Serendipity

She awoke propped in the corner created by the rusty dumpster against the dingy brick wall of an old bank, a curled section of the newpaper in her hand. She squeezed it tighlty as she stretched her stiff body. No shower or brushing teeth or checking her hair in a mirror to prepare for the day ahead. Yes, the ease of being homeless.

She yawned, emerged from the alley, and meandered to her usual bench outside the capitol building. As she stumbled along, she held up a filthy hand--dirt heavily packed under each nail--to block the strong morning sunshine from her squniting green eyes. She plunked down and looked at what she had been holding in the other hand. Unrolling it revealed yesterday's obituaries. Why did she have it?

Think! she commaned herself. Of course when she tried to force it, she could only picture an empty wall. She would have to be careful. She sensed the real her was in command. Making too big of a deal would attract the others, and they would bicker and fight for dominance. She would have to take her time

It is... (deep breath) August...the eighteenth of August....year...(deep breath) 2008. So far so good. The others weren't even paying attention. I live...(deep breath) in Madison...Wisconsin. I was born...(deep breath)...I was born...in 1974. Although she tried to control it, her anxiety increased. Dare she hope for just one day of sanity? My name is... (deep breath) The others still seemed unaware. My name is...(deep breath)...I am...Karen....Karen Smithe.

It was a major achievement, but she remained nonchalant and casually scanned her surroundings. Men and women in suits began to populate the sidewalks. They walked by her as if she didn't exist, which was actually true some days, but not today. She finally returned to the obituaries, feeling safe the others were ignorant of what she was trying to do.

Her eyes scanned the photos, but nothing clicked. She examined the list of names, and there it was: "Smithe, Dean." She hesitated to think about the name. The others were still in their own worlds. Yes, she remembered a Dean from her childhood. A cousin? She read the entry, "Age 47...car accident...wife, Sarah." Sarah...yes, I remember her too. "Sons, Matthew, Marcus, Lucas, and Paul...parents, Clarence and Marrianne." My aunt and uncle! She tried to remain calm. Her mind was working on the information. My parents are...(deep breath)...(deep breath) Joe... and Jean. The others were still clueless. She couldn't believe her luck. I have brothers...(deep breath) Ben and Tom.

Karen needed to act quickly. The others could come back at any time. She needed a way to communicate with herself. She searched her pockets for a pen. Nothing. She stopped searching and took a deep breath, careful not to get too excited. Okay, no pen, no pencil...She stood up and thought she would scan the sidewalks when she spied a stray piece of red bark. She stooped and picked it up. The bark was soft and would do until she found something better.

Using her clumsy writing instrument, she circled Dean's obituary, but she wasn't sure what to write. She circled the obituary again and continued searching for a pen. While looking down she heard something.

"Can I help you?"

Karen continued her mission.

"Did you lose something? Can I help you?"

Karen glanced toward the voice and realized a woman was talking to her. She straitened up and looked at the woman.

"Hi...I'm sorry. I thought you might have lost something...?"

Yes, I do need help, Karen thought but couldn't find the words. Instead, she held out the obituaries. The movement of her arm seemed to signal them, and she could see them turn and rush toward her. Karen wasn't mush of a fighter, so the others easily took over.

*****

This had been the same woman Jennifer had seen the other day when on her date with What's-His-Face. She had been too afraid to talk to her, but she couldn't stop thinking about her and her green eyes. This morning she saw the woman talking to herself again, but she seemed different. She wore the same gray-brown rags, but today she was calmer, not ranting.

Once again, Jennifer watched her, hoping the woman would approach her. When she saw the woman walk away, she knew she had to say something. When the woman turned around, they locked eyes for only a few seconds. The woman looked at Jennifer, not through her, and the green eyes were soft and sad and scared. She was surprised when the woman handed her something. She looked at the paper briefly, but when she looked at the woman again, the green eyes were harsh, and the ranting returned.

Jennifer looked at what the woman had given her and saw the smeared circled around Dean Smithe's obituary.

"Do you know this man?" Jennifer asked as she pointed Dean's photo.

The woman had not moved, but she continued her nonsensical arguments with herself, seemingly unaware of Jennifer's presence.

