FRANKIE'S WILD RIDE

Francine ran up the porch steps, then tried stomping her Keds hard enough to make an impression.  She learned quickly that sneaker soles had no impression-making ability whatsoever, especially on old, worn out carpet made a zillion years ago. It seemed the only thing Francine had accomplished was to release clouds of dormant dust from another era. Francine covered her nose and moved to the window seat a little quicker.

She heard voices coming from the driveway just outside the big bay window. Francine concentrated on keeping her tears in and keeping the meaning of the words she imagined being exchanged outside out. By the time she heard the voices stop and her mother’s car engine start, Francine’s fingernails had left bright red half-moons across her kneecaps.

As she shifted her focus and checked for blood, a tiny woman wearing a shower cap over a head full of bobby pins and spit-curls bustled her way up the front steps and into the house.

“Frankie? Where are you?”

Francine paused poking at the indents she’d made in an attempt to draw her own blood. 

“How long this time?”

The old woman made her way across the room to her granddaughter. She carefully sat on a cushion, releasing a tiny grunt and a puff of baby powder and eucalyptus. Francine lowered her eyes. Whenever she was deposited at her grandmother’s, Francine felt as though she’d been teleported to some dried out, black-and-white world. Francine had spent enough time in the talcum time warp to know most familiar comforts were out the window. She was trapped in a house of mystery odors, scratchy sheets and stale pillowcases, ornate rose garden wallpaper that in the dark seemed to drip; it all felt so used, expired. The minute Francine arrived, she was always ready to leave. She might have attempted it, were it not for one fact.

Gran could bake like nobody’s business.

*  *  *

Millie Carpenter looked up from her crossword puzzle. It was a daily routine to exercise her brain with teasers and games. At her age, she’d heard too many sad tales and seen too many friends simply drift away.  

That was how she’d lost Frank.  It was the sparkle in his eyes that first attracted her when she was working as a coat check girl at the Elks. When he approached and handed her his jacket, he whispered how he would enjoy helping with her coat whenever she got off. That was the moment she looked up and caught the spark. She blushed furiously and couldn’t bring herself to look at him.  That started the fire. 

That spark led to the building of a home, the birth of a child, a fair mix of the joys, sufferings and teachings of life. Millie was with Frank when the spark in his eye eventually dimmed until it no longer sparkled for her or anyone else.  For years she remained at his side until the last few embers went out, taking Frank.

Still, she felt fortunate. She had known love; she had her mental faculties; she lived independently; and her finances were such that she could afford an occasional modest splurge. Her practical side had her hiring a cleaning crew to give the old place a thorough scrubbing. Instead, her maternal side saw her planning something she could share with her only grandchild.

Francine Lilly came the year after Millie had watched Frank laid to rest. She was, to Millie’s mind, an angel sent to them. She was little Frankie, and always would be.

Millie lifted her pencil and frowned. Her daughter’s broken-down Buick had pulled into her driveway, unannounced, no doubt leaking oil and some sort of trouble.

Millie set the puzzle aside.

*  *  *  

Before Millie could reach the bottom of the porch steps, she witnessed a flurry of pre-tween fury rush by she recognized as Frankie. 

“Don’t you just charge past your granny like that, hear me? Show your elders some respect, you hear me?”

Millie reached her daughter as fast as her orthopedics could take her.

“Neighbors, Allie! I can guarantee they all hear you.”

“I can’t let her get away with that. You shouldn’t either. You’re the problem; you’re too soft. How’s she ever gonna get anywhere in this hell-in-a-hand-basket world if she don’t know how to act?”

Millie took a deep breath.

“What’s going on, Allie?”

Allie checked her newly dyed head of platinum in the rearview.

“I met somebody, Momma. I don’t know how long I’ll be, is all. Well, actually, that’s not all. Momma, this really could be the one, I can feel it! How do you like my hair? Oh, Momma, cross your fingers for me, will you? All your fingers, and your toes?”

