What's Up

The woman, newly arrived in town, was watching them like a hawk, her crystal blue eyes locked on them four. These women, sitting in the coffee shop, all looked at Joyce, crinkled eyebrows and firm frowns of unsatisfied curiosity radiating around the ugly wooden table. But Joyce studied the woman’s weird clothes. Then she smirked, looking away.                                           

“Hm.” Patricia huffed. “I wonder who she is. She hasn’t been here before, has she?” As she ate her banana bread, Sam leaned over towards Clarice and whispered, reemphasizing the new, strange woman, that she was weird. Patricia nodded.           

“Yeah, Clarice. I mean, it’s bizarre. I don’t know anyone who wears such clothes—especially in summer! We’ve always known everyone to just talk about each other.” She threw up her hands in a jovial, expressive manner. “So…openly.” 

“Hey Joyce, Sam, Clarice and Patricia! Just, uh, dropping by to—”

“What do you think of her?” Sam looked up at the man. “Eggnog, what’s up with this weirdo?”

“Yeah, I know!” He took a seat with the group and squinted at the woman. She was still there. Some people looked outside, crinkling their brows and tilting their heads. Was the woman just being weird or frustrated or something odd? Eggnog looked around at the bustling sidewalk, cobblestone road and cars driving to and fro. People would turn to each other and point at her as they walked by, mumbling and looking back. Whispers from Clarice and Joyce would rise like smoke from a piping hot mug of hot chocolate. Eggnog grabbed and dragged a chair from another table. Joyce moved aside to include him.

She shifted in her chair, uncomfortable with this hot, stuffy place. The lukewarm coffee and the chocolate chip muffins, cookies and milk have all reminded her of the old days long gone. She sighed, looking out the window, palm in chin, pursed lips and a heavy heart. She was sitting with her best friends, but sat alone.                           

Different from the rest of her friends, Joyce always longed for more. But she couldn’t just leave them.       

As some others went back to their newspapers, ordered more coffee and left, the woman started shuffling off somewhere. Where, Eggnog shrugged silently. He voiced his thoughts.   

“I don’t know. But I’d sure like to!” Joyce, Patricia, Sam and Clarice put their heads together, chatting about the woman’s new-looking cerulean and black fluffy scarf.

“Sure is a pretty day outside. Do you want to go shopping or something instead of stay cramped in this warm café?” Eggnog blew breaths of air and ruffled his thin shirt, the women saw. “Man, I’m hot just sitting here! Please—someone turn on the air conditioner.”

As Joyce went to get some coffee, she turned to ask whether any of the other women wanted anything. They shook their heads, and Joyce went to get the beverage. Carrying it over to the table, Joyce set it down and reclaimed her seat. She looked around herself—some people, she heard, were absorbed in question about that woman.

“Did you hear about her coming?”

“I didn’t!”                          

“Would you mind a town without so much—”

“Gossip?”

Her voice sounded so much louder than normal. Joyce actually jumped, spilling a little of her coffee. Glaring up at the woman standing beside a table of people, she muttered, “What a town. Everywhere I go, the people are whispering, commenting and pointing at me. I can’t even eat a bagel in peace without someone realizing that I’m here. So I’m different!”                        

She whirled around, stamping her black boots on the creaky hardwood floor. The door banged shut, and Joyce watched her walk briskly past them in the wide-open window. Her lips pursed, she got up to ask whether her coffee could be heated up as she loved watching the steam rise up from the cup. Getting it soon afterward, Joyce carried it back to the table, and then seeing whether the woman was still there, took a sip.

“Ah!”

Joyce cried out in pain, and then placed the mug on the table. “Ow—the stuff is too hot!”

“Stuff?” Sam exclaimed, widening her eyes. “What stuff?”

Joyce shook her head, and tried again. This time, she cried out in pain a little bit from the heat of the drink, and felt blisters actually forming on the roof of her mouth! She quickly told Patricia, Clarice and Sam to tell her their thoughts of the new woman when she returned, and hurried away to go to the doctor’s office. Joyce grabbed her small purse and waved everyone goodbye.

“Where are you going?” Eggnog blurted.      

“To the doctor’s!”

“Oh!”

The women all ignored Eggnog, muttering worriedly, but they all called goodbye to Joyce.

At the doctor’s office, Joyce checked in and then was sent to a room with the promise that she’d been seen in a minute. Joyce nodded, and sat down on the boring leather chair after stepping up onto the metal lever. A few minutes later, she told Dr. Witts whether he had seen the new woman pass by the café.          

“Uh…” Dr. Witts was looking at his notes on his clipboard. “Marcy and Mark said something—”

“If you don’t know—or remember like everyone else—that girl is the weirdest. I mean, did you see her dress, or sweater, or scarf? Besides, it’s like 90 degrees outside. Who wears winter clothing when they’re about to die as it is?”    

Instead, Dr. Witts turned away from his clipboard and took off his stethoscope. “I—I heard of her. Mark was talking about her with Marcy. They’re always writing notes.” He made scare quotes in the air, chuckling. “Notes they pass along to the other doctors, who will always leave this place with new information about new people. And, man, I've never seen such a book!”                 