More loudly, "Dean Smithe. Do you know Dean Smithe? This man here, Dean Smithe." Even though the woman did not acknowledge her, Jennifer's excitement grew. She held in her hand a more tangible way to help this woman. Jennifer fished her cell phone from her purse and called the funeral home listed for Dean.

Knell

Bells from a nearby church had set her off, and she cried in a dignified manner for only a moment. Gently dabbing her tears with a tissue (a hankershief would have seemed pretentious), she knew he was gone but kept balanced on the hope the bells were for someone else-for the tattooed teen with the bullet wound, for the elderly mother of the man who sat across from her in the waiting room, for anyone one else who had been recently rushed passed her in a stretcher...

But she couldn't play this game anymore; she couldn't deny what her heart already knew. No one else in the small, fakely decorated room seemed to notice the bells, but they evetually noticed Sarah. She had broken out of her composed sadness and cried violently. Her feelings for Dean had burst and spiraled off into different dirrections like snakes. A few curled around her lungs. Some tore at the back of her throat and bit at the inner ears. The worst encirled her stomach and squeezed.

The son of the elderly woman prentended to be interested in the news on tv. The parents of the wounded teen held hands. A small child asked her mother, "Why is that lady crying?" and the mother hushed her child. No one approached Sarah or said anything to her.

After a minute, she was able to pull herself back in. A doctor appeared in the doorway of the waiting room, and Sarah, eyes red and glossy, picked up her purse, approached him, and said, "He's gone, isn't he?"

"Um," is all she heard, but it was enough. All at once she took in the doc's nervous eyes, his gentle tone, and uneasy stance. She followed him through the sterille corridor, not knowing what her dead husband would look like.

Ineffable

It was like staying at a fancy hotel. Everything was prefectly arranged and in its place. Ben briefly admired the orderliness of Dean and Sarah's house but was distracted by what he had been thinking about since the last night of the Vegas trip.

He had woken around 3 a.m. only to find Clarissa's side of the bed empty. As he had taken a quick look around their room, he heard the door open. It was Clarissa sneaking back into the room thinking Ben had been asleep all along.

Clarissa never said where she had been, and Ben never asked but wanted to. Deep down he knew he had complete faith in Clarissa, but she was obviously hiding something. He wanted to bring it up during the plane ride back home, but they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves for once. No petty fights, not even the slightest disagreement. He didn't want to spoil everything. He planned to ask once they had unpacked at home, but they had barely landed when his cell buzzed with Sarah's desperate call for help. Now was obviously not the time.

"What are you thinking?" Clarissa playfully nudged Ben.

"Oh nothing. I guess Dean. I hope he's okay."

"Yeah..."

Ben read her thoughts as her eyes traveled around the lavishly appointed kitchen. Something like Yeah... all this expensive stuff can't help him. He turned to her, and they embraced. They were not moved to tears, just happy to have one another.

"I'm going to check on the boys," Sarah said as they released each other. He nodded, although he knew the little ones would be perfectly alseep and quiet as they had been since they arrived.

He loved Clarissa completely, but for some reason a certain film of paranoia encased his feelings for those he truly loved, almost suggesting that they didn't truly love him back. Cognitively Ben knew this was ridiculous, but his brain often managed to hint otherwise. It was a recurring topic of conversation with Clarissa he could never properly explain. She seemed to understand that it was something different that doubting her love, but these conversations typically ended in frustration for both of them nonetheless.

And now Ben couldn't stop thinking about that night in Vegas. Where had she been? What did she do? Could there be a simple explanation? He couldn't stand not knowing. He would ask when she returned to the kitchen. No big deal, just ask casually.

"Okay, so I'm in little Johnny's room and see that Sarah had put out clothes for tomorrow," Sarah interrupted Ben's thoughts. "Nothing surprising. Then I notice that the hanger is labeled, 'Monday.' Because I'm nosy and can't resist, I look in the closet and see that she has three week's worth of coordinated outfits picked out for him, each one a day-of-the-week hanger AND she did the same for the other boys too!"

Ben shook his head and smiled, not forgetting his plan. Waiting a few seconds, he changed the subject. "Hey, I have a question for you..."

Sub Rosa

The tinkling chimes at the front door announced Jack's entrance. He stepped into the rich aroma of Grandma's cooking. By now, however, Jack knew the delicious scents were deceptive. Grandma wasn't much of a cook.