Millie had heard Allie say that more times than she cared to count.  She’d learned it as a child and had somehow never grown out of it.

“Fingers and toes don’t have a thing to do with it, Allie. You know that, don’t you?”

“Well, that’ll have to do then.”

She blew a kiss and backed the car around and prepared to head out.  

“Thanks, Momma! You’re a peach!”

Then, with a wave and an oily backfire, her daughter disappeared, and that was all Millie would know until Allie returned, whenever that was.

*  *  *

Francine sat at her grandmother’s breakfast nook adjacent to the kitchen. Beneath her elbows, a yellowed plastic-coated tablecloth was a constant reminder where she wasn’t.  

By the window hung a small cage that housed a canary named “Birdie,” Millie’s cherished companion.  Although Francine could never understand naming a pet what it already was, she had to admire the little captive. She couldn’t imagine being stuck in a cage and still having enough heart to sing all day.

What’s your secret, Birdie? Wanna be the little birdie, Birdie, who tells me? How do you do it? 

Birdie tilted her head and looked into Francine’s eyes a second before hopping over to her water dish. 

Great. Now you clam up.

“Frankie? Would you come here, dear?”

Birdie resumed merrily belting out her tunes. Francine looked at the bird and shook her head. 

Gran’s cookies were so familiar to her, Francine could list the ingredients on the counter with her eyes closed: Flour, baking soda, butter, sugar, molasses, eggs, vanilla, chocolate chips and the avocado-colored mixing bowl with hand mixer to match. 

“Frankie, would you please get the walnuts for me?  Or pecans, if you’d prefer. It’s up to you, dear.”

Francine nodded.

“Don’t get lost in there. I didn’t know you were coming but at least the pantry’s full.”

“Thanks, Gran.”

Millie smiled at Francine as she disappeared.

*  *  *

Francine found the cord with the clothespin at the end and gently pulled.  The solitary bulb struggled on and did little to assist Francine, but she already knew where everything should be.

She headed straight for the baking section.  The nuts were kept right next to . . . Francine frowned.  The bag was torn, gnawed? All that was left were crumbs.

“It looks like you’ve got critters, Gran!”

“Tomorrow we can make fritters, Frankie.” 

Francine grinned, then froze. She’d spied another walnut and then another.  Was there some pattern to them? Francine decided to find out.  If Gran had pests, it would be better if Francine discovered them.  

As Francine knelt to look closer, she heard something scurry. She pictured scampering rodent feet. She looked around, took a flyswatter from the wall, the flimsy weapon giving her courage somehow.  

I am sick and tired of having zero say over absolutely everything!  No lousy free-loading varmint is coming between me and Gran’s cookies, as I am my witness!   

She concentrated, taking deliberate steps towards where the sound had come. She felt the smooth, reassuring plastic coating of the swatter in her hand as she scanned every inch of the shadows. Then it appeared.

The outline of a door.

It was tucked just beneath the shelf, hidden behind boxes and baskets. She moved what she could out of the way and looked for a way to open it.  She felt the edges, pressed, put an ear to and was about to knock out of desperation, when the door opened by itself with a click and a creak.

Francine glanced toward the kitchen. She’d already been gone longer than it took to fetch one ingredient.  She hesitated another moment before crawling through the doorway.

*  *  *

Francine heard the door creak and click closed. She’d seen enough movies to expect it might happen; still, it shook her. She took a breath and then realized she was inhaling the rich aroma of warm melted chocolate. The ground beneath her had a soft cottony feel.  The sparse light guiding her increased until she came to a star-shaped opening that looked pretty small to Francine. 

“Place your arms high over your head like you’re about to dive into a pool.”

Francine recognized but couldn’t place the voice.

“Who is that?”

“Never mind. Do it.”

“And just why am I doing this?”

“You’ll see. Trust me.”

Well, that makes sense, Francine thought, but did it anyway.

“Ready?”