Dr. Witts checked Joyce’s mouth, said to stay away from coffee and hot drinks and let her out with a tip to drink cool water with ice. Joyce nodded silently and then left, stopping when the new woman had just entered through the sliding glass doors. She coughed, swallowed in embarrassment, stuffed her thin dry hands into her pockets and then walked past Joyce towards, she spun around, the same room!

Aghast, Joyce stormed out the building towards her car. I never! Back at the coffee shop, Joyce vented to Patricia. She then relayed it all to Clarice and then Sam, who piled on more gooey words that, she said, had slid around town from what she’s heard so far from the neighbors.            

“Hm.” Eggnog quipped, sipping his tea. The women all ignored him, but Joyce looked at him and nodded.

“Yeah—sometimes, I wonder.”

“How about she go back to her own town?” Patricia rolled her eyes. “Then she’ll be happy.”

“It’s only about two thousand people with nothing more than an arcade place down the road. Nothing else to do.” Clarice shrugged and laughed. “So why not continue the daily news?”      

Sam agreed.

That woman, Joyce knew, didn’t deserve all the hurtful thoughts. She didn’t deserve such treatment. She got up and walked away. She felt all the shocked stares, but ignored them. As they whispered fiercely about her abrupt exit, Joyce blinked, trying not to cry for herself. She exhaled in weariness at the heat of the day, but blasted the AC in her car on the way to the doctor’s office. 

Joyce ran through the sliding glass doors and into Dr. Witts’ room. He wasn’t there. She ran up to the receptionist. “Please,” she panted, striving to breathe naturally, “is that girl here? She had on a red sweater, a blue and black scarf and black jeans.”

“Uh…” The woman spun around, picked through in her cabinet and then pulled out a file. “Uh…”

“Please.” Joyce pushed. “I don’t mean to be a burden. I just want to know whether she is here!”

“It says here—”

“Thanks!” Joyce dashed back outside to her car. She strived to remember what the woman looked like. She wouldn’t have a phone number written on her face or clothing! Come on, Joyce! Think. Where’d someone who wears winter clothes go?

Driving around the town, Joyce finally stopped at a little bakery a few feet in front of her. She parked, got out and then jogged towards the bakery. A car honked, and she apologized as she made a right turn into the sidewalk and then threw open the door. Breathing heavily, she stopped and then collected herself. Going over to a woman with her back turned towards her, Joyce tapped her shoulder.

“Oh!” The woman turned around. “Yes—didn’t I see you at the doctor’s office? Why…” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Are you following me?” 

Joyce sucked in a huge breath. “I…just want to know why you have wintry clothes on when it’s 90 degrees outside. I—”

“Want to report it back to your gossipy friends back at the coffee shop. Little do you know that I have Asperger’s, which means I dress weirdly because of this disability. Also, you can’t go a day without knowing everything about everyone, it seems. I know you share my doctor. Well, I wiped all those words about that girl you were talking so feverishly about at the doctor’s office. Yeah,” she nodded at Joyce’s dropped jaw and staring eyes, “I can rid paper of words that don’t need to be written. The doctor said that—what was her name—”

“It doesn’t matter—” 

“Drs. Mark and Marcy can’t write anything that they don’t know about. It’s like this town’s job is to know—”

“Everything about everyone.” Joyce finally gathered herself, swallowing hard. “You know, I’ve been thinking.” She looked at the ground. “You’ve come to this town, all new and a stranger, and I’ve spit you out of my mouth.”        

The store’s doorbell rang (something Joyce hadn’t even heard Patricia and Clarice walked up to her, both murmuring hellos to the other woman while looking at Joyce. Joyce introduced the three women (Patricia and Clarice shook it clumsily). 

Clarice bobbed her head. “So…what do you think?”

“You know what, ladies?” Patricia hollered. “This woman here can basically read minds! I mean, she just said she could wipe words off the doctor’s pages of notes and Drs. Mark and Marcy’s clipboard. I’m not so sure how, but she said that!”

As the other two women laughed at this craziness, Joyce looked at the woman, slowly folding her hands and sighing. Clarice announced whether she was going to cry. Patricia chimed in with whether she was going to buy some dumpy oversized shirt for herself that’d give her a heatstroke. Joyce chuckled a little, but it came out dry and a little cracked.   

“Sorry.” It was limp. The other woman smiled small, and excused herself, heading outside. Joyce watched her go. “Hey,” Patricia piped up, “let’s head back to the coffee shop and continue Clarice and my little conversation with Sam! Such a friendship never felt so warm and fuzzy. Gossip was never so fun!”     

Joyce agreed (her eyes still watching that woman, her mind reeling with sorrow) as they demanded her to return to the shop with her. Slowly turning around, Joyce swallowed hard and looked backward at the empty space between the racks of shirts and khaki pants that had been filled by the woman. But Joyce forced herself to go with the other women. When she got back with her friends, Joyce found herself unable to listen to the conversation at hand--although the gossip rolled smoothly off everyone’s tongues.          

Joyce stared into her coffee. She’d laugh at the jokes. But it emitted in dry chuckles. Joyce got up and left.

