A Parlor for the Ages

Everyone attended the baptism of Baby Johnson.  That is, everyone residing at 24^th and High Street did.  And why wouldn’t they?  Baby Johnson was the new light to all of their busy lives.  Each tenet at 24^th and High Street knew the importance of celebrating and supporting the proud parents after the loss of their beloved three-year old.  Through death and new life, they surrounded each other in grief and happiness.  

During the service everyone gazed in wonder and smiles at the couple and their child.  Miss Parks, in her motherly way, glanced at her tenets from across the aisle.  She wondered how long each of them had been in her life and under her watchful eye.  Eleven of her children, even though two were her senior.  One was a veteran who had lost his arm at the battle of Antietam.  “Yes,” she thought to herself.  “This is my family.”

The splattering of rain had surprised the small congregation as they exited the church and made their way down 24^th Street.  Three quick blocks before they came to the brick flat they called home.  

“24^th and High Street, please,” he mumbled to the cab driver as he slipped into the backseat from the pouring rain.  It was almost morning and he had to get home and to bed to sober up before work in a few hours.  He nodded off for maybe a brief second before the driver awoke him notifying him of his destination.  

As he climbed the steps he felt happy to be home.  “Yes,” he thought to himself.  This is my home.”  He mounted the steps and using the railing, pulled himself to his apartment door.  He knew everyone in the building was asleep, but what did he care?  He barely knew his landlord, or anyone in the building for that matter.  Paying his rent and submitting work orders for his one room apartment was all done online.  He was happy he did not have to communicate with anyone in person. 

Reg closed the door, bolted it shut, and made for the bed.  Staring at the ceiling, he half blamed himself for getting thrown out of the girl’s apartment.  Maybe he moved too quickly.  Maybe it was the booze in his system.  Either way, he would never see her again and he was ok with that thought.  

Not seeing his family and friends in over seven years, he cut everyone out of his life.  He moved to the city on a whim and a promise of a high-end job that would pay him well.  An ambitious job that he dreamt about all through college.  Now that he has the job, where is he?  The tiger clawed his way to the top of the cage, leaving the carcasses of those he had loved to rot below him.  And he knew it.  Reg closed his eyes and the room spun.  Opening them, he caught the inevitable flashing of neon lights through the cracks of the curtain.  His eyes closed again, then opened.  Head under the pillow, Reg fell into a deep sleep. 

Miss Parks had a nice reception in the parlor for her tenets that afternoon.  There was laughing and loud chatter.  She fluttered from group to group ensuring everyone was content, while listening in on each conversation.  She felt it was her obligation to keep tranquility at her boarding house.  

A young man had just stepped away from one of the gatherings when Miss Parks rushed over to him at the sideboard.  “I’ve been meaning to ask Mr. McGuire how you’re liking your stay here.”

“Oh, just fine, just fine.  Thank you, Miss Parks.”  

“These past three months have flown by, but I suppose that’s life.  Just whoosh and it’s done and gone.”

“I suppose it is,” said the young man who to Miss Parks appeared like a small boy blushing. 

“And are you adjusting to city life?”

“I must admit it is quite the adjustment.  This is the furthest and longest I have been away from my family.”

“Well, I hope you get to see them soon.  Maybe they can make a trip down here and see their son all grown up,” Miss Parks accidentally stepped on his foot while saying this.  She had a clumsy way about her while she conversed with those she attempted to care about. 

“Thank you, Miss Parks, but I doubt anytime soon.  Father is busy with the mill and mother has the children to look after.  In the meantime, I have all of you to keep me company.”

“That does a body good to hear that you find all of us good company to keep with.  I see everyone here as my family.”  At this she was called over to another duty to care for another member of her supposed family. 

The blushing young Mr. McGuire turned around to the sideboard and made himself appear busy, at least in thought. 

At last, the day was through.  Reg returned home from a morning of spinning walls followed by immense hunger that was barely satisfied with his ham sandwich, which he ate alone.  

Alone.  That was how Reg always found himself.  He would often tell himself he was happier being alone, but who was he kidding?  

