segment 12

Driving to the racetrack was not difficult.  There was a main street in Pilkington that wove through the large park and along the beach until reaching the modest downtown area where the racetrack was built one hundred years ago.  Ala had been there once for a family reunion but otherwise, preferred to stay out of the area.  The track had seen better days and now took on a shabby old timey mystique that people found to be charming, but she found to be too touristy, like a western ghost town in an amusement park.

She parked as close as she could, which was a healthy distance away and walked quickly. The main entrance opened up to the bandstand. A small wrinkly man wearing a white top hat was licking his thumb in order to pull a ticket off from the pad in his hand.

“Hello, I’m here for a party,” Ala said.

“A private party Ms.?”She nodded. “You have to go around to the promenade and give your name.” His shaky finger pointed to a bridge that seemed to be a mile away.

“Thank you,” Ala said.

Walking through the main area she could smell the popcorn, laced with rich yellow buttery chemicals, and was tempted to stop for a bag and a Hurricane. But she was already late.  She reached the Promenade, gave her name and was directed upstairs.  She began to climb and realized that her mother was always from car to building and the reverse and probably never walked to anywhere of distance in these shoes.  She could already feel a blister burrowing in her right heel.

segment 11

She pulled gently and some lightweight pieces came down to eye level.  The feel of them shocked her slightly, as the material seemed to be some kind of sheer poly blend.  The strap was a sort of garter belt, which matched the thong, and bra she held before her.  The pieces were light pink with a burgundy faux velvet trim.

Ala had never seen this kind of lingerie in person. It looked like it should be accompanied by a cowboy hat and belly button ring.  It felt so flimsy and cheap.  This was not something her mother would ever wear under her clothes.  What was stranger was that the tag indicated a size one and Ala’s mother was always a healthy size five.  Before thoughts of her parent’s engaging in foreplay could seep into her conscious mind, Ala realized how terrible it was to be snooping in her mother’s closet, as if she was seven years old.  She had lived away, had slept with a man, and had no right to judge her mother or what she kept in her closet.

segment 10

Her mother’s closet had always been a great wonder. It was packed with caftans from traveling, slinky gowns from the seventies, tennis dresses, wool sweaters for horseback riding; all perfectly arranged, as if on exhibit.

Ala crouched on the woven ivory rug and selected some robin’s egg blue open toed pumps, which she slipped on with ease.  She and her mother had identical feet.  She felt the back of the shoes to make sure her Achilles’ would have enough support and a bright pink strap, dangling between the rows, caught her eye.  Standing up and ripping through the rack would guarantee she would not be able to find the garment the strap belonged to.  Instead she pulled on in slightly, using her other hand to find to the base.

segment 9

At dusk, she slipped into a strappy sundress and let her hair lay in waves across her shoulders.  She could not find her agave sling backs and now was running late because she procrastinated so much in the afternoon.  She walked down the long hallway that smelled of the gardenias her mother put out on the side tables in low bowls, and into her parent’s suite.

The suite was north facing and dark by this time of day. Luckily Ala could blindly maneuver around the room because she knew the exact placement of the bed, armoire, dressing table, desk, fainting sofa and bathroom door.  She crept to the back corner of the room and opened the creaky-hinged door to her mother’s closet.

Rows of shoes, coordinated by color, sat on custom built racks across the length of the walk-in.  Dozens of hangers gleamed in the light from the sconces she switched on.  She ran her hand along the silk scarves on the right and the inherited fur pieces on the right.

segment 8

Her cell phone rang and UNKNOWN flashed three times on the shiny screen. She decided to not pick up, especially after her weird encounter at the library.  Instead, she took the top three boxes from the large stack in her bedroom and began unpacking.

She pulled out several crumbled suits she bought before leaving for Boston, mainly for job interviews.  She took put balled up panties and camisoles and arranged them neatly in her top drawer.  She took out potpourri sachets that had no fragrance anymore, but reminded her of her mother.

 

segment 7

She loved leaving so much behind at her parent’s house.  Boxes of essays written in high school, the porcelain tea set her great grandmother gave her, clothes from college she was sure she’d wear again. All of it gave her headache upon sight.  All of it bringing up memories she wished she didn’t have, peppered with some sweet moments from being an inexperienced child.

She wished for a flood sometimes.  She would love for waves to whip through the house and carry off all of the junk she couldn’t let go of, but did not want to make a place for in her new life.

