SATURDAY'S GUEST
Sitting crossed-legged on my family's front lawn, I watched clouds crawl across the grey sky. My mother’s voice drifted out the window as she tunelessly sang the only hymn she knew. As often as she went to services, you’d think she’d memorize more than one. Biting the hard skin around my index fingernail, I tried to ignore her and that song. Looking away from the clouds, I studied the small blue Victorian house across the street for any movement. If only Ms. Poly’s guest would arrive before Mother started on her second bottle of wine.
The garage door slammed shut behind me; Father had finished working for the day. My parents would start their evening ritual: drinking, laughing, talking politics or town gossip, fighting or having sex and then passing out. Same thing. Every night. Except Sundays.
Come tomorrow morning, the house would be refreshed and any chill or gray left over from the week would be warmed by their trip to the steeple. With a deep breath I sighed and focused on Ms. Poly’s house, and wished her guest would arrive.
I wanted last week’s guest, Mr. Raton, to return. He had come early last Saturday afternoon, shortly after I had seen a large thick-tailed racoon nudge the front door open and shuffle into Ms. Poly’s house. I had crossed the street to warn her, but before I had a chance to announce myself, she appeared in the doorway while Mr. Raton, a plump man dressed in concert black with a wide grey tie, stood behind her playing a wood thumb piano. The bright tones overlapped one another to create a hypnotic rhythm. His nimble fingers plucked at the silver keys and I had forgot why I came over in the first place. There was an awkward pause on my part before Ms. Poly gracious as always invited me in and introduced me to Mr. Raton, “Pleased to meet you,” he sang.
“You too.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever come over before, dear,” Ms. Poly said directly to me. “This evening is already presenting delightful surprises. Don’t you think, dear?” Her warm eyes shot little sparks of joy at me. I offered both Ms. Poly and Mr. Raton a blank stare that shifted back and forth between them until an electric jolt cleared away the fog in my head “I saw a racoon sneak into your house,” I said.
“Sneak, is rather a judgmental word.” Mr. Raton had put down the thumb piano and picked up a melodica and started blowing into the mouthpiece.
“I didn’t see any animals, dear, but you are free to look around.” Ms. Poly had been holding a small wooden drum in her hand and started tapping on it.
After a quick search rendered no animal, Ms. Poly extended her invitation and asked if I’d like to spend the evening playing music and games. I did and we did. I played the recorder something I had learned in music class when I was younger. We played freeze dance with Mr. Raton at the piano, who paused the music at just the right moments so that my arms and hips would be frozen into unfamiliar and silly positions. Never had I played music or danced that long. At the end of the evening, when I knew Mother and Father would be passed out, I went home, but not before Ms. Poly invited me to come over next Saturday evening to meet another guest.
So, for the last seven days I’ve been brimming with anticipation. As I studied her house and the strange potted plants that lined her porch, I wondered if maybe her guest had arrived early, and I had just missed seeing them. After an hour or more had passed, I stood and stretched. I had bent over to touch my toes when some movement across the street caught my eye. A peacock had appeared on Ms. Poly’s lawn. I must have been out of it because I did not see it approach and was sure I’d notice a peacock parading down my street. The blue bird’s long chartreuse tail feathers were closed tight and angled down to a fine point as it sauntered up the narrow pathway to Ms. Poly’s porch. I suppressed the urge to dart over, for fear of scaring the bird away. After all, I had only been familiar with the feathers and not the creature itself. I checked the road for cars but kept my attention on the bird. It pecked the wooden door and fanned its tail feathers. And although I only saw the back of the spread, it was still a sight. The door opened. The bird walked in, its feathers bending against the door frame and disappeared once pass the threshold. I searched for Ms. Poly before the door closed, but the inside of the house was too dark.
I ran as fast as I could and knocked. Nothing happened. No sound came from the other side. Maybe Ms. Poly wasn’t home. Maybe she had forgotten about me and her invitation. I knocked again and waited, then knocked again and waited. Three more times I knocked and waited until finally I gave up and turned on my heel toward my own drab house and was soothed by the low-hanging sun as it peaked out behind the scattering of clouds, causing the evening sky to glow fluorescent pink with swaths of orange. The door behind me creaked open. It was Ms. Poly dressed in a sequined, lime-green gown. “So good to see you made it, dear. The show is about to begin. Where would we be without our audience?”
My mouth had gone dry as I never, in the twelve years of my life, ever had imagined Ms. Poly in such a dress. “I saw a bird,” tumbled clumsily out of my mouth.
“That’s good dear. Come. Come.” She took my hand and led me to the living room and motioned for me to sit.
“Would you like some tea?”
I shook my head. “I mean, no thank you.”
“Great, then they can start the show. After intermission, I won’t be able to sit with you, dear. It’s my debut.”
