d probably take it as a personal offense if I stopped going to her.” She was a slender woman with pale yellowish skin, and she was the only woman in the group who didn’t dye her hair.
    A few minutes later, they were settled around the dining table drinking sweet tea and mixing the letter tiles. They had played Scrabble every week for sixteen years, ever since Janice’s youngest son left for college. They didn’t mind that Glenda usually won; she had been an eighth grade English teacher for 35 years and knew words the other three couldn’t pronounce, like xyst and yttrium.
    “Did you hear about Lucille Kornegay?” Glenda asked. She didn’t wait for them to answer. “I heard she got caught stealing kiwis from Winn-Dixie this week.” She nodded, her eyes wide. “She was stuffing them in her bra, but they caught her on the video camera. I know, because my cousin’s ex-wife Linda works there and she saw the whole thing.”
    “It’s about time somebody turned her in for shoplifting. They’ve been turning a blind eye to her for years,” Mary Ella said. She spelled “rake” on the board.
    “It’s because they got that new manager–what’s his name–Mr. Marshall, something like that. They sent him from corporate to figure out why they were losing money. He said he came to root out the corruption.” She used Mary Ella’s “k” to spell “drink.”
    “I guess that’s good, but I feel sorry for the Kornegay kids, knowing their mama’s going to be fined now. They never look like they’ve had enough to eat,” Janice said and laid down “pansy,” using the s to spell “drinks.” 
    “Would’ve been better for the kids if she had died. Then they’d at least get some food in foster care,” Ruby said. She was always saying shocking things to try to get a rise out of them.  
    Clyde walked into the dining room, biting a spotted banana in his hand.
    “You need something?” Mary Ella asked.
    “No, just hungry.” He pointed at her letter tray with his free hand. “You can spell ‘candy,’” he said.
    “Don’t give away my letters.”
    Clyde smiled, walked into the kitchen, and came back with a bag of sour cream and onion chips.
    “You’d think I never fed this man, the way he snacks between meals,” Mary Ella told them.
    “I’m just trying to stay in shape: round,” he said, patting his belly. They laughed and he wandered back into the living room, leaving a trail of crumbs on the carpet.
    “I don’t think it should be a crime to steal food,” Glenda declared, laying “eulogy” on the board, “especially if it’s something healthy like kiwis. Did you know they have more vitamin C than oranges?” 
    Janice lowered her eyebrows as she looked at her tray of letters and said, “I don’t care if it’s a crime or not, it’s still a sin. Besides, how would farmers make any money if all their food was going for free?”
    “It wouldn’t be free for everybody. I’m just saying, if people know you’re having trouble feeding your family, they should look the other way when you help yourself to some extra food.”
    Clyde came back, asked who was winning, and guessed correctly that it was Glenda. Mary Ella had trouble concentrating on the game; twice, she started to put down tiles when it wasn’t her turn. She kept thinking about providing for family. Clyde never made much money at the mill, but they always had plenty of food for the girls. Would she have stolen food if they didn’t have enough? No, she could have gotten a job substitute teaching at the elementary school or a daycare somewhere.  She would have done anything to avoid the humiliation of stealing.
    But something else was bothering her, humming in her ear like a mosquito she couldn’t shoo away. How could Clyde be so witty around her friends but not say two words to her when they were alone? Was he upset about something? Lonely? She was more than willing to talk to him, but no, he chose to talk to her friends instead. They probably thought nothing was wrong. It was all an act for company. When the women left around 9:30, Janice turned toward Mary Ella and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “I didn’t notice anything different.” Of course not, Mary Ella grumbled to herself. She said goodnight and noticed sticky rings on the table where their glasses had been. She would have to clean again.

    Mary Ella went to bed that night with a headache and overslept the next morning. When she awoke after 9:00, Clyde had already gotten out of bed and the fitted sheet was wrinkled in the hollow where his body had been. She ran her hand lightly over the cool sheet. He had been up for a while. Then she remembered that it was Thursday and aerobics class started at 10:30. She didn’t know where Clyde was, but she didn’t have time to think about it as she rushed around getting ready, pulling on sweats and pushing a headband into her hair.
    By 10:25, she made it to the basement of the Methodist church, where Janice had already arrived and was doing warm-up stretches on her exercise mat. She sat on the floor with her legs spread in a wide V as she leaned her torso toward the floor. Mary Ella had no idea how she had stayed so flexible over the years, especially after giving birth to five children.
