Too Much Heaven/ A Short Story

Chapter 4 / THE DOOR, THE DANCE

It was leaving day. I sat in the kitchen for about an hour. Playing back all of the laughs, the food, the fights. I wanted the memories to travel with me when the house sold. I was scared I would forget those days. Forget what it felt like to be loved and spoiled. To feel secure and safe. The smell of homemade biscuits and the sound of birds out by the back porch. We were happy. So happy, I never thought to ask for a miracle. I guess it's too late now.

After packing all my things I sat in my little white charmer, My 1972 Volvo 1800ES. So classic. It attracts men but when they start talking to me about the original tail lamps and how satisfyingly loud the engine is, I have no comment. I don't know about this stuff on my car or any other car. I love it right now though because I can adjust the rearview and look back through its large glass hatch. I sometimes look for Waylon. I'm looking back now at that old walnut wood door that arches perfectly at the top. Those same hands of grandpas built it and carved a simple Celtic tree at the top. Each branch had a tiny carved initial of every family member. It had a P for grandma. Her name began with a B, but grandpa called her Puddin', so he carved a P not thinking it through. She accused him of having someone whose name began with P on his mind when he carved. She'd say it was probably from his navy days. I wanted to rip it off of its hinges and take it with me. I remember rushing grandma to the hospital out those doors. She never got to enter back through. Every time I saw the door after that, her initial seemed to reach forward towards me and wink, so I wouldn't forget her. That door has a million memories.

I remember leaving for the spring dance with Spencer Daishee through that door. Waylon was watching from the divide. I waved to him. He waved back. It was the first time I wore heels. Mom gave me an old pair of hers. They were a little big so I made a new hole for the buckle. I was in love with Spencer. His green eyes, outlined by jet black eyelashes. Olive skin just tanned enough to glow. He was tall and strong. No other kid in school had as white of a smile. I knew he wasn't picking up old cigarettes to smoke. Other boys seemed to have an orange hue on their teeth that year. Could've been crush soda, Cheetos or from the pizza hand pies everyone ordered from the cafeteria. It's such a weird time, 7th grade. The girls are beginning to wear mascara while the boys have pizza hand pie grease lounging in the corners of their mouths. Either way, Spencer was the exception. His teeth guided me to him every day like the star of Bethlehem. He was just so absolute as far as I was concerned. His deep voice made my knees sway like grandma's green surprise jello salad. Weird, but it always seemed like there was nothing in it except lime flavoring and some lardy dairy topping. I was about 9 years old when I asked grandma why she called it green surprise jello. She said "I ain't tellin' and grandpa yelled from his lazy boy in the front room "surprise." As I got older the mystery of that milky-lardy topping made me never want to ask what the surprise was again, but it was good.

The night of the spring dance my mom let me wear a little makeup for the first time. She helped me get ready. Mom curled and backcombed my hair. I remember smelling the hairspray burn off the curling rod. My hair would sizzle where it was still wet. I just listened and stared out the window into the field covered in wild bluebonnets. Grandma always pressed them in books for grandpa to lacquer them into his wooden disks, like tiny purple frames around photos and newspaper clippings. If you ever knew my grandparents, at some point you would have received something with lacquered flowers. Coasters, Plant stands or serving platters looking like liquid glass was poured on top.

Grandmas' ears grew towards mom and me while she was pressing my dress for the second time. Mom briefed me on her code of conduct. It was a recap. The full version was always evolving. Growing, like her pride had a green thumb. "Make sure you can see a teacher at all times." "Don't be ashamed of where you got the dress, if it's new to you, it's new." And most emphatically, "don't fawn all over him, boys don't like that." I was 13 when Spencer Daishee and I danced the night away. It was so loud in that room. Music, laughter. We couldn't have good conversation. I just remember feeling the music from head to toe. The silence between spoke volumes, and the lyrics of every love song were about us. No words could describe that night. Other kids stood around and just wasted space. Even though he was so tall, our heights matched, and we both were good dancers. Except for him spilling his broccoli dipped in ranch on my shoes, it was a perfect date. I left some of the ranch sauce on my shoes for proof just in case I woke up the next morning and wondered if that night really happened. I could tell he liked me as much as I liked him. I didn't care that maybe he was forced to ask me there. For one night I had some of my own heaven.

When he and his parents drove us to my house, I got out of the car; his mom cleared her throat and whispered firmly "Spencer." Appearing startled he jumped out his door and tried to catch up with me to walk me in. I waved goodbye to the parents and moved fast. Embarrassed of what my mom might do, and of the dusty porch and old wooden chunky door, so I stopped him with my hand on his chest and pushed him towards the car and waved with a smile that I've never had before or since. He nodded one slow nod, grinned with that shepherd guiding smile and walked away. He said nothing else to me that night. As I walked to the door, careful not to stumble or shake my hips too much, I reached out for the knob. My hyper mom, in all of her glorious anxiety, opened the door as I was reaching for the knob. I blew in like the front of a two-person wheelbarrow race. "What in..?" my mom caught her shouting mouth and waved "thanks again" as they drove off. After I got up my mom integrated me with, "nice job cinderella, you didn't' fawn all over him did you?" I was close to rage. In my mind I sassed her with a clenched jaw, No mom, I didn't fawn, but I wobbled in your big shoes like a newborn deer the entire night. Every part of my body united to immediately shut the door. She didn't even ask if I was hurt.

I'm on that porch now and I can't help but feel it's going to miss me as much as I will miss it. Oh, this door. Heavy, stained and beautiful. Women came to that same door to seeking Grandpas attention after Grandma passed. Bringing casseroles and crosswords. For a while, this front porch looked like a bad conga line on a seniors cruise. I knew that as long as a P was carved in a branch, grandpa would never let another woman through that door. I am tempted to take the door off the house and replace it with a new one, but it would be like separating siblings after a divorce. I couldn't do it. The door sold with the house. At least they are still together.

When I found out it sold I felt so betrayed, and for such a cheap price. I could have almost bought it if she, my aunt, would have told me her asking price was significantly higher than what she would actually take. She dropped her price quicker than moms chocolate souffle when I opened the oven door once. My aunt just wanted quick cash. It sold to a mechanic who already has the front looking like a junkyard. I can't even get the nerve up to drive by anymore. Part of me would want to walk up to him and make him clean it up. I pray that a little tornado of dirt picks him up one day and throws him somewhere else. I go through this same 3rd street now to my job. Right now, I am on 3rd, but I am headed to my new apartment on Eddy St. Maybe I will go to one of their tennant meet and greets. They have a great pool and workout studio with weight machines, yoga, and even a masseuse. They also have an annual 5k and 10k which sounds cool. I'll never go. Thankfully my apartment is on the lower level. I don't want to climb stairs all day, and it's easy to find just in case a man ever wants bang on my door to yell out a love song. I will be fine here either way. It's just that time of life where you have to move on. Supposedly.