Chapter Twenty Four - Speed Change
The Misery of Mrs. Geesky Number 24. The Red Reticule.
Before Chapter Twenty Four
When the hut was completed, fresh weeds appeared.
Change is the nature of our existence. But…most of us ignore it or we seek to control change - from redecorating our homes to buying a new car to changing jobs. Some…make great efforts to change the body…losing weight, face-lifts, hair dyes. The list is endless.
We have mixed feelings about those weeds that appear. Weeds follow everything, but we are inclined to make every effort to get rid of them. The teachings of an 8th century Chan Master offers some insight on weeds.
I’ve built a grass hut where there’s nothing of value. After eating, I relax and enjoy a nap. When it was completed, fresh weeds appeared. Now it’s been lived in--covered by weeds. The person in the hut lives here calmly, not stuck to inside, outside, or in-between. Places worldly people live, he doesn’t live. Realms worldly people love, she doesn’t love. Though the hut is small, it includes the entire world. Song of the Grass-Roof Hermitage
Contemplate these two lines:
The person in the hut lives here calmly, not stuck to inside, outside, or in-between. Acceptance of the nature of life.
Though the hut is small, it includes the entire world. Know that no one, nothing escapes the nature of life unless one transcends the material world.
When things change, which is guaranteed, remain calm. Though you are just one small person, the entire world is included in change..
There is no escape from change.
Ask yourself, what is it that does not change?
Chapter Twenty Four - Speed Change
Speed Change
The new exhibit was coming to a close at the Gateway, a museum in the city that struggled with identity. Everyone argued and offered opinions about what the exhibitions represented. The discussions ranged from global to provincial…. from modern to minor masters…. but all agreed on one thing; patrons of the museum want to see art. At least this is what Jane Firestone understood as she saw the fashion industry in the same light.
“Fashion makes a statement,” Jane explains, “just as much as a painting or a brick-and-mortar building. The art inside a museum is like the art worn by the artist on a catwalk, the only difference being it is suspended on a wall or put on top of a table and not hung on arms and legs or on top of a head.”
“I see what you mean.” Susan offers. “The Speed collection would have been well-served if they had titled it Change. But I must admit that the series of photographs showing the shifts in each segment seemed to speed up. Take the blackboard and chalk exhibit with the word GRAMMAR filling up the whole space.”
Jane interrupts. “I remember those days. Black boards, erasers, chalk dust. Bad behavior meant writing a word on the blackboard over and over again.”
Susan agrees. “Good behavior meant getting to clap the erasers together or wash the blackboard.” Susan shifts from the past to the present.
“Do you know the meaning of the word technology?” Susan lifts the slick publication for the Speed exhibit without waiting for Jane to reply.
“In a little more than 300 years the word technology went from referring to the art of grammar, our old chalk and blackboard days, to arts and crafts to high-tech.”
Susan dug her phone out of her pocket and held it up as asign of change.
“In all honesty Jane, I must think more about this word, technology. I wonder what it means for grammar now or for that matter for art or even my front window.” She points the face of her smart phone at Jane and says, “Does this look even a little like grammar?”
Flippant, Jane responds. “No chalk. No eraser. No blackboard. A far cry from what we knew. Yet, it does have structure. Letters. Buttons. Taps. Still must use words. Can’t get away from words.”
Jane convinced Susan into an afternoon at the Gateway after she explained there was an exhibit called, Speed. She convinced Susan it was worth an afternoon away from her shop. Susan, was lukewarm regarding museums in general, but she agreed to go.
Jane knew she was going out of friendship. Susan’s only proviso was that she drive. Jane didn’t argue but was disgruntled since she felt one’s taste in automobiles was more than a mode of transportation; it was a fashion statement. Susan’s old sedan could never live up to Jane’s beauty.
“I knew you’d like the exhibit. It does make one think, doesn’t it?”
“The rate of change in speed is hard to understand. From slow to fast is one thing…. but from fast to faster and faster as though we...” Susan stops as she shakes her head against the speed of change. And adds her words that trail off and disappear.
“Where are we going in such a hurry?”
Debaters or collaborators? It was hard to tell.
Jane, with her continuous flirtation with beauty and design seemed to applaud change whether it was fast or slow. Susan was inquisitive in a going to the bone sort of way which left her reticent to admire and approve anything on the spot.
Susan considered while Jane saw style or the lack of it. Jane thrived on change. It made things adventuresome. Susan preferred to chew on things, often down to the marrow.
“Did you expect this place would be so full?” Susan swilrs her hand in the air to include the pack of people crowding into the museum café.
“Had no clue.” Jane confesses. “I’m just glad to be able to sit down. It’s been a long day and it’s only 3 o’clock.”
“Yes. It has been a long day. A long week for that matter. Susan sees the crowd and asks, “How does this work? Do we need to go and stand in line or does someone take our order?”
Jane reaches over and taps the top of Susan’s hand. “We are in luck. This….” Jane eyes the perimeter of the room…. “is the only café in the museum that serves its customers.”
“What a week!” Jane expresses it as if it were a gust of wind. Susan blinks more times holding back her own exasperations. “I’m all ears.”
Jane stops for a moment to consider what to say.
“Well….” She says with her one word starting pistol, suspending the actual start of what she wants to say. “I told you about the phone call. You know…. the invitation from a woman I don’t know. To a neighborhood meeting?”
“Oh. