Page 74 of The Night the Lights Went Out
“Yes, of course. I’m fine.” She spoke slowly so her words wouldn’t bump into one another. “I’m his wife’s friend.” And then she stopped talking altogether, realizing she couldn’t make it right now, no matter how hard she might try.
One of the officers turned toward Dan. “This is the eighth false alarm we’ve had from this residence so far this year, sir.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I’ll have the door latches fixed and I’ll straighten everything out with the security company so they have my emergency number to call from now on.”
“You do that. Good night, sir.” He faced Merilee and she wondered if it was a trick of the light that appeared to make him smirk. “Ma’am.”
The woman in the bathrobe attempted to move forward but was effectively blocked by the two officers. “Daniel, is there anything I can do? I’m just next door if you need me.”
He said nothing, just closed the doors and leaned his forehead against them. “I am so sorry...”
Dropping the pillows, Merilee ran to her room and shut the door, wondering if she could live in that room for the rest of her life.
Twenty-five
THE PLAYING FIELDS BLOG
Observations of Suburban Life from Sweet Apple, Georgia
Written by: Your Neighbor
Installment #8: Friendship: The Ties That Bind. And Strangle.
I have noticed how few grown children live near their parents anymore. Especially in the great suburban cities like Atlanta, where there are so many jobs and things to do for young people that it draws them like a spider to its web.
I’m not saying this is a bad thing—it’s wonderful that our cities can offer so much. But I think it’s the extended families that pay the price. There are a lot of grandchildren being raised who never get to know their grandparents and vice versa. And there’s so much to be learned from both generations.
Skype and FaceTime are wonderful inventions because they’re better than a phone call and it’s the next best thing to seeing your loved one in person. It strengthens the connection between separated family members. But there’s still a void to be filled in our lives, and most of us are able to do that with friendships.
Friends are the ones we turn to in a pinch when we need a babysitter, or advice, or an exercise partner. Even someone who will accompany us to the doctor and hold our hand. Friendships can be golden. They can also be toxic. And it’s not always clear who’s who until a bomb explodes and the dust clears.
But let’s not confuse real friends with Facebook friends. With few exceptions that I’ve noticed, Facebook friendships seem to be about one-upmanship, more than most of us have seen since elementary school. And about the illusion of having lots of friends. Sure, posting photos of you having a wonderful time is a great way to get back at an ex, but be careful. Everything always comes back around. It’s one of life’s guarantees, for which those of us who’ve been maligned in this life are eternally grateful.
Speaking of friends, the local coffee shop is abuzz with gossip about an incident that occurred over the long weekend between friends. It appears to be a huge misunderstanding, but it’s not clear as to who the wronged party is. According to popular gossip, the winner of the “wronged” designation had an incredible arrangement of flowers delivered to the friend who’d allegedly wronged her.
I won’t say that I’m siding with one or the other, or even claim to have insider knowledge of what actually transpired at a beach house along the Georgia coast. All I know is that there’s more here than meets the eye, and one should look further into a person’s character and get to know her before making assumptions.
I read something on the Internet the other day about how women who have close friendships live longer than those who don’t. I think it should be added that the quality of the friendships makes the difference. See above my comment about toxic friendships. In this same article, it gave the definition of what the difference was between a good friend and a best friend. Apparently, a good friend helps you bury a body. A best friend brings their own shovel and doesn’t ask questions.
And now on to our Southern saying: “You can put your boots in the oven, but that don’t make ’em biscuits.” As I mentioned in a previous blog, it’s gala season here in our neck of the woods. Don’t try getting an appointment at your local hair or nail salon near the end of the month, because they are plumb full. You might have to go to another county if you’re desperate and can’t manage on your own.
I was at my local dry cleaner’s the other day and a mother whom I shall not name but could was pitching a hissy fit with a tail on it because the poor man had not steamed the pleats in her evening gown the exact way she’d wanted and had apparently explained to him previously in excruciating detail. A rack of dry cleaning was between us, so she didn’t see me, but I’m quite sure if she had, she wouldn’t have wanted a witness to her bad behavior and would have ended her tirade.
Because that’s how you can tell the true character of a person. See how they speak and behave toward those who work on the other side of the counter and vacuum their rugs. A woman who can scream at a dry cleaner, then turn around and act like a person of good character and smile at all of her acquaintances and even nod to strangers in church is not a good person. And those boots she just stuck in her oven will never be biscuits, either.
• • •
SUGAR
Sugar sat at the table in Merilee’s kitchen, wondering once again how she’d found herself there. Knowing it was Merilee’s day off and that this was when Merilee usually ran her errands, Sugar had walked down the drive to ask Merilee to take her to the grocery store. However, instead of being a quick visit ending with them both piling into the minivan, Sugar’s trip had ended with Merilee answering the door with puffy eyes and reddened nose and explaining the problem without Sugar professing any interest in knowing. Which wasn’t necessarily true, but it irked her that Merilee would assume she cared.
Merilee had read the blog post aloud—twice—then closed the lid of her small computer before looking across the kitchen table. “Everyone knows—or thinks they know—what happened. But they don’t. I promise you, Sugar, there was nothing going on. It was exactly as I told you and anyone else who asked. It just sounds like a complete lie. And just my luck that the middle school secretary has a family beach house next door to the Blackfords’. I don’t think I can leave my house again. Ever.”
“Well, you’re going to have to because I need to get to Kroger and I’m not driving that death trap of a car Wade found for me.”
Merilee blinked at her through puffy eyes. “It’s a Camry, Sugar. One of the safest cars around.”
“Humph. I don’t drive foreign cars; he should know that. And it’s so small I feel like I’m going to get crushed like a bug by all those huge trucks you mothers are driving these days.”