Light from candles in long glass cylinders danced against the wall. Strings of white lights hung delicately and warmed the room. A tall woman, dressed in a similar gown as Ms. Poly, gingerly tip-toed across the wooden floor, her high-heeled shoes tapping a clave as she danced behind us to the table that housed Ms. Poly’s record player. She continued tapping her feet as she lifted the record player’s arm and set it gently down on the spinning disk. Thick bass filled the room, its rhythm matched her steps. She spun back to the little makeshift stage in front of the couch.
Subdued sounds from a trumpet welcomed five more women who were waiting in the hallway, all of which were dressed like Ms. Poly and the first dancer. How had I not seen them enter the house? Then a man dressed in an azure blue sequined suit, danced his way to the center and began to sing a familiar song but one that was before my time. The women danced. At times I felt a bit of shame for letting my eyes linger on one longer then another, as I didn’t want them to think me odd, but it was hard not to stare; though they were dressed the same, each dancer was unique. Beautiful. Exotic. I had never been to a song and dance recital before and found that it made me self-conscious. I feared every thought would be transmitted to the entertainers. I turned to Ms. Poly for distraction, but her focus was fastened to the show. A wide grin etched smoothly across her face and her leg bounced effortlessly with the music.
Intermission came and I was invited by Ms. Poly to enjoy cake and tea with the singers and dancers. Mr. Pavo, the man, personality matched his suit. He and the others laughed and talked, and the house swelled with a vivacious spirit. And I couldn’t help but feel that I had stumbled into a secret world. Had this type of frolic always existed, had I always been so close to this, whatever this was, and completely unaware of it. There was no time to lament my lack of experience, as intermission was soon over and the troupe, along with Ms. Poly stepped into the hallway and I took my spot on the couch.
The night grew late and my stomach ached from laughter. I didn’t want the evening to end. But the grandfather clock in the corner struck midnight and I knew my parents would ground me or worse my mom would insist that I needed to go to the steeple three times a week instead of one. So, I thanked the troupe and each dancer warmly hugged me, but it wasn’t until Mr. Pavo hugged me that I was reminded of the large colorful peacock, though I didn’t bring it up.
“Bye, dear. I hope you will come visit me again next Saturday. I think you will get along brilliantly with my new guest,” Ms. Poly kissed both my cheeks and sent me on my way.
With caution and quiet feet, I entered my family’s house through the backdoor. Inside it was sour and damp. A persistent salesman shouted from the living room TV. I listened for any signs that my parents were still awake, but the rest of the house was quiet. I sighed with relief; they hadn’t missed me.
The next morning when Mother woke me for Sunday services, my head ached from lack of sleep. In the pews I struggled to stay awake, but Father elbowed my ribs once and the pain that lingered kept me alert. The sermon was about the blessings of god. “One god for everyone, and in everything,” the man said. I grew bored and allowed my mind to wander back to the previous night. Slivers of jokes and silly moments caused an involuntarily giggle, which I successfully suppressed for fear of my father’s sharp elbow.
When the speech was over and we were released from the uncomfortable benches, we headed over to what had been, up until last night, the highlight of all my weeks; the donut shop. Here, my parents laughed freely, and doted on me. Each took great pride in selecting a donut for me and beamed with satisfaction when I bit into their selection. They were kind to each other and often held hands. Our Sunday high would last as long as the donut’s sugar. But I liked it just the same.
Saturday came again and I sat crossed-legged on the lawn and waited. I wanted to go right over to Ms. Poly’s house but didn’t want to get there too early and make things awkward. I had so many questions for her, like how and where does she meet her guests? And had she found any animals in her house recently? But I was afraid the questions would be off-putting. I didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardize our relationship and the Saturday evening invitations.
After all, not a lot of folks want to hang out with a twelve-year-old.
The grass had warmed from the sun, and the earthy fragrance of fertilizer filled the air as I continued to study Ms. Poly’s windows for any movement, wondering again if the guest had already arrived without my knowledge. But no lights were on and there was no movement beyond the windowpanes. I turned my attention to the street and sidewalks; they too were still. Only an orange leaf fell lazily from a top branch. A tic-tac of sound grabbed my attention away from the leaf and I turned toward Ms. Poly’s house where a thin black and white pig charged purposefully up the path to the porch. Again, I had missed an animal’s approach. The pig lowered her head and with her snout pushed the door open and walked in. The door closed behind it. I jumped to my feet, determined to catch the animal in the house this time.
I bolted across the street, climbed the porch steps two at a time and stopped myself short of opening the ornate front door as if it were my own house. My knuckles barely skimmed the wood when it swung open and a tall woman, dressed in a grey suit with short wiry hair framing her round face, grinned widely at me. “I wondered who was at the door. You must be Ms. Poly’s guest. She was just telling me about you,” the woman said. “Come in. I’m Sue. We just finished setting up at the dining table. We have much to go over but we’ll each have a turn tonight, I hope, if time permits of course.”