"Jack!" Little Joe dived into him.

"Hey little dude. You been keeping Grandpa and Grandma busy?"

"And how," Grandma Jean asnwered. "Comeer you--too big to stay with your ol' grandparents." She hugged Jack. "So what kinda trouble you get yourself into this past week?"

"Oh nothing much. Just sorta hung out."

"Yeah right," Grandma Jean countered with a knowing laugh. "Well, don't just stand there, dinner's waitin'." She headed toward the kitchen.

"Jack," Little Joe tugged at his shirt. "I need ta show ya somethin'."

"Maybe later, Joe. It's dinner time."

"But I reeeeally want ta show ya now!"

"Hurry up, Big Joe," the boys heard Grandma call down to the basement. "My pot roast'll get cold."

"Okay," Jack appeased. "What's the big deal?"

Little Joe led him into the living room, pulled out the old, red photo album, and sat on the sofa. Little Joe motioned him over. He opened to one of the pages with the mystery girl. His pundgy little finger pointing to the suspect, he asked, "Who's that?"

Jack briefly examined the photo and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know."

Joe looked down, defeated.

Jack suddently realized he was looking at pictures of his dad and Uncle Tom. "Hey, but do you know who these guys are?"

With attitude only a 7-year-old could exude, "I know."

Jack continued to page through the album trying to find pictures of his Uncle Dean. He was upset by the news of Dean's car accident. Dean filled the position of cool uncle perfectly, and Jack idolized him. No luck finding Uncle Dean, but he did see more photos of the girl Joe had asked about. The girl with the green eyes. She was almost always with his dad and Uncle Tom except for a few solo portraits. As he continued to dwell on the girl's identity, Jack heard Big Joe climbing the stairs to dinner.

"Grandpa," he called as he approached with the photo album opened to a picture of her. "Who is this?"

Big Joe flashed an agry look at Little Joe. He redirected himself toward Jack. "Not you too. Why's it so damn important? Just leave me alone about it." He never once looked at her picture.

Undetered, "Come on, Grandpa, she IS in a ton of photos. You don't know who she is?"

"That's enough!" Thundered Big Joe. "Your parents may let you talk outta turn, but not in this house. Now, 'less you want to go without supper, you put that thing down and find yerself a seat at the table."

Unsure why Grandpa Joe was so upset by the picture, Jack complied. The four of them ate dinner in near silence, silverware againt plates making the only sounds. Jack and Joe even omitted the usual exchange of faces to indicate their dislike of Grandma's cooking. Perhaps emboldened by his newfound independence during his parents' weeklong Las Vegas vacation (It had been the first time his parents let him stay home alone), Jack spoke. "I don't get what the big deal is about the picture. I--"

"Out!" Big Joe stood up from his chair and pointed to the door. "You're such a big man to stay by yerself, you just go back home."

"Joe! What's the matter with you?"

"I won't have it, Jean!"

"Won't have what? That they're curious about Karen? Why shouldn't they be? I'm tired of ignoring it. It's only a matter of time before they find out anyway."

"Jean!"

"Oh, settle down old man." Times like these revealed who the real head of household was. Jean took a breath and faced Jack and Little Joe. "That girl you're askin about...that's your Aunt Karen, your dad's sister."

Jack and Little Joe stared at Grandma Jean as if the words she had just spoken would reform around her head to make sense. Big Joe shook his head, left the kitchen, and gallumped down the steps to his basement retreat. Grandma Jean returned to her food. Although they did not speak to each other at the table, Jack and Little Joe knew they would skip dessert (not a big sacrifice) and take out the red photo album to examine more closely.

Husband

Sarah paced the front porch of their home, waiting for Ben and Clarissa to arrive. When the phone had rung only a few minutes after talking to Dean, she knew. Dean was hurt or worse, and even though she may have doubted their devotion to one another, it was clear at this moment their bond was unbreakable. She did something she rarely allowed herself to do. She cried.

It certainly was her daily mission to portray that Dean and Sarah Smithe were not the sterotypical, cold rich couple. Their friends dubbed them the super couple. They were wealthy yet down to earth, successful yet loving, high-society yet laid back. She was a master at hiding all the little imperfections and anything contrary to their image. But the effort this took. Thank God Clarissa had answered her call. Had she not, the next on the list would have been Sempie, Sarah's true foil. Hiding her faults and keeping everything together would be too difficult with Sempie around, and Sarah was distressed enough already.

