Tag Archives: Mary Szabowski

Forgetown Episode 1.02 – On Phoenix Street

ForgeTown Cover“Kids? Kids! Wait!”

Kath Rodriguez struggled to shift the bags around her feet and untangle herself from her knitting so that she could get out of the car and make her entrance on to her new street with some dignity. It hadn’t been a long drive from the hotel but knitting calmed her nerves: the more complicated the pattern, the more she forgot about outside stress. She had selected her most complex work-in-progress for the 20 minute ride. Some people medicate, she would joke when people commented on her habit. Or pray, said her grandmother’s reproachful voice in the back of her head. Kath rattled off a quick mental “Perpetual rest…” and aimed it upwards (Happy, Gran?) and, at last, stepped out of the car.

“Kids!” she hissed, seeing no sign of her wayward children. She was not about to start yelling for them. Who knew what time of day it was acceptable around here to start yelling at your family? Back in Waterville there had been a 24hr dispensation, but she had had friends from neighborhoods where no-one would ever have dreamed of sticking their head out the screen door and simply hollering. She didn’t know yet which kind of neighborhood this was and if she was going to have to play stay-at-home mom here, she didn’t want to be causing all the blinds to twitch on the first day. And yes, I’ve already spotted you, Nosy Nora, Kath thought, deliberately not looking up at the top floor of the split-level across the street.

“Witnesses!” Don stepped out from behind the steering wheel and stretched, winking towards the neighboring house. He waved cheerily at the old woman peering out through her blinds. “We’d better take her some of your mom’s famous shortbread later to butter her up.”

“Don!” They’d only been here five seconds and already he was making her blush. Don turned his Irish charm up and gave her his best cheeky grin.

“Let’s give her a show,” he said. He danced around the car, slipped his arms around her and planted a long, lingering kiss on her lips. She managed to endure it somehow, but swatted him away when his hands started to creep down over her shorts.

“Welcome to Phoenix Street, Mrs Morris,” he whispered. “And thank you.”

“That’s Ms. Rodriguez, to you,” she said, pushing him away, smiling. “We should probably rescue the movers from the curiosity of your offspring.”

“Oh, they’re mine now, are they? And here I thought they were yours.”

“Only when they’re good,” they chorused together and laughed.

 

From the window across the street Mary Szabowski watched her new neighbors pull each other hand-in-hand up the driveway to their new home. Were we ever like that, John and I, she wondered. It was all so long ago. But yes, they’d had their moments.

The old woman closed her blinds with a snap — they kept the morning sun off her TV set — and shuffled herself towards John’s recliner. If he could see her now. And, with a  sigh for the mixed blessing of the massive heart attack that had carried him off before either of them had started to fall apart, she sank down and flipped on GMA where stick-thin blondes with arms that spoke of hours doing battle with gym machinery, gave her advice on how to live a better, happier,  more fretful life.

The indignities of age, she reflected, were quite possibly as nothing compared to the indignities of being young in this post-feminist world of Botox and Brazilians. Mary patted her walking frame before giving herself over to the comforts of Colin Firth on the couch with Savannah.




Forgetown Episode 1.01 – Moving Day

It was one of those big orange moving trucks. That was what caught her eye.

Mary Szabowski swayed by the window, gripping her walker. She had been on her way to John’s faded old recliner, ready for her daily dose of Good Morning America, but this promised to be much more interesting.

A big orange struck filling half the street? That meant a corporate move from somewhere far away. Or someone with more money than pick-up-driving friends. But why would someone like that move into this neighborhood? Mary shifted her weight and adjusted her grip not he walking frame. Her feet were numb in her hard-soled slippers and she would have to sit down before long. Not until I get a look at the new neighbors.

Moves around here ranged from a procession of pickups and station wagons disgorging laundry baskets overflowing with possessions, to the occasional Two Men and A Truck move — usually on the way out, when the babies were preteens and Dad and finally been promoted often enough to qualify for a crippling mortgage in one of the new developments eating up the land where Mary had spent childhood summer afternoons on friends’ farms. Not that anyone farmed anymore, except those incomer hippie-types with their brown clothing and their farmers’ markets and their godless, ungroomed children.

The long shadow of a silver Minivan slunk around the corner, followed by the car itself. It gleamed, almost pink in the early morning sun. It pulled up outside Number 4 and the doors popped open. The rear doors slid, like something from a B-movie — automatic, Mary noted. You could tell about these things, even from a distance. With a grunt, she shuffled around the break-open between her two tall living room windows to see if she could get a look at the big car’s plates. Wheezing past a lifetime encased in glass and wood — the crystal champagne flutes Mitzi had given them on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary; a sugar bowl from her grandmother’s china set; the track and field trophy John Jr had won, senior year in high school; and frame upon frame filled with pictures of people looking as they had when Mary had still seen them regularly — she lunged at the second windowsill, slid the fingers of her free hand between the vinyl mini blind’s slats.

Massachusetts plates? They had come a long way. Putting it all together, she’d have to say he’d come to work at one of those, what did they call them now, ‘life sciences’ companies that powered the greater Philadelphia region. Or it could be ‘her’ whose job had moved them, Mary reminded herself. She felt the familiar stab of pleasure and bitterness at the fortunes of women half her age. She shoved it aside. She was turning into another Mitzi, and she would not let that happen!

Two children tumbled out of the open doors, scrambling up the driveway — a boy and a girl she thought, though this seemed to be one of those years when it was fashionable for boys and girls to wear each others’ hair and dress in bright, baggy unisex clothes, so she couldn’t really be sure.

Her knees trembled. She really would have to sit down soon — and that nice Colin Firth was due on GMA this morning. She wouldn’t want to miss that. Still, she could manage a few more minutes at the window. The new neighbors were getting out of the car now, and who knew if she’d live long enough to enjoy another moving day, at her age. You wouldn’t get to watch this kind of thing at that ‘care community’ in Ohio that John Jr kept dropping hints about. Just old fogies like her, trailed by a Barcalounger and a scant few boxes of mementos to clutter up a single, uniform shelf in their rooms. Mary clucked her tongue and raised the arch eyebrow that had once been the terror of generations of children passing through the halls of Forgetown Elementary, not to mention the former child-inhabitants of Phoenix Street. He won’t get me into a old folks’ home, she vowed. Not while I have my wits about me. Dropping all pretense now, Mary fiddled with the blinds until they were wide open and turned her full attention back to Number 4, while her legs still held out.


Come back tomorrow for the next episode: “On Phoenix Street” or subscribe to receive new episodes by email.