Francine felt like a human missile. Oh, now, wait a minute . . .

An explosive blast hit and blew Francine out the end of the tube in an upward trajectory. Francine shut her mind off other than to keep her eyes closed tight and brace for the end.

The end came when she landed on a squishy bed of marshmallow. She softly bounced before gently sinking into the fluffy, sweet pillow.  

“Finally! We’ve been waiting.”

Francine opened one eye a crack.

“We?”

“If you open your eyes, you might be able to figure out a few things yourself.”

Here goes.   

Francine opened her eyes and sat up.  She knew this place. This was Perfection Point, a stunning replica of a videogame Francine had played for years.  In Perfection Point, you created your own world, as Francine had many times.

Francine suddenly realized whose voice it was she’d been hearing.

“Marvella!”

Standing proudly before Francine was a futuristic blonde wonder in bright blue and red, fists on hips, silver legs spread in ready-for-action stance.

“You made it, Player 111. I knew you would.”

“What is this place?  What was that cannon thing?”

“That was your pastry bag blast. You don’t remember?  You designed it. How was it, by the way?”

“OMG, it was the best . . . what do you mean I designed?”

Marvella grinned conspiratorially.  “You really don’t remember. Not a problem, boss. You spent so much time and energy programming me and this place, I can practically anticipate your next move. We’re partners, you and me. Why, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. Anything you want, just name it.”

Francine was beginning to understand.

“Anything?”

“Within my capacity, which you should be familiar with. I'm your avatar, after all.”

“But that was just gaming, fooling around.”

“Well, you’re not fooling around now, boss.”

Francine closed her eyes and tried to grasp what was happening.  

The sky was dark when she opened her eyes again.

“Thinking dark thoughts?” Marvella had her arms crossed.

Francine watched as the sky slowly lightened again.

“How could you tell?”

“How could any of us not tell? This is where we live.”

“There’s that ‘we’ again. Who is ‘we’?”

“You’re too young to be having memory issues. Barkster! Come here, boy!”

Francine jumped to her feet.

“Barkster?”

Just as Francine turned, a pink and purple Burmese mountain dog jumped on her. Francine fell to her knees and threw her arms around the wiggling mass of Burmese love slobber.

“Oh, Barkster, I thought I’d never see you again!”

The beatific beast leaned back on his hefty haunches, panting happily.

“Tosh!” He managed between panting and licking his chops. “I just ran out of hearts.”

“Barkster, you can talk? Words, I mean.”

“Because you wished it.”

“Because I . . .”

Marvella approached and stood next to Barkster.

“Are you understanding now?”

Francine smiled.  As she did, the sun shone brilliantly. Bright wildflowers of infinite variety and beauty sprang to life, covering the rambling hillsides. A giant oak was symphony hall to songbirds of every variety, come to sing their fluttering little hearts out.  A pond of crystal blue water bubbled with chirping frogs on floating lily pads, while florescent dragonflies hovered about like charming helicopters.  Orange and yellow Koi spun in and out of the water in choreographed tempo. 

"Yes. I think I'm beginning to."

The scene froze as Francine tried to think what her next move should be. 

It didn’t take long before bright rainbow-colored beams rose behind a smiling sun over the horizon.  All eyes turned as synthesized French horns announced the arrival of a special guest. Up and over the hillside appeared a galloping steed of confectionary perfection, Francine's pride, Sugar Hooves.

Francine ran to meet her old ally. She threw her arms around the neck of the orange horse with the cream-colored mane.  Sugar, in turn, bent her long face around Francine and nickered. Sugar exuded orange blossoms and vanilla. Francine relaxed and took her in.

Francine eventually released her friend and wiped away a tear. 

“I can’t believe it.”

“Well, it took you long enough to get here.”

“I had no idea I could.”

“Fair enough. Have anything for your old friend?”

