Myra and The Big No

Myra boss-walked through Farina's Sports Bar and Grill, partially because she was late meeting her sister but mostly because the numerous televisions were causing her to feel overstimulated and she was concealing this with authoritative and deliberate motions. She stopped as she neared the bar, realizing she had forgotten to look for Rozzie. Several men turned from their barstools to see who was walking behind their backs. She was caught off guard by their astute situational awareness, felt uncomfortably conspicuous, and began to scan the room for a woman who looked almost exactly like herself.

Rozzie, sitting almost directly in front of Myra, alone at a table for four, was shouting, “Over here!” with arms waving overhead. Myra made eye contact and in a slightly less authoritative, but still deliberate manner, walked towards Rozzie. Several men laughed, including a ruggedly handsome bald man who caught Myra's eye for a split second.

“Thank God you saw me. I would have never found you.” Myra hung her purse on the chair and took a seat across from Rozzie.

“I know. I've been waving at you since you walked in the door.” Rozzie said with exaggerated fatigue while leaning into her glass of Chardonnay.

“Really?!” Myra was surprised but this information explained why the men turned and laughed. Her boss-walk had not fooled anyone.

“Really.” Rozzie offered dryly and almost to herself.

“Sorry, I'm late. I just got off the phone with the lady who was the PTA President last year.” She was deflecting away from her tardiness by piquing Rozzie's curiosity.

“Yuck. Why?” Rozzie asked with disdain.

Neither Myra nor Rozzie cared for the PTA moms. They considered that group to be judgmental, prudish, and boring. Myra was friendly and chatty to everyone, of all ages, all races, all income levels, both men and women, dogs and cats, goldfish, occasionally trees and plants, and once, she apologized to her big toe when she stubbed it. Myra was simply very chatty.

Many people misinterpreted this gift of the gab as flirting, especially given her status as a divorcee, one of the very few divorced women in her upscale neighborhood where people remained married in spite of their dissatisfaction in order to preserve their equity and net worth. She brushed off the false accusations without any intent to change her chatty ways. She often said, “I won't sexualize kindness and if other people do, that's their problem.” It made her very much disliked as well as a source of gossip by the married women in town, which is to say, nearly all of the women.

“Do you know her?” Now Myra was the one with curiosity.

“No. Who is she?”

“Nichella Pinkerton. She works it into every conversation that her husband went to Harvard at the same time as Obama, but then adds that they never met.”

“Oh, so it's the special Harvard. Not the ordinary Harvard.” Rozzie used a mock haughty tone.

“Exactly. Just to be clear, they're not that garbage level Harvard. They're that special kind of Harvard.” Myra said sarcastically.

“Got it. Why is she talking to you?”

“Hi, what can I get you started with?” a forty-something-year-old woman with a wispy dirty blond ponytail and a sing-songy voice interrupted.

“Okay, for starters, thank you for implying something there.” Myra pointed finger guns at Rozzie. Turning to look at Debi, per her name tag, Myra ordered her usual, “I'll start with a Maker's Mark, neat, a water back, and a pint of whatever IPA you have on tap. Whatever is the hoppiest.”

“Do you need to see a menu?”

“No, thank you. I can take my check now, too, just to make it easy.”

“Gotcha.” Debi turned to Rozzie: “Would you like another glass of wine?”

“One more and put hers on my check, and I'll take the check now, too, thank you.”

Myra thanked Rozzie and then thanked Debi. As Debi walked away, Myra whispered to her sister. “The guy behind you is kind of hot.”

“No. Stay away from that.”

“He looks like Mr. Clean.” Myra opened her eyes for emphasis.

Rozzie admitted, “I know. I saw him when I walked in, and no, it's still no.”

Myra continued, “Anyway, Nichella was the Ice Cream Coordinator last year and she asked me to take over this year.”

“No way. You are already signed up for Sunday school, Cub Scouts, and the baseball snack bar.” Rozzie spoke with strained urgency.

“I said I would do it.” Myra shrugged it off.

“NO. Just no. You work full-time. How are you going to find the time? Why can't they find a stay-at-home mom or at the very least, some woman who has a husband to help at home who has time for extra things? You don't have any help and you don't need to be helping other people when you can't even help yourself. And you need help! Why can't her special pants husband do it if he's so special?”

“I barely have to do anything. She said there's a roster of volunteers and I just have to make sure one or two people are scheduled for every Friday after school. That's it. If a volunteer isn't scheduled, the incoming PTA President fills in. It's literally just maintaining a sign-up sheet and a few phone calls.”

“None of those women are nice to you. None of them like you. They're never going to like you. You know that, right?” Rozzie spoke the truth out of concern.

“I know. Believe me, I know. They're horrible to me and talk mad shit. I get it. It's not about them. I like doing my part and my kids like it when I volunteer.”

“How much wine is this going to cost me?” Rozzie asked with angry annoyance and quasi-sarcasm.

Debi looked taken aback as she placed a glass of wine down in front of Rozzie.

“Oh my God, not you!” Rozzie apologized to Debi. “I was talking to my sister!”

