James W. Morris

Girl in the Grass

 

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My husband when he was alive was I’m afraid to say a get off my lawn type. Otherwise he had a great deal to recommend him.

 

I thought of Bill when I raised the blind on the front window in the morning and saw a young woman standing in the grass. If she lingered there Bill would have shot out the door and approached her all polite to say May I help you but meaning Hey girlie get off my lawn.

 

But Bill is gone, long gone and I don’t give much of a crap really so I forgot the girl and went to the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. It has a feature where you can set a timer so it starts ahead of time but I don’t trust a machine deciding when to turn itself on. I made toast too and used up the last of the apricot marmalade Lauren gave me.

 

I turned on the radio for the news. I used to get the newspaper which I prefer but it is no longer a boy on a Stingray bike who tosses it gently onto your porch. It is an adult in a car who barely slows down and flops it at the end of the driveway and always in a puddle if it’s raining. I don’t feel like getting dressed and having to hobble all the way out there.

 

When I paused at the window on my way back to the living room I saw the girl was still standing in the grass.

 

Usually when someone steps onto my front lawn it is because they are passing by on the street walking their dog. Sometimes the dog poops and the people look all embarrassed almost like they were caught doing the pooping. 

 

The girl on the lawn didn’t have a dog though. Anyway she wasn’t looking down at the grass or at my house or even at anything along the roadside. She was looking off to my right and up into the distance. For a moment I put myself in her place and imagined what she could see from where she stood. The tops of some trees and maybe the maintenance side of an apartment tower a couple of blocks away. Nothing to gawp at.

 

I decided to tap on the glass and see if I could get her attention. I planned to make a Hey what gives What are you doing hanging out on my lawn sort of gesture if she turned my way. She did not. I rapped harder on the window using one of my rings and thought for a second I’d cracked the glass but I didn’t. The young woman still did not react.

 

I squinted at her profile to see if I knew her. My eyes are not much good these days though. She had pale skin, long light brown hair and drab clothes. I would have to be much closer to recognize a face.

 

The hell with her I thought. Anyway my legs were getting tired. I can’t stand for long periods of time. So I dropped the blind and made my way to the sofa where I fell asleep almost right away even though it had only been a few hours since I’d gotten out of bed. This is one of the fun things about being retired. You can sleep whenever you feel like and no one can say boo.

 

When I woke I laid still for a while thinking about my dream. I dreamed Bill was on a TV show where he played a 1940’s nightclub singer who traveled from town to town singing and also solving murders in his spare time. In real life Bill was a plumber.

 

Eventually I got up from the sofa and went about my business for the rest of the day. Whenever I went near the front window and was tempted to look out I resisted the urge which was my way of telling the woman I didn’t care about her or her agenda whatever it was.

 

That night I tried to have another dream in which Bill was a torch song detective but instead I got one in which I looked at myself in a mirror and saw all my teeth had turned to mush. I didn’t like that dream at all. In real life I have a partial but most of my own teeth even though I’m twenty years older than every toothless person I knew as a girl.

 

When I went downstairs the next morning and raised the blind the girl was still standing in the grass. 

 

Well probably she left sometime yesterday and was now back I thought. But what difference did it make? An unwanted person was lingering on my property. I got dressed then called the non-emergency number for the local police and told them I had a trespasser.

 

They arrived quickly as I live in a notoriously safe suburb where the authorities have little to do outside of dealing with the occasional shoplifter at the mall and drunk drivers at night. Two policemen got out of an especially shiny patrol car put on their police hats and strolled up my walk past the woman in the grass. They wore belts with bulky equipment that clanked. One of them spoke into a little radio on his shoulder before raising his hand to knock.

 

I got the front door open as fast as I could. Good morning Ma’am the knocking cop said. You reported a trespasser? Did you see which direction they went?

 

His question confused me. The woman was standing about thirty feet away.

 

I opened my mouth to reply but hesitated. When you’re elderly and answering questions from authority figures like cops or doctors it’s best to go through an extra layer of analysis before responding. Might saying what I want to say make me sound senile? Young people can get away with being eccentric or goofy. Act the same when you’re old and next thing you know you’re strapped to the bed. That’s the fear anyway.

 

She was right there I said pointing to where she still was.