    “Didn’t think I was going to make it this morning,” Mary Ella said.
    “You always say that and still get here with five minutes to spare.” Janice laughed. “I saved you a spot on the edge, where nobody’ll see if you mess up.”   
    “Thanks,” Mary Ella said as she shifted into a lunge. “Today I meant it though. Clyde didn’t wake me when he got up. He disappeared again.”
    “Did he take the dog?”
    Mary Ella had to think about it. “No. Leroy came running when I fed him.”
    The aerobics instructor arrived then, a blond pregnant woman in her thirties who could lift her knees higher than any of her middle-aged students. It was enough to make anyone sick.
    “Maybe he went to Claudette’s Kitchen for breakfast. You know how he loves their biscuits and gravy.”
    “But I would have gladly made them for him if he’d asked.” Mary Ella knew what Janice was thinking but was too nice to say: maybe Clyde liked their biscuits better. Mary Ella prided herself in her cooking and thought that was a major reason Clyde married her in the first place. Everyone knew the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. 
    As they exercised, Mary Ella felt a coldness grip her stomach and refuse to let go. If Clyde didn’t like her cooking anymore, was there something else about her that he wasn’t pleased with? Was he just tolerating her because that’s what he was used to? By the time Mary Ella arrived home that afternoon, she had formed a plan. She’d make him the best dinner he’d had in months: ham, mashed potatoes, red eye gravy, carrots, and biscuits. No more using canned ones, either. These were going to be from scratch.
    Clyde closed the front door loudly when he walked in at 2:00 pm, but she barely noticed; she was up to her elbows in flour. This time she didn’t quiz him about where he’d been. Let him be, she thought. He’ll come around when he sees all this food. And if that didn’t work, well, she didn’t have time to think about that, the oven timer was going off.   
    At the dinner table that night, Mary Ella watched as Clyde ate quickly. He even went back for a second slice of ham and another biscuit. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw him eat so much or with such enthusiasm.
    “Good biscuits, Mary Ella,” he said when he was finished.
    “As good as Claudette’s?” she asked. She stood beside his chair to take his plate to the sink.
    “Better.” He pulled her onto his lap. “You’ve always been my favorite cook.”  Mary Ella was surprised and pleased by his affection. She stood up, and Clyde went back to the living room to turn on the TV and Mary Ella bused the table, smiling to herself. She still had it. But his unexpected attention didn’t last; he withdrew into his model world again and Mary Ella felt more confused.

    The following week, when Mary Ella did her post-Scrabble cleaning, she walked into Clyde’s study, where she noticed the framed picture of his brother Jesse had been moved from the wall to the desk, covering his model airplane instructions. A brown faded newspaper clipping lay nearby: Jesse’s obituary, dated March 11, 1972. Mary Ella’s eyes jumped to the calendar on the wall. Thirty-eight years ago.
    She had driven halfway to the cemetery before she realized that she still wore her faded periwinkle bathrobe and slippers. She slowed down half a block before she caught up with Clyde and Leroy on the sidewalk. He walked in the same slow plodding way she had seen him last week.
    She rolled down the window and said, “Come on and get in the car, Clyde. I’ll drive you.” He looked up and his face looked boyish, questioning, and startled.
    “Come on,” she said again. “Put Leroy in the back seat.”
    Reluctantly, he opened the door and got in, but he still had not said anything. When they got to the cemetery, he led the way to his brother’s grave, and just stood there for a few minutes, staring at the worn gray tombstone. Jesse had only been twenty-four when he died. Mary Ella stood a few feet behind him, watching as he pulled a gray model airplane out of his coat pocket. The same kind Jesse flew, she realized. Clyde set the plane near the base of the tombstone, then turned toward her and said he wanted to go home and lie down.
    When they got back home, Mary Ella followed him to the bedroom and watched as he kicked off his loafers and lay on his side on top of the quilt.
    She lay beside him, put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Clyde let’s talk about this.”
    He didn’t say anything, just kept facing the wall, breathing heavily. The overhead lights were off, but the lamp on the nightstand cast a pink glow on the wall behind him.
    “Come on, Clyde. We can work through this, like everything else. Talk to me. Say something.”  She moved a little closer. “I know you miss Jesse, and I’m sorry I forgot about the anniversary.”
