stains

Barbara

Barbara stirred her martini with a toothpick while the olive bobbed around the edge of the rim. Charles had been gone all morning doing god only knew, and she was thinking about a recipe for chocolate Rice Krispie treats she had read in a woman's daily earlier in the day. The martini recipe had been in the same magazine and since she had all the ingredients she figured, why not. It was nearly 1 pm. She deserved a drink.

Her mind began to wander. There was a sale at Penney's this week that she mustn't miss. The college their eldest son Troy had attended was calling endlessly asking for donations. Did Barb and Charles want a classroom named after them? Would they consider a donation for the furthering the education of our future? Charles would need to handle that. And the gym, too. Her annual membership was due again. This post fifty body was not kind to Barbara. Her once tight belly, even after two big boys - 8 lbs each, now folded and sagged over the waist band of her pants. She was softer now, everywhere. Charles always complained about the gym membership. Barbara never went, but she insisted on maintaining the option to go. She had women's bible study this weekend, too. She needed to prepare a pasta salad. All of the ladies just loved her pasta salad, and Don had requested she make it special. She would have to remind Charles to stop by the Swifty's for more Miracle Whip. That was the secret ingredient, just plain ol' Miracle Whip.

Charles had been acting strangely lately, spending a lot of time on the computer and Tuesday of last week he had gone to the gun range all day long. All day! He'd never shown much of an interest in shooting, but that afternoon he'd come home with a couple of targets riddled with bullet holes. He seemed sheepish when he came in the front door, shuffling around and shifting the papers from arm to arm, as if trying to keep Barbara from seeing them. As if she cared. She did not.

As she swirled her drink in her hand she looked out across the neatly manicured lawn towards her neighbor's home where Todd Carmicheal was loading up his teenagers into the minivan. Todd and Alice Carmichael had three boys and one girl. Barbara couldn't imagine how Alice managed with five children, all within 6 years of each other. She couldn't ever remember the boys names, either. They all looked so much alike and they all played soccer, how could anyone tell? But the girl's name was Christine, and she was very ugly. It was unfortunate really, with a pretty name like Christine. Her nose was kind of turned up, and her hair was always frizzy and unkempt. She and Todd, her father, took a lot of bike rides together. The boys were kind of mean to her. It must be lonely, with four brothers and a dad and a mom in a wheelchair. Alice had MS, and her legs had finally given out under her. Barbara thought back to the first summer Alice had wheeled herself out of the house. It had shocked everyone so much, hardly anyone knew what to do. And Alice had looked so lonely sitting in her bulky black chair, struggling to reach for the garden shears under the hot, humid Ohio sun. The Midwest was so unforgiving. And no one visited. No one came by to help her with the gardening. Their yard was quite a mess these days.

Barbara glanced over at the phone on the wall and thought out loud, "What to do, what to do."