“Oh, okay, no, it's okay.” Debi placed the whiskey down next to Myra.

“Not anymore than usual. Just in case, maybe expect me on Fridays.”

Debi placed the water on the table.

“Fine. You're giving me an ulcer.” Rozzie barked, and then turned to Debi, “Not you. My sister.”

Debi laughed. “I know.” Then caught herself and looked at Myra, “No, I don't know. I didn't mean…” as she placed the beer on the table.

“It's okay. I know I cause ulcers.” All of them giggled. Debi walked away.

“She's nice. So you're coming with me? To the next PTA meeting?” Myra sipped her whiskey and made big eyes again.

“Of course not, but I'll get a bottle of wine. You can come over afterwards.”

As Myra and Rozzie reached Rozzie's car in the parking lot, Myra let it be known, “I need you to give me a ride home. I walked here so I could have a drink. That's why I was late.”

“I figured as much. Get in.”

Myra walked around to the passenger side of the coupe. She pulled the handle but the door was locked. The window was cracked open so she slid her arm through and reached down to hit the switch to unlock the door. She accidentally hit the button that operated the window to go up, wedging her arm between the glass and the door frame. This was quite painful and she began screaming.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Rozzie panicked and turned the car off before reaching over for the button to roll down the window not realizing she had just turned the car off and so therefore, the window didn't go down.

Two large hands gripped the glass of the window and pushed it down. Myra pulled her arm out of the window. It was Mr. Clean, the man from the bar.

“Holy moly! Thank you!”

“Wow.” Mr. Clean said in a tone that Myra interpreted as astonishment at her awkwardness. She wasn't wrong.

“Wow, you're really strong, and you just came out of nowhere.”

“You forgot your purse and I was leaving. Debi asked me to catch up with you.”

“THAT Debi is so nice.”

“She is. Do you know her?”

“No.”

Awkward silence.

“Your hands are huge, by the way.” Myra blurted this out as a neutral observation which caused Rozzie to stifle a gag reflex with laughter.

“Is that a bad thing or a good thing?” inquired Mr. Clean.

“Probably good since you just saved me from my sister's car window.”

“Hi! I'm the sister! I'm Rozzie!” She yelled from the driver's seat.

“I'm Jay,” he leaned over and shouted through the open window.

“Nice to meet you, Jay!”

“Nice to meet you, Rozzie.”

“Thank you for my purse and for saving my arm.” Myra wanted to keep talking to Jay.

“Are you going to introduce yourself?” Rozzie asked.

“Oh, yeah, I'm Myra, and you already met Rozzie.”

“I did. Well, you ladies have a nice day.” He turned and waved at them as he walked away.

“Thanks,” they said simultaneously.

After driving in silence for a few miles, Rozzie started laughing.

“What? What's so funny?” Myra wanted to know.

Emulating Minnie Mouse, Rozzie cooed, “You're soooo strong. Your hands are soooo big.”

“Shut up! I didn't say it like that!”

“You did.”

“I didn't!”

“Why didn't you get his number?”

“Ummmm, because I have whiskey breath and my arm was stuck in a window.” They both laughed.

After a week of unanswered texts, emails, and phone calls to Nichella, Myra walked into the school office and asked the secretary, Tracy Futtbase, if she would happen to have a copy of the roster for the ice cream volunteers as the projected start date was approaching.

“You need to speak to Rebecca Payne, the incoming PTA President.” Tracy spoke in the condescending tone authoritarians use to demean small children.

Rebecca waddled from behind a desk. She spoke with the angry vengeance of a sworn enemy in spite of this being their first meeting. “I'm going to help you. I don't know anything about a roster. Come with me. I'm helping you. I'm busy, but I'm helping you. Has anyone shown you what to do?”

“Uhhh, No.” Myra said in a soft voice with the intention to disarm the hostility. It didn't work. Rebecca proceeded to show Myra the location of the ice cream cart and handed her a business card for the ice cream vendor while angrily working it into every sentence how she was helping Myra.

“Soooo, the way Nichella explained it,” Myra spoke softly, “all of the volunteers already know how to do the set up? I just have to ask them which days they want? And if they can't make it, then you fill in?”

Rebecca jumped back. “Nooo. I mean, if you need help like that, there's a possibility I could help you as a favor, but don't count on it. I am very busy. This is your responsibility and I can't always be helping you.”

“I work.”

Exaggerated shocked gasp. “We all work. Raising children is WORK!”

“You’re clearly very blessed to have the opportunity. I can't be here in person on Friday afternoons. I was told …”

“I don't know what you think you were told.”

“I was about to tell you that part.”

“This is your responsibility and you have to be here every Friday.”

Rebecca's scratchy seething tone was triggering Myra's misophonia which caused her muscles to tense up and pain to radiate in her ears, jaw, and spine.

“I'll call Nichella. Again. For the roster.” Myra said curtly, staring intently into Rebecca's eyes without blinking, stifling anger without saying anything that could be repeated out of context. Myra secretly hoped that Rebecca would gossip about Nichella's non-responsiveness and a rumor would circulate about Nichella's incompetence and the unfairness of it all. Rebecca did not infer this because she did not value Myra Spitzer's friendship and therefore could not be bothered to infer anything from this conversation, but the eye contact made her uncomfortable and she looked away.