 

Ah he said, barely glancing that way. Well my partner and I will have a look round your property to make sure she’s gone.

 

Ten minutes later they were back. We didn’t find anyone or anything out of place, the knocking cop said. Your windows and doors all appear secure. Of course if you see the trespasser again don’t hesitate to call us he said smiling. They clanked away.

 

Well obviously the thing for me to do now was to go onto the lawn and confront the woman on my own. I got my cane from where I keep it near the door and readied myself to go out but then nodded my head and silently closed the door without taking a step outside.

 

I was afraid.

 

Also I remembered that tomorrow was Saturday and Lauren, my niece would be here in the morning. She brings groceries and nags me gently about stuff. Lauren is a widow since my nephew died but she still looks in on me weekly even though he was the one who was my actual blood relative. Lauren is a can-do type with definite opinions on how the can-doing can be done. She would know what approach to take to the girl in the grass.

 

I saw Bill again in my dreams that night. I dreamed he was in bed with me snoring away. The weight of him nearby was nice. When dawn came across the bed I was able to distinguish individual hairs on the arm he had thrown over my hip.

 

Usually after I wake from dreams of Bill I feel bereft to find myself a feeble old woman in bed alone but when bright morning arrived and the dream yielded I felt unusually well not particularly sad nor sick. 

 

I got up and showered, combed my hair out and put on a decent blouse and slacks. I do my best to appear well-groomed and happy for Lauren not only because it’s the right thing to do for any guest but because I don’t want her to think I’m losing my grip.

 

I ate breakfast and planted myself in a chair by the front window purposely avoiding paying too much attention to the girl in the grass. I like to watch for Lauren’s arrival. You can’t just wait to hear her car pull into the driveway anymore because the current one is a hybrid.

 

Lauren turned into the driveway exactly when expected. Her car was one of those that are supposed to have dim headlights. I think they call them running lights all the time and I noticed one was burnt out which was surprising because the car was newish. I made a mental note to tell her about it although my niece is kind of difficult to surprise with new information. She already knows everything.

 

Lauren exited the driver’s door, went to the rear hatch and lifted out two bags. She always gets my regular stuff and a treat like last week with the marmalade or sometimes even a steak. I watched as she walked past the girl in the grass without saying anything.

 

We greeted each other in the normal manner and put the groceries away. Most of them were frozen dinners which I don’t mind as much as I used to. They are really easy to prepare but I always feel a little ashamed because I was once well known as a top notch cook, the type who would rather take the gas pipe than use canned spaghetti sauce. One thing you learn about age is that concessions will have to be made.

 

The treat this week was fancy tapioca pudding.

 

Real casually I said Hey you didn’t notice anybody on my lawn did you? I thought I saw a girl trespassing a couple times this week.

 

Lauren’s sleepy blue eyes opened a little wider. No, she said, not sounding particularly alarmed. Did you call the police? Do you want me to look around?

 

No, nothing to worry about, I said. Probably just looking for a lost dog or something.

 

Lauren left after finishing her coffee. Her car silently backed out of the driveway. It was only then I realized I’d forgotten to tell her about the burnt-out bulb.

 

I sat in the living room for a while after that thinking about my life with special emphasis on the times I’ve been a coward. There were too many for my liking.

 

Okay well let’s do it. I went to the door and grabbed my cane then put it back. There was no reason to look more feeble than necessary.

 

I exited the door, crossed the porch, and went carefully down the brick steps then proceeded along the walkway. I wanted to look the girl in the face.

 

Once I got close I realized the girl in the grass was significantly taller than I had imagined. Everyone seems taller than they used to be. Guess I have to admit I’m shrinking.

 

Her face as I approached began to have a familiar cast to it like the girl might be part of my extended family. There is no need to be afraid, I thought. 

 

Then the girl did this beautiful thing. She dropped her gaze from the high faraway sky to my face. The corners of her mouth turned up just a little like it does when you recognize a loved one. A moment later the girl in the grass extended her hand.

 

James W. Morris is a graduate of LaSalle University in Philadelphia, where he was awarded a scholarship for creative writing. He has published dozens of short stories, humor pieces, essays, and poems in various literary magazines, and worked for a time as a joke writer for Jay Leno. His first novel, RUDE BABY, was recently published, and is available worldwide. More info at www.jameswmorris.com.

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