“Turn for what?”
“To answer a question. If we finish early, I brought a puzzle. I don’t know what it is supposed to be, so that will be fun, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I said, unsure what I was agreeing to. And then remembered the pig. “I saw a pig come in here, through the front door.”
“Fantastic!” The woman said as though I had just told her she’d won a trip around the world. She ushered me to the dining room where I took a seat at the oversized table.
Ms. Poly was busy arranging pieces of paper on the table. “Glad you could make it. Hope you’ve put your thinking cap on because tonight’s queries are sure to require some backbone.”
“Hi, yes, thank you for having me, again. But didn’t you see a pig come in here? I saw one open your front door.”
“You see the most interesting things, dear. I find it most fascinating about you. Let’s begin, shall we? You can look for animals after we’ve worked out some problems.”
My desire to stay with Ms. Poly and Sue outweighed my desire to find the pig. So, I sat quietly in the chair across from Ms. Poly while Sue took the spot at the head of the table. The rest of the long table held stacks of books and journals. Notebook paper and pens were spread out in front of me.
“My curiosity has worn through my patience, so if no one minds I would like to go first,” Sue said.
“Fine by me. But our young guest looks a bit confused. Let’s explain our evenings mission first,” Ms. Poly said.
Sue’s soft eyes narrowed on my face. “Alright, I’m going to give you the short answer. So, what we do is work until sunrise, answering questions, drinking tea and eating sugar cookies. Only one question each, so we still have time for cookies. If we figure it out before the sun comes up, we get to put together a jigsaw puzzle.”
A high whistle sounded from the kitchen, “Oh, yes the kettle is ready.” Ms. Poly left to attend it.
“Does that sound like fun?” Sue asked.
“I guess. What kind of questions?”
“Good questions.”
“Okay,” I said trying to hide the skepticism in my voice.
“Let’s go ahead and write our questions down so we’re not wasting any time.”
“Okay.” The weight of the pen in my hand comforted me like a spot of shade on a hot afternoon, but what to do with it, I did not know. I tilted my head and stared suspiciously at the blank paper in front of me.
Sue scribbled something down and folded the paper in half. Then she called out to Ms. Poly, “Can I take over? I have already written my question.”
“One moment!” Ms. Poly yelled back. And less than a minute later she stepped out carrying a tray that held three teacups, a pot of hot water, tea bags, sugar cubes and a mound of white cookies.
Ms. Poly took her seat and slowly wrote her question while Sue prepared everyone’s cup.
I kept my head down and thought of a dozen questions but didn’t know if they were the right ones. The one I kept coming back to was, why do I keep seeing animals that no one else does? But I had already tried a version of that earlier, and no one seemed interested in it. Finally, when I could tell the women were growing impatient with me, I gave up, scribbled on the paper and hoped when I heard their questions, I could quickly come up with a question of my own.
Sue began, “My question was inspired by the flowers I saw on my way over this afternoon. I had time to come up with clues so you may guess what the question is about. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She cleared her throat. “The clues are: snail’s shale, spider webs, storms that gather and ever-expanding galaxies?”
Ms. Poly smiled. “I know this one, patterns. Your question is about patterns.”
“Yes,” Sue squealed and clapped her hands softly together. I want to know why there are patterns. What is their purpose?”
“Excellent question. I have some math books. And a few Greek folks as well. We’ll get to the bottom of that one,” Ms. Poly said.
To my relief the women did not ask me my question. Instead, they immediately started talking about spirals and ratios and then switched to different topics such as art and architecture. I listened and gathered books for them. And wrote down ideas, as though I were their personal assistant. I didn’t mind, because I had never heard math explained like this, nor had I ever looked at art books before. It was amazing to me that the two subjects could be related.
My head grew heavy as the women read silently from various books, until one of them would shout an idea which was followed by a rise in energy that would fill the room as they played with the idea and eventually told me to scratch it. The night went late and the only thing I had written down that the women had yet to have me scratch out was a single word; connection.
Outside the dining room window, the sky was changing from black to a dim purple.
“I better get going,” I said.
“But the sun is not up yet,” Sue said.
“My parents will be upset if they found out I stayed out all night.”
“Darn, I was hoping we’d get to the jigsaw puzzle this time.”
“Next time.” Ms. Poly walked me to the door. “Thank you for coming, you were a big help tonight. Please come next Saturday evening, I’m having another guest over and the more the merrier.”
“Is it Mr. Povo? or Mr. Raton?” I asked.
“Oh, I never know who’s coming, dear.”
Two hours later my mother entered my bedroom singing her hymn. She gently squeezed my shoulder. “Time to get ready.”