“I don't have a roster. I'm pretty sure you have to make your own roster. Nichella was the only one out there last year.” Rebecca's voice was unexpectedly sheepish as she alluded to this very bad news.

“You're kidding me?!” Myra wasn't soft-spoken anymore.

“We have been really short on volunteers.” Rebecca walked away before Myra could muster a response.

Later that night, Myra chugged the last of her IPA, slammed her glass on the table at Farina's, looked Rozzie in the eyes and said, “Freaking Nichella. I bet she doesn't have a roster. PTA moms suck! What's the point of going to Harvard if you can't even make a roster?”

“She didn't go to Harvard. That was her husband, and I told you so… I. Told. You.”

“I'm going to have to use all of my PTO to sell ice cream. This isn't what I signed up for.”

“I told you not to do it!” Rozzie exclaimed.

“Did you put your arm in the window again?” Jay was standing next to the table.

“Oh my gosh. It's nice to see you again. And thank you, again, for your help. And no, I haven't put my arm in any other windows.” Myra couldn't think of anything witty to say.

“Do you want to sit down?” Rozzie asked.

“I'll join you. If I'm not interrupting.” Jay motioned to the seat beside Myra.

Debi approached the table, “I'm going to be leaving early tonight and Carrie will be taking care of you for the rest of the night.”

“Date night with Bill?” asked Jay.

“I wish, but no. PTA night with Rebecca Payne.” Her tone indicated some contempt for Rebecca.

“Is that tonight? Green Hills Elementary? My sons are in 3rd and 5th grade.”

“I know. I remember you from baseball.”

“I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. I always sat in the car at baseball because some of the noises… get to me.”

“I remember that because everyone…” Debi stopped mid sentence.

“Because everyone talked shit about me because I didn't sit in the stands.”

Jay turned to Myra, “Not a baseball fan?”

“I'm a baseball fanatic, but certain noises trigger a pain response in me. It's called misophonia. It's a real thing. Are you a baseball fan?”

“Kind of. I'm a retired player. I played AAA ball in the mid 90s.”

“Do you want to go to a PTA meeting with me?” Myra blurted out.

“Do I want to go to a PTA meeting with you?!?!?!” he laughed. After a thoughtful pause, “You know what? Hell yeah, actually, I do. Let's do it.”

“I'll bring your checks. Do you want to carpool?” Debi asked half jokingly.

“Why not? Let's carpool.” Jay offered. “How about you, sister? Are you coming?”

Rozzie grimaced. “Yes. I'll go. If we're all going, I'll go.”

Walking into the PTA meeting, Myra grabbed Rozzie and Debi's arms and whispered, “What are they going to say about me bringing a date from the bar to a PTA meeting?”

Rozzie whispered back, “Nothing they haven't already said,” and Debi added, “and that he's cute.” They all giggled.

The four interlopers approached Nichella Pinkerton and Rebecca Payne.

“Nichella! I've been trying to reach you.” Myra spoke casually as if they were friends which they were not.

“I'm sorry. Who are you?” Nichella knew who Myra was but wanted to be catty.

“Myra Spitzer.”

“That doesn't sound familiar.”

“You had initially asked me to take over as the Ice Cream Coordinator. I was told you replaced me.” Myra lied. “I wanted to give you the courtesy of confirming in person that you have decided to go in a different direction.”

“No, we still have you down for that.” Rebecca panic barked.

“Sooooo, just to be clear, you need my help? With the ice cream sales? You are still in need of help with that?” Myra emphasized the word help to whittle at Rebecca.

Nichella, oblivious to the previous exchange between the two women, said, “Yes, we do.”

“You do need my help? Okay. I need the roster.”

Nichella sighed. “We expect you to honor your commitment.”

“My commitment is contingent on receiving a roster.”

“You have to make the roster. That's part of the commitment.”

“No. It isn't. That isn't what I signed up for. I committed to scheduling volunteers from an existing roster. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to go in a different direction. I'm out.”

“Just like that. You don't even care about your kids? Or how this looks?” Nichella tried guilting Myra.

“This looks like you don't have a roster and this looks like you'll need to find someone else.” Myra turned and exited with her newly established cavalry at her side.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Debi said, “I don't know you very well, but I'm proud of you.”

Jay confessed, “I don't know what that was but I'm glad it didn't take very long because I didn't really know what to expect.”

“Me too! I am so glad we didn't have to stay very long. I have wine at my house. You guys want to come over?” Rozzie offered.

Myra: “Yes! Nothing crazy. It's a school night.”

Jay: “Sounds good.”

Debi: “I have some time.”

Two years later, Rebecca Payne and Nichella Pinkerton were elected to the Green Hills School Board, Debi purchased Farina's Sports Bar and Grill, Rozzie was the maid of honor in Jay and Myra's wedding, Jay bought Myra headphones so she could watch him coach her sons’ baseball teams from the stands, and the PTA still couldn't find volunteers.