Finding the woman again, Joyce threw out that she was sorry for verbally slicing her apart. The woman merely shrugged and then left. Whether she left the town or just this clothing store, Joyce didn’t know.

That night, her head resting on her extra fluffy pillow, Joyce’s eyes leaked tears. Sniffing, she wiped them away. I need to find her. I need to mean it!

She searched for the woman for the next few days. She studied her car and license plate to know whether she’d be moving. She saw where she turned to go home so she could visit her. One day, she drove into her parking lot and knocked on her door.

When the woman opened her door, she reluctantly welcomed her inside. Joyce started telling her that—          

“Hey!”

Joyce spun around. Clarice, Patricia and Sam were all running up this woman’s driveway, gesturing for her to come and enjoy some ice cream down at the boardwalk at the beach. Joyce looked away, and looked sheepishly up at the other woman. The woman asked Joyce whether she’d like to leave with her friends.

“I mean, with all the gossip going around, you really fit in!”

This sarcasm made Joyce flinch. The woman grabbed her purse after walking over to her kitchen counter. Joyce nodded stiffly, her uninvited friends struggling through the door. As the woman told these women to leave her alone, Clarice, Patricia and Sam asked Joyce was going to join them. Joyce slid her arms on her chest, her hands rubbing her upper arms and shoulders.               

“You cold?” It was Sam.    

“No. Actually, yes, I am.” She turned to her friends. “Loneliness has hugged its despairing arms around me like a wet sweater. I just—”

The woman was backing out of her driveway. Bursting outside and running in front of the car, Joyce waved her hands. The woman had obviously slammed on her breaks the way the car stopped abruptly. She put her window down, her eyes sparking.

“What do you want?” She threw out, tightning her grip on the steering wheel. “You know what, I’ve had enough. Bye!” And she left Joyce standing there, Patricia, Clarice and Sam’s voices exclaiming her excitement about Fourth of July.

Joyce sniffed, wiped her nose and then her welling eyes. Then she got up, excusing herself quickly and then walked to her car. Telling Patricia to pay for her coffee (which Patricia gladly did so), Joyce inhaled as she sat in the driver’s seat, striving not to just cry. She then wondered how the woman could just wipe everything clean with her hand. Was she a magician?         

Joyce called her phone number after looking her up online.

“I have a past, too, Joyce. Doesn’t mean I need to know every scrap of detail.” Click.

Joyce told herself to wake up. She doesn’t want you. You just need to go back to that shop and continue your little verbal book. She started her car and went home. Telling herself she’d call Patricia, Sam and Clarice about the beach tomorrow and Monday (as it was Fourth of July), Joyce killed the engine and went into her house. After putting her purse down somewhere in the kitchen, she thought.

But how does she have magical powers? How is she wiping everyone’s words away? Joyce called the woman, and she told her she could wipe the stupidity of people’s written ugliness by erasing with the side of her fist. Just like that, she said. I can just erase with my hand.    

The woman asked her whether she was going to the Fourth of July celebration on Monday.

"Yes!"

“Are you bringing those chatty girls with you?”

Joyce sighed. “No. I wish I was. But no.”

“See you then.” Click.

In bed that night, Joyce stared at the blackness of her room. I need a life. Maybe I’ll find it at the beach tomorrow. Patricia, Sam and Clarice can all go if they want. But we won’t be sharing towels. Or ice cream. Or hot dogs, balloons, exclamations about fireworks or anything else we have had done.                

Then she sniffed. Or anything even remotely close to anything or anyone else’s business. Gossip can go. Besides, what did Patricia even mean—“we’ve always known everyone to just talk about each other”?

That holiday afternoon, Joyce saw the woman from far away in a hot pink full bathing suit, red hair flowing in the cool breeze. She smiled a little, and licked her ice cream, turning to someone who laughed and jokingly pushed her away. She looked down at the hot sand, and then jolted a minute later when someone said something. She looked up at the woman, a man standing beside her. They met.

Then they left, holding hands. 

Joyce watched them go, loneliness slowly starting to strangle her. I guess…I do get what I deserve. I guess gossip does separate— 

“Hey.”

Joyce spun around. Clarice, Patricia and Sam were all standing there, beach towels and umbrellas all ready to be laid out and enjoyed on and under. “What do you say, girlfriend? Let’s go!” Patricia left and then came back with four small cardboard cups of ice cream. She handed Joyce one, and she took it. “Let’s enjoy this July independence!”

She said no.

As they all slowly turned away, asking each other whether she was okay, Joyce grabbed a spoon from somewhere and ate her ice cream. 

Joyce lay in the blackness that surrounded her that night. And as loneliness spread its arms around her, she started to cry. Muffled sobs shook her, the pillow becoming wetter and wetter. “You know what,” she told herself, “I’m moving. Starting over.”     

As she announced this decision, the town was soon ablaze with shock and dismay. Patricia, Clarice and Sam interrogated her all day. Joyce decided to erase her brain from all past hurtful comments, wishing she could just go to town magically erasing every stupid comment from everyone’s brains and Drs. Mark and Marcy’s papers.

Joyce looked into the reflection of her coffee, her face dry. Her eyes were free from tears. Her life was clean.