Aggie died. Or I thought she had. I didn’t hear her speak for several days. I heard Lawrence chirping and the click-clack of Flo’s tap shoes as she walked around their kitchen, but no Aggie. No conversation, no banter—no spicy quarrels. Then, this morning, I heard a squeal of joy from Flo; it was Aggie, she’d returned.
As it turns out, Aggie had been away visiting their uncle Lou. I’m unsure the age of this uncle, but it seems unlikely he is a blood relative, unless he has a health regimen that works really well. Either way, how she left was…odd. It all started when Lawerence, Aggie’s bird who has free reign of their apartment, flew up to the headrail of their blinds and wouldn’t come down.
“Lawrence, get down from there!” Aggie shouted. “You’re going to get your tail feathers all dusty!”
Flo laughed, slammed down her palm on something, maybe the kitchen table, and said, “This reminds me of when we would visit Uncle Lou in Shasta. Remember that, Aggie? Oh, we had so much fun down by the creek behind his cabin, catching pollywogs, collecting rocks, and…gathering…”
I heard something in Aggie’s voice—a shake of a vowel, a twist of a noun. I stopped folding my laundry and waited.
Aggie continued, “…Remember the poorwill was making all that racket in the flue?”
“Oh, let’s not talk about that, Flo.”
“Uncle Lou wanted to smoke it out,” Flo’s voice was deeper than usual; it felt bogged down with wet mud. “…Made us gather up wood for the fire. The look on your face…”
“Please. No, let’s not think of that. Not the fire,” Aggie pleaded.
And where the story started with the giddiness of a childhood memory, it had, within moments, become as heavy as a casket.
“You’re right, Aggie—you’re right. Let’s have a snack.”
“No. No, it’s too late, Flo. It’s too late, and now I have to go—”
“No—please don’t go, Aggie. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I—I forgot—please!”
And then I heard the sound of their front door. I ran to peek out into the hallway, but Aggie had already boarded the elevator. I ran to the window; I didn’t see her. She must have hugged the building and disappeared around the corner.
Flo cried and cried. In the morning, I knocked on their door with a box of cookies that I’d picked up from the bakery. I felt terrible for Flo, but I also wanted to see her and the apartment, to form a better mental image to go along with their daily escapades.
The brass chain covered her lips. One puffy eye looked at me through the crack from above a wrinkled, wet cheek.
“May I help you?” said Flo.
“Hey, neighbor. I live right next door…”
She was silent, waiting for me to continue.
“..unit 12. Anyway, I have these cookies—”
“No, thank you. I’m on a fixed income.”
“Wait—” I said, placing my hand gently on the door. “It’s a gift. I’m not looking for money. I just wanted to be neighborly.”
She looked at me skeptically but relented, unhooking the chain and opening the door just wide enough for me to quickly glance into her apartment.
I saw Lawrence preening himself, still perched atop the headrail. There was a boxy green couch facing a small television that I’m fairly certain didn’t work because I’d never heard any evidence to the contrary. On the wall, there were several framed photographs, but at this angle, I couldn’t see of who they were. The round kitchen table had a red gingham tablecloth draped over it, and there was a red rose in the center of the table in a cut glass vase. Even at a distance, I could see that the flower was fake. But more detail than this, I couldn’t compute because my attention was on the mannequin in the corner of the room, standing upright against our shared wall. It wore a red sequin gown, and its head had been covered with a white sheet.
“Nice place,” I said. “Just about the same layout as mine, but I don’t have a bedroom…mine’s a studio…”
Flo smiled politely. She was wearing a black dress with a lace collar, pearl earrings, and a matching pearl necklace. A red tassel hung from the top strap of her black patent leather tap shoes.
“Just another room to clean,” she said.
“I suppose it is.”
I handed her the cookies, she thanked me, and I went back to my apartment.
Flo wept.
Those hollow days before Aggie returned were lonesome for Flo and Lawrence, but also for me. I nearly cried out with joy when Aggie returned, talking about Uncle Lou, and how he was doing much better now, and how the house was cold but in good shape, and that the bird was still making a racket in the flue.
Whoa—what happened at Uncle Lou’s cabin? I’m not sure what’s going on here, but it seems strange that Aggie would just leave for several days without phoning Flo. Did she even pack a bag before she left? And wouldn’t Lou be long dead by now?
Victory! The glimpse inside the apartment is a major battle in the campaign and I wish our narrator all the best in further stages of this important strategic operation.
I’m fascinated by whatever’s going on with Aggie and Uncle Lou! This was such an interesting, surreal installment.