Passing through the front door to 24^th and High Street, he attempted to quickly collect his mail.  The whitewashed walls made the entrance seem even smaller than it already was.  He stared at the wall across from the mailboxes.  Apparently, from what he was told, there used to be a parlor.  He considered what it may have looked like and pondered its use.  Yet, it too was walled up.  Just like everything in his life.  Not knowing what was on the other side of that wall, he began dreaming about the possibilities.  Maybe it’s a spacious bedroom for his landlord?  Perhaps a billiards room for invisible guests of his landlord?  Or maybe it is still the same old parlor that greeted past tenets with old, rotting furniture covered in white cloth.  Suddenly, the front door opened, awakening Reg from his dreams.  Mumbling hello to the older man, he scurried up the stairs without pausing for a reply. 

This was not the first time he pondered about what laid behind the white wall downstairs.  It’s not the first time he pondered about possible friends he could have.  But he tried having friends before, and chose to cut them out of his life.  Or at least he told himself that it chose to do so.  It was less effort on his part.  He could find just as much happiness in television and on his phone or computer.  

Cracking open a beer, the sound interrupted the silence in the room.  Then, the television reverberated the room with sound and Reg felt the warmth of being nestled in his room by the cold, sixty-two-inch glow.  Even if he tried to tell himself that he was happy in life, somehow truth leaked through those walls.  

Mr. McGuire kept busy regularly.  Whether it was with work, evenings at the lodge, or going for a walk around the block, he kept himself busy.  Seeing this made Miss Parks happy.  She would sit up late in the parlor waiting for her flock to come home.  One of the last to arrive home would be Mr. McGuire.  She knew his schedule better than he knew it himself, and he discovered himself hating that fact.

One cold night the front door blew open with a rush of frigid air.  Mr. McGuire stepped in.  Looking up, he expected to see Miss Parks sitting by the fireplace with a pot of hot coffee waiting for him.  There was no one, and the fire was out.  The gas lights flickered alone, patiently waiting for someone.  Half saddened, but half pleased, he trudged up the steps to his haven. 

The following morning, he was awoken to silence in the building.  He headed downstairs for Miss Parks’ usual breakfast.  The parlor was filled with the other tenets.  Dread and horror were on all their faces.  A physician stepped out of her bedroom into the parlor. 

Mrs. Johnson approached Mr. McGuire, “Oh Ted, it’s terrible.  Miss Parks.”

Mr. McGuire stood motionless.  The physician broke the silence, “It appears she’s been dead for some time.  Who found her?”  Mr. McGuire observed one of the older tenets raise her trembling hand.  He looked around the room in disbelief.

Never again would he look at that parlor the same way again.  Each time he entered the front door, he would try to look past the room to his right and head directly up the stairs.  

Another evening wasted in front of the television.  Reg awoke, thinking it was midnight.  Reaching for his phone he saw that it was only seven.  Was he happy that it was still early?  He was unsure of this question.  He was unsure about many things in his life.  There was one aspect of his dreary existence that he was certain of.  Loneliness.  He was certain that he was lonely and was past the point of no return. 

He reached out next to the couch in pulled open a drawer.  He pushed past broken pens and other odds and ends.  At first, he hesitated, but then he found it.  A small plastic bottle of pills.  He held it up to the light.  Twenty or so pills.  He knew that was all he had to do.  A couple quick gulps and his miserable existence would be over. 

Turning the bottle in his hands, he listened to the rattle of the pills.  They were egging him on.  Or were they asking to be placed back in the drawer?  Stored away until another day.  Yet, who would find him?  His landlord?  A man he had met less than the bartender down the street.  Who would notify his family?  His family.  He wondered what they were up to.  Staring back at his phone he saw that only two minutes had slugged by.  He thought about picking up the phone and calling his mother.  How would she sound?  Would she be happy to hear his voice?

He picked up the phone, while tumbling the pills in the bottle.  Just then, a knock on the door.  Startling himself, he dropped the bottle to the floor.  Shamefully he shoved it back in the drawer and answered the door.  Standing in front of him was the girl from the other evening. 

“What? How?”  Fumbling as he had done with the bottle, Reg couldn’t make a coherent sentence. 

Half smiling, the young girl spoke up, “Don’t you remember?  You showed me your apartment building the other night.  Your landlord showed me up to your door.”

Beaming, Reg welcomed her into his room.  “I must remember to thank my landlord,” he thought to himself.