She toweled off and laid face first on the bed trying to push the party out of her mind.  It was for Dora, Andrew’s girlfriend.  Andrew and Ala dated years back for a handful of months and they had remained close.  It was easier to remain close at the time rather than rip their connection to shreds with innocent bystanders, mainly mutual friends around.  She enjoyed hearing him talk about old maps and antique beer steins; he was an archivist at the cultural center.  And she didn’t mind Dora, but found their friends very dull and hadn’t the interest to even meet all of them. Their parties were always the same.  She saw all the same faces and did not want to say a word to any of them.

She had to attend this party to let everyone know she was not cracking up.  Her abrupt move from Boston had some people talking and she wanted to make sure her perceived reputation was still in tact.

segment 6

Feeling the tightening of her skin, she feared burning and quickly got up and brushed all of the sand she could off of her legs.  She walked back to the house and, noticing neither car was in the driveway, had great anticipation for the hot bath she would soak in uninterrupted.

She peeled off her striped halter-top and denim shorts and tiptoed naked to her bathroom, forgetting to close the blinds.  The old claw foot tub rattled whenever she turned the faucet to high heat. She sprinkled lavender bath salts, a gift from Jase’s mother, into the water and watched the pleasant murkiness ripple to the bottom of the tub.  She climbed in slowly, mindful of her shin, still sore from a recent biking trip where her wheel skidded over a sharp stone.

The phone rang and she decided to let her parent’s ancient answering machine take the call.  She closed her eyes and thought of how it was as if she had never left at all.  Everything was the same.  The house, minus a few new throw pillows, her friend Sissy sounded the same, her daybed still the same aluminum under chipped white paint.

Lucky for her she had not brought a lot to Boston to have to bring back.  Three suitcases, a briefcase and a shoulder bag were it.  She knew Jase did not have a lot of room, a closet to herself being out of the question.

segment 5

Jase.  She let herself drift into thinking of Jase.  Her hand scanned the sand blindly and she picked up a smooth bluish gray stone.  It was perfect in shape.  And simple.  Jase was so simple without being stupid.  A look from him said everything there was to say, or at least everything that mattered to her.  All of his decisions were made with ease.  All of his challenges met with grace.  A clerk in a law firm which specialized in defending the poor after police brutality, eviction and domestic abuse, he naturally looked to the good in his life and did not concern himself with matters such as a cable man coming late, or a wrongly tacked on credit card fee.  Ala always felt powerful and at the same time small in his presence; powerful because she was his woman in body and small because she reacted so quickly to nonsense. Moving to Boston without a marriage proposal was something her parents chose to look past since they rightly imagined the lack of commitment was on Ala’s behalf.  And his path of desiring to practice law pleased them.

segment 4

Ala pushed through the revolving doors and walked the four short blocks to the beach, where hardly anyone was. She threw her backpack in the sand.  She figured the temperature, 75 degrees, was probably what did it.  Having a high tolerance for cold water, she stripped down to her string bikini.  She ran as quickly as possible, a habit since childhood, into the water until it reached the tops of her pale breasts.  She looked up at the bright circles of clouds and dipped her head back until water threatened to seep into her nostrils.  She closed her eyes and thought of the overwhelming freedom, or whatever it was, that permitted someone to swim in pristine water in private.  She reached into her bikini bottoms and felt around.  Amused at how stiff everything became in cold water, she enjoyed the challenge of digging in slightly until she reached the softness.  She dipped her head back and worked her fingers a little faster.  Her toes dug into the murky ice-cold sand.  She bit her lip and breathed deeply.  When she was done, she whipped around, with a sick feeling someone had been watching, but no one was there.  She floated on her back for a few minutes, taking in the sky, the tranquil water, the sun.  Then, she walked back to shore.  Making a pillow out of her backpack, she fanned out her hand, still a holding to the adolescent belief the sun will make her hair lighter, and covered her eyes with her forearm.

segment 3

She stood up and pushed in the heavy chair, that pulled against the carpet, and zipped up her messenger bag.  Walking past the rows and rows of books, she recognized the smell that twitched her consciousness back to childhood in an instant.  It was not only the smell of aging books as everyone always describes the same way. The library had flooded ten years ago and many of the books had water damage. Mayor Tremonio organized a community effort to salvage as many books as possible.  This meant an entire Saturday spent at the library, laying the books out on hill, next to the building, for them to dry.  Some people stayed inside and took a blow dryer to the pages.  Ala was swept away that day by her mother for an extravagant shopping trip.  Not one for community activities, her mother felt the day would be better spent trying on winter coats, instead of socializing with people she ordinarily avoided.