31. Maggie
31
maggie
Class was stupid fun the other day, and I smile as I harvest lemons. I have a new friend even though she’s 14. I walk into the house, my arms heavy with the beautiful bright fruit. I put them down onto the table, and they roll everywhere because I don’t have any more bowls. Or maybe they do but after the hallway incident, I’m not opening any closets or cabinets without the oldies here. My phone dings. I’m getting better at letting my friend know I’m alive and well. I answer her every couple of days.
Mak: Time for your daily reminder you have a best friend.
Maggie: Thanks. I’m good. Confused and lost but good. Thanks for the space. Oh, and you’ve been replaced by a 14 y.o.
Mak: That makes sense, it’s not like I’ve matured past that. But you should know I’m going to need you soon, because everyone at work finds me obnoxious.
Maggie: You are obnoxious.
Mak: But you love me, anyway.
Maggie: True.
I freeze as I hear a high-pitched squeal and a scrape coming from upstairs. I drop my phone on the counter.
I’ve already given over one of the front bedrooms to the bats and moved everything I owned to the back. The caretaker’s son, who has to be 80, helped me corral them to the front room yesterday. Not ideal but it’s a solution for now. I keep that door shut, towels shoved under and all around. They’ve got their space and I’ve got mine.
The caretaker’s son kept saying, “Windows.” Yes, it would be nice to have windows but don’t ask me about them, Mr. Fix-it’s son. I don’t know how to make a window or put it in. I assume they’re working on it.
More pressing is the slapping sound in the walls. What animal slaps the hell out of another animal? I run upstairs. “Are you guys, okay?”
I ask as if the thing that lives in the wall is going to tell me what it is, but then there’s like a meowing. Then there’s a hiss. It’s not soft like a snake hiss, it’s like a hiss of like, I don’t know a mongoose maybe they’re mongooses. “What are you saving me from? Is it vicious? Are you? What’s happening?”
Now the action picks up with primal scratching, more slapping and screeching. The walls are thumping and I’m listening hard. It’s like a WWF or MMA cage match. There’s attacking, retreating and then shuffling. It’s quite captivating, but I don’t understand any of it.
“Hey, can we all just try to get along? Look, I’m getting along with the bats. You guys can get along. There’s enough wall space for everyone.” A sickening crunch that can only be a neck or an arm rings out then silence. There’s a dragging sound.
“Oh, God! Are you moving a body?” I hope it was to defend my honor. “Thanks, I guess. And can you get the body out of the house so it doesn’t smell? I don’t want to open up these walls because you’ve got your space clear now. Let’s live in harmony like this, okay?”
I bolt downstairs and I try to ignore the fact that somewhere in this building or outside whatever lives in the walls is literally pulling a dead thing that it just killed out somewhere. I don’t know what animals are affected by this.
I yell upstairs. “Seriously, are you a mongoose?” There’s a long silence before skittering. That’s all the confirmation I need. It’s a mongoose.
I need to repay it for saving me from whatever was in the walls. I think. I take a tray with five little bowls of extra pasta and fruit and put it in the front room. This might be a bribe to leave me alone or me thanking it, but either way feeding someone is never a bad call. Everything is settled upstairs with no sign of bats.
I wander downstairs for a glass of lemonade, and I sit outside at the long rustic farm table that sits under a gazebo. I stare at the beautiful brick red stucco square house that’s not quite mine but not quite theirs either. I sip and enjoy the truce.
“Gelato tonight?” I ask as we clean up our station after rolling out a ton of ravioli and focaccia. Daisy’s got real talent, and I enjoy eating her food. We’ve fallen into a habit of me prepping and her cooking. I’m fine with it as long as I get to take home leftovers. I can make a decent red sauce now. But I always ask her to make my pasta. Mine is tough. I also burn a lot of things.
I hand her a sack of lemons.
“Oh, my god with the lemons. You’re lucky my dad loves these.”
“Me too. I just have too many and the animals are no help.”
She sprays down our work surface and says, “Circle back to the animal thing. The gelato place is closed.”
“Permanently? Damn. I loved that place.” I whine, truly upset.
Daisy laughs loudly, “No. Just today.”
I wipe my brow. “Phew. Hot chocolate?”
She nods. I finish wiping up the flour and fold our cloths into a pile. Daisy stares at me, and I gesture for her to fold the rest. She does even though everyone else didn’t. “I think it’s nice to leave things a little easier for the next person.” She makes a small noise. She’s tall and looks even more so in her cigarette pants and loose cropped top that I could never pull off. She’s got that enviable straight up and down thing going on like Makenzie. Her dark hair is in waves and hits her shoulders.
I put my arm out to her and she links in to me. “Maggie, that’s so weird. You still have bats.”
“It’s starting to smell a bit so I had a guy come and clean up all the mess.”
“Ew. And what?” She laughs at me, and I’m not trying to be funny but I force a giggle too. “My mom hated all animals you could own. She apparently liked geese.”
“What? No offense to your mom but who likes geese? Let me talk with her, that’s odd.” Daisy gets quiet, slides her arm away from mine, and lets it fall to her side. I let her have the space. Not sure what any of that is about, then arrive at the café and there’s a melodic pinging of the language I’m starting to understand.
We order from Gus, the owner, who kisses both of Daisy’s cheeks. He hugs me and does the same. “Bellezze, è bello vedervi!”
I grin, knowing what he said. “She’s the beauty, I’m just Maggie.” He laughs and gestures to the waitstaff. I love this little café and come here when I’m in town. Chiara makes the best breakfast.
I glance at Daisy and something is off. Gus’ son is skulking around, and he’s a cutie patootie. She’s not even looking at him as he tries to bus tables and catch her attention. I nudge her foot, and she looks up and sees him. Then quickly looks down at her hands. It’s all very cute.
I order two hot chocolates, and she’s playing with her fingers. I bend my head to see her face and notice there are tears. I panic, teacher mode engaged. I whip open my bag and grab a band aid and a tissue.
“Are you hurt? Cut? Are you emotionally overwhelmed? Are you having dark thoughts?”
She lets a small bubble of laughter out. “I’m sad.” The cute boy passes by again, checking her out, but she pays him no attention. I grab his arm and ask for the check.
“Si, Si, Signora.” I leave some euros and grab our drinks.
“Come on. No one should be sad around hot chocolate. Let’s walk.”
She rises and wipes her face quickly, so no one notices and mutters, “Sorry.”
I guide us because I think of something that might make her laugh and she can show to her mom. She takes her hot chocolate and drags the back of her hand across her nose to grab the whipped cream left there. We walk over to the little park that has a goose fountain. It’s also a place she can be anonymous because no one is sitting on the benches around the fountain.
“Spill it, sister.”
“My mom is dead.” And a soul-crushing sob erupts as she drops her hot chocolate and clutches at me in that absolute drama of being fourteen and not understanding anything. And now I replay what she said. Her mom hated and liked. Past tense. Totally didn’t pick up on that.
I smooth her hair down and say with tears in my own eyes, “I’m so sorry.” For once, I keep my rambling in my head. “I should have figured when you reacted to me saying something about your mom. I don’t always pick up on context clues.”
I hold Daisy as she calms down. My worries and problems don’t stack up to something like this. “It’s okay. You can cry whenever you like. That’s what friends are for. I got you.”
Her voice is small. “Thank you.” I hold her closer.