    “It’s not just Jesse,” he said and sat up suddenly, hanging his legs over the far side of the bed. “I’m going for a walk.”
    “You just came back from walking. You need to rest. Lie down again.”
    “No, Mary Ella. I will not have you treating me like a child,” he said, turning his head towards her slightly. She felt her shoulders tense up and her eyebrows push down.
    “What’s going on, Clyde? Why have you been so distant?”
    “I don’t know. It’s hard, everything’s hard. I don’t know what to do with myself.” He turned to face her.
    “Since the retirement?”
    “I guess, but that’s not all.” He got up and poked two fingers through the cracked blinds, but there was nothing to see outside except a cold cloudy day. “I never got to say goodbye to my brother. I never thought about him enough in these thirty-eight years. I never stopped to think about anything. And now my job is over and all I have left to do is die and join him.” He ran his finger along the dusty windowsill.
    “That’s not true–”
    He turned towards her, but didn’t make eye contact. He seemed to be staring at the carved oak headboard behind her. “Why do I get to have a long life, with a family and kids and a career and he got none of that?”
    “I don’t know honey. But we’ll get through this together.”
    Clyde grunted, a low animal growl and muttered something Mary Ella couldn’t hear.
    “What did you say?”
    “It’s just like you, to have a cliche for every occasion. I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Why am I saying this?”
    “I do understand. I don’t know what to say. I don’t have answers. Nobody does.”
    Clyde jerked his head up toward the ceiling. Mary Ella noticed tears in his eyes. She watched him rock himself back and forth, heels to toes and back again. She tried to think of something to say.
    When he had calmed down a bit, she said, “Clyde? Do you still love me?”
    He turned his head toward her. “It’s always about you, isn’t it? God, when will you realize that a marriage is about two people?”
    “I cook for you and clean for you, raise two healthy, beautiful daughters, and you don’t even thank me. Why do you ignore me?”
    “Excuse me for being preoccupied. I just lost my job and Jesse–”
    “Died over thirty years ago. And you didn’t lose your job, you retired.”
    “They let me go early. Ray said they could have kept me until 68 or 70 if it weren’t for budget cuts.”
    “So? That doesn’t mean you’re dying tomorrow. ”
    “That’s just the thing, you keep acting like we are dying, what with your Scrabble games and rigid schedules and going to bed at 9:30. Don’t you want to do anything more?”
    Mary Ella looked away and her stomach grumbled uncomfortably. She thought it must be close to lunchtime, but she didn’t feel like eating. “This is what I’ve always done. I can’t imagine any other life.” 
    “Can’t you try?”
    Mary Ella sighed. How had this turned into her problem? She was supposed to be helping Clyde get over being depressed. “I’m fine. I don’t need to change.”
    “You have to. Our lives have changed. Are you coming with me?” He slipped his shoes on.
        “Where are you going, Clyde? Don’t leave.” She knelt on the bed in front of where he stood.
    “Europe, Portugal, China. I don’t care. Don’t you ever get tired of living in the same place all the time, seeing the same people?”
    “Portugal? Where did that come from? Clyde, you’re not making any sense. Come sit on the bed and let’s talk about this.”       
    “I don’t want to sit down anymore. I won’t take orders from my wife.” He ran both hands through his hair as if he were trying to straighten the waviness.
    Mary Ella was struck dumb. She stared at the floor to the left of the bed. Her vision focused on the carpet, on all the pink and gray and navy fibers twisted together, inseparable by color until now. How could he say such things? She never ordered him around, did she?
    Mary Ella didn’t know how much time passed while she sat looking at the carpet, nor what Clyde did in the meantime. She just noticed that after a while, Clyde had sunk onto the bed next to her, leaning on arms stretched out behind him. Mary Ella didn’t know when she began to cry, either; she sort of awoke to her face all watery and vision indistinct.
    “I didn’t mean it, Mary Ella,” he said. “I just feel like I’m losing control lately, and I need to be able to feel like I’m doing something again. Something important. Something you need me to do.”  
    “I need you to stop scaring me with these outbursts. We haven’t had a fight like this since the girls were little. I need you to talk to me, not just the dog. I need–”
    “That’s enough.” He took her hands. The thick fingers felt smoother than she remembered. “I understand.”