The wooden pews seemed to have hardened into rigid plates and no amount of shifting or readjusting could ease the discomfort. I managed to get out of reach of my father’s pointy elbows this time by strategically sitting beside my mother and the edge. The priest talked endlessly but I didn’t hear a word. I was too busy replaying last night’s conversations. The combination of sleep deprivation and my new fascination with patterns caused me to see a spiral in everything. In the blue and white stained-glass windows that lined the walls, in the staircase that led to the little space for one person to sit high above the rest of the congregation, to the woman’s hair that was twisted and invisibly held in place on the back of her head.
In fact, most of my week was filled with questions and a new highly keen sense of pattern detection. I enlisted classmates to let me put marker on their thumb and press it against paper so I could study their thumbprint. I tried desperately to give their tiny hills and valleys meaning.
When Saturday late afternoon arrived, I sat cross-legged on my lawn and watched Ms. Poly’s house in hopes of seeing the arrival of her guest. I liked Sue, but I had hoped the night’s guest would be another musician so we could move around instead of sitting for so many hours.
The sky was blue and empty. I checked the street and saw a brown and white goat with two stubby horns meandering its way toward Ms. Poly’s place. I didn’t get up and run across the street this time. Something about that goat made me uneasy. The bright afternoon had dimmed as the goat stood eating tulips three houses down from Ms. Poly’s. A brisk wind rolled by, bringing grey clouds with it. I studied the animal, and then the sky, as though the two were related. The goat finally reached Ms. Poly’s house. It looked directly at me and bleated.
An overwhelming need to yawn distracted me. My head grew heavy. But I shook it off and decided this time I would get to the door before the animal disappeared. As I stepped off the curb a deep rumbling came from the heavens and a single fat drop of water landed on the crown of my head. The goat had made it to the top of Ms. Poly’s porch and paused to nibble on the potted succulents she kept beside the welcome mat.
The wind picked up strength as I reached the middle of the street, it pushed me sideways and then rain began to pour from the clouds. The temperature dropped and my teeth began to chatter. I stepped on the curb and headed down the long path to the front porch. The goat turned around. And bullet sized hail pelted me. It bleated as though laughing at my pain. I continued closer, reaching the bottom step when the animal lifted its back leg and kicked the door open. Snow fell from the sky. The goat turned around and crossed the threshold. The door slammed shut.
Forgetting myself, I grabbed the handle, when, at the same moment Ms. Poly opened the door from the other side. Her eyes were dark and distant. Unfocused. She wore grey pajamas and her frizzy hair was uncombed. It reminded me of a drawing I once saw of a cavewoman. She must have overslept. “A goat this time,” I said. “It just kicked your door open. You must have seen it?”
She paused, her body blocking the doorway. She looked past me, at the falling snow. Her eyes were red and her skin blotchy. Had she been crying?
“I don’t see a goat,” she said.
“It just kicked your door open! Are you okay? Are you ill, Ms. Poly?”
“I’m fine, just tired. I’m going to go lay down.” She closed the door.
I stood on the porch, dazed. The chatter of my teeth broke the spell. I decided there was nothing I could do but go home, read in bed and let the storm pass.
The next morning, while I sat between my parents in the pew, I thought only about the goat. And wondered if maybe I had imagined everything.
When we returned home, I raced across the street and knocked on Ms. Poly’s door. I wanted to see if she was feeling any better. She opened the door wearing the same clothes as the day before.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“A little better. Would you like to come in?”
We sat in her living room, which looked different than the previous times I had visited, when it was vibrant and more of an intimate theater, where we played music with her and Mr. Raton, or when I watched Mr. Povo and the dancers put on their show. This room was cold, cluttered and lacked color.
“Mind if I open a curtain?” I hesitantly asked.
“If you want.”
“What happened to your guest last night?”
“He never showed, I guess. Or maybe he did. I’m afraid my head is a bit foggy.”
The light coming through the window warmed the room immediately. Ms. Poly brushed her hair back with her fingers as though she just realized it had not been combed.
“I saw a goat, yesterday. I watched it eat your plants. It kicked your door open and came inside.”
“You see the most interesting things, dear.”
“You didn’t see a goat in your house?”
“I don’t think so. I was a bit under the weather last night, you know dear, sometimes it is difficult to prepare for, or even see a storm coming.” She smoothed her hair again. “So, I just accept it. All part of the pattern. But enough about me and some sour old goat, tell me did you go to the steeple with your parents this morning?”
“Yeah.”
“And, how was it? What did you learn?”
I hadn’t learned anything other than I still don’t like sitting captive while being lectured to. “Nothing,” I finally answered.
“What did they talk about?”
“Nothing. The same old stuff. Today the priest reminded us that we are all made in the image of god.”
“Hmm, what a strange idea – to be made in another’s image. Why, there must be so many gods if that were true. Would you like some tea, dear?”