With this lingering thought, Sarah checked on the boys. Perfectly asleep. The house was spotless in a carefully casual way, and her list of childcare instructions sat neatly on the mohagany kitchen table. Sarah straitened the list so it was square to the edge and placed the pen parallel to its top.

She was about to resume her pacing when headlight beams bounced through the elms. Sarah grabbed her coat and purse, took one last look around, and met Ben and Clarissa at the sidewalk.

"Oh, Sarah, how are you?" Clarissa asked as she emergeg from their rental car, fresh from the airport. They hugged, but Sarah pulled away after a few seconds, eager to get to Dean's side.

"Thanks so much. The boys should sleep through the night, and in case I can't be home before they wake up, I left information on the kitchen table, but no big deal," she lied. "You've raised boys..." Sarah trailed off and headed to the garage.

"Everything will be okay," Ben offered. "Don't worry about the kids. We can stay as long as you need."

Sarah responded with a quiet, "Thanks," climbed into her black Escalade, backed out of her spot, and drove off.

Anathema

Little Joe was elated to have another night at his grandparents. Apparently something sad had happened to his father's cousin, and he and Mom needed to help out. Plus, his brother would be coming over too. He had missed Jack during the past week.

For the moment, however, Little Joe was left to entertain himself in Grandma's livingroom. (All rooms upstairs and on the main floor were Grandma's, and the entire basement was Grandpa's.) He noticed a cabinet he hadn't explored and opened it. There he found several photo albums. He paged through, searching the yellowed poloroids for familiar faces. Nothing.

"Watcha got there?" thundered Grandpa Joe's voice.

Thinking he might be in trouble, Little Joe shrank against the sofa and looked up tentatively.

"Oh, pictures I see. Recognoze anyone?"

"No," Little Joe answered, relieved.

"Here, this is the one you should look at." Grandpa Joe selected a dingy red cloth-covered book from the shelf, plopped down next to Little Joe, and opened it. Pointing to a large wedding photo, he asked, "Do you know these people?"

Little Joe hesitated. "No," he replied.

"Look carefully," Big Joe advised as he raised the book so his face was next to the picture.

The facial features clicked in Little Joe's mind. "Is that you?"

"Yep. So who's this?" pointing to the bride.

"Grandma Jean."

"And," Grandpa Joe paged further into the album, "Who's this?"

"Dad!" Little Joe recognized the person in this picture much more easily. His father looked about ten years old. He was wearing a red and white baseball uniform and hugging a large St. Bernard. Little Joe continued examining the pictures as Grandpa clicked on the television.

Little Joe saw several more pictures of his father along with uncle Tom. He knew his uncle to be fun and entertaining, and the pictures of his youth proved he had always been that way. In a Halloween photo, his father was dressed like a hobo while Uncle Tom was decked out as Gene Simons, make-up and all. Little Joe also came upon a few pictures with his father, Uncle Tom, and some girl. "Who's this?" Little Joe inquired.

"Huh? What?" Big Joe was more interested in the baseball game on tv.

"This one, Grandpa. Who's this?" Little Joe persited, pointing his finger at the young girl.

Big Joe broke from the game and looked at the picture. He paused and looked a bit irritated. "No one important...just some girl...I don't know." Big Joe tried to dismiss Little Joe and directed his eyes back to the tube.

Little Joe looked for other pictures of this unimportant girl. She was easy to spot with her distictive green eyes. There were several more picture of her throughout the years.

"Grandpa, who is this?" Little Joe asked, poiting to a different picture, the girl a few years older.

Big Joe barely glanced at it. "I already tell ya, she ain't important. Why dontcha put that thing away and go bug your grandmother."

"But Grandpa, there are lots of pictures of her."

"Jean!" Big Joe hollared. Jean! Get in her please."

Grandma Jean appeared in the doorway, dishrag in hand. "What you shoutin' at me for, old man?"

"Get that damn photo book away from him. He's gonna wreck it."