Francine checked and was delighted to discover power treats in her pocket.  One would elevate Sugar’s life levels to full capacity. As Sugar gratefully gobbled, a distant ding-ding-ding signaled the life meter adjustment.  

The two walked together along a golden pathway that appeared wherever they stepped.  The path was lined with hints of whatever Francine and Sugar talked or thought about. When Barkster joined them, dog biscuits and squirrels joined the apples and carrots. Francine finally settled on a creamsicle and one appeared in her hand. It made her swoon; she’d never tasted anything so divinely pure.

Several hilltops away, Marvella had zeroed in on the three with her telescopic vision. She was programmed to keep watch and stand ready. She knew that a storm could come at any time without warning; she knew Francine.  

*  *  *

Francine lay in the crook of Sugar’s breast and forearm devising new and wild cookie flavor combinations. Barkster remained close and vigilant in case of rejects.  Sugar offered an occasional suggestion but was otherwise content just knowing her hearts were full.

“What about cherry-peanut butter-mint?”

Francine held up a golden confection with red and green chips and a buttery peanut scent. 

Sugar shook her head and gave a snort. “No comment.”

Barkster, tail wagging furiously, drooled lilac-colored drool.

Francine took a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully.  

“Hmm.”

Barkster looked ready to cry.

“Just okay.” She handed the rest to Barkster, who lunged for the cookie and, delicately avoiding Francine’s fingertips, swallowed it whole. 

“Did you even taste it?” Francine laughed.

“Meh. It was just okay.” 

The two laughed and rolled around in the cool, green grass. Sugar looked on with a horsey grin. 

“Well, I hate to interrupt the reunion.”

Francine looked up to see Marvella in hero stance. The sun behind cast her in shadow, gold cape flapping in the breeze. Marvella only donned the cape when she meant business.

“I didn’t ask for you.” Francine frowned.

“You didn’t have to.” A dark cloud began to form above.

“Well, what is it?” 

“You need to decide.”

“What?”

“Whether you’re going to stay here.”

“Oh, I don’t have to decide that now.”

A second cloud began forming and with it came a low rumbling.

Francine looked up.

“Am I doing that?”

Marvella crossed her arms.

“Look, I hate to be tough on you but I want you to choose: you can either stay here and play with perfection, or go back and learn to live with reality.”  

The sky darkened into a tempestuous purple-gray mass of swirling clouds. The rumbling increased.

“Give me one good reason why I should go back.”

Black rain began pelting the ground. The animals headed for tree cover. Francine and Marvella faced each other as the storm raged.

“I can give it to you in one word.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Do it then!”

“It begins with G . . .”

Lightning crashed. The two figures were so dark and drenched that neither Sugar nor Barkster could tell which was which. They saw one lean toward the other.

The storm continued to intensify. Horse and dog looked at each other and, before they were completely swept up in a little-known phenomenon aptly named “Mental Maelstrom,” a sudden rush of love energy swept through, supplying the two with more hearts than they would ever need.

Then the screen went blank.

*  *  *

Francine opened her eyes. It took a moment to realize what she thought was a windstorm was actually Gran’s mixer. She inhaled. Vanilla, butter, brown sugar, eggs. Chocolate chips. Nuts!

She found two bags, just as Gran said.  She stopped and looked around the pantry, not sure what else it was she was looking for. 

When Francine entered the kitchen, Millie was scraping down the sides of the mixing bowl. 

“Gran, I’ve decided.”

Millie was measuring flour.

“Whatever you want, dear.”

For some reason, this made Francine laugh. Millie stopped what she was doing and stared at her granddaughter.

“What’s got you so tickled, Frankie?”  

Francine laughed harder.  As she worked to gain control, Millie started the mixer. 

“Gran, I want to live here.”

“I was thinking, Frankie, you should move in.” 

“What?”

“What?”

“Okay?”

“Okay?”

A sharp, clear whistle ended the discussion; that, and two words no one knew how Birdie knew: "Game Over!"

She'll never tell.