Irritated at Big Joe's orders, Jean stomped over and looked over Little Joe's shoulder. She saw Little Joe's finger tapping a picture of a girl and immediately understood why Big Joe was so flustered.

"This is not for you," Grandma admonished Little Joe. "Come help me in the kitchen." Jean casually took the photo album, put it back into the cabinet, and returned to the kitchen.

Little Joe was frustrated about the picture, but knew he had done something wrong and didn't want his grandparents to be angry with him. He followed Grandma Jean into the kitchen, and she gave him the job of drying and putting away the silerware. He wanted to ask her about the picture but would settle for asking Jack later that night.

A word from the author

Breaking from the story, I thought I'd give a bit of background about this story I've begun. To begin, I have no idea where this story will go. BUT I do have a couple pegs in the ground to help guide this wandering into fiction.

1. Each "chapter" or blog entry uses an SAT-type word as its title. I get up early (earlier than my two boys), visit dictionary.com for a word of the day, and look for inspiration. If the word of the day doesn't do it for me, I check the word-of-the-day archives for ideas. So far, I have applied a word to each character. I will probably now move to connecting the word to an event.

2. Before I started blogging, I created a simple family tree I thought could lend itself to a few possibilities. I have included it below. The number in ( ) indicates the character's current age. At this point I doubt I will use all characters listed, and I may decide to change names and/or ages.

The Smithe Family:

Arthur + Adelle = Big Joe (67), Clarence (Clancy) (63), Emily (60), Walter (55), Ruth (50)

Big Joe (67)+ Jean (66) = Ben (45), Karen (34), Tom (43)
Ben (45)+ Clarissa (39) = Little Joe (5), Jack (17)
Tom (43) + Lynnette (43) = no kids

Clarence (63) + Marrianne (60) = Kevin (45), Dean (47)
Kevin (45) + Sempie (46) = Tenon (18), Tara (18), Lander (12)
Dean (47) + Sarah (45) = Matt (5), Mark (5), Luke (5), John (5)

Emily (60) Not Married

Walter (55) + Cindy (35) = no kids

Ruth (50) Deceased

Panoply

"Let me guess: you're running late," Sarah dead panned without waiting to hear who was on the other end of the phonecall.

"Look, I know you're upset but Jack's retirement party-"

"You missed hearing about their first day," Sarah interrupted, cutting off Dean's excuse. The empty space in their dialogue meant Dean was lost, didn't understand what she was talking about because he forgot. "Their first day...?" she repeated. "The boys had their first day of kindergarten...?"

"Oh, yeah...well, put me on speaker and let me talk to them a minute," was his sorry attempt at making up for his blunder.

"They're in bed, Dean. It's already nine."

"Dammit. Okay, I'll take them into school tomorrow and go to work late. They'll like that."

No response.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I just get so wrapped up in things here and-"

She let him off the hook as usual. "It's okay. I know you work hard. I just don't want you to miss everything. When do you think you'll be home?" Sarah hated caving. She was furious, but she wasn't interested in wasting time on a phone argument that would go nowhere.

"Um, I'm not sure...definitely before midnight."

They finished their conversation with the usual love-yous and good-byes. Dean put down his cell and shifted into fourth, picking up speed for the on ramp. It would be another fifteen minutes to Jack's party at the country bar, so Dean let his mind wander.

Despite the minor tiff on the phone, life was good. He had a prized wife, a prized home, a prized car, a prized family, and a prized salary. So what if he had to put in late nights; it was worth it, and Sarah seemed to enjoy running their home. In fact, if he were home more, he'd just be in the way.

He enjoyed the envy of his colleagues and knew that even his brother, Kevin, was jealous. He would always say, "I don't envy you, Dean," but Dean knew he did; Kevin was just too blinded by his tree-hugger, make-love-not-war ways to realize it. Kevin never knew how to tap his potential. Even now, since the lucky bastard's EnviroSpeak was catching the wave of the earth conscious, he seemed to back off. Dean wouldn't be surprised if Kevin's "trusted" underlings organized a corporate take over and Kevin lost everything. Although, he'd still have Sempie...

As Dean sped down the interstate, the image of Sempie's face suddenly coverted into that of the deer that had sprung in front of his Mercedes. His foot jamming the break to the floor, Dean could only stare into the bright, frozen eyes of the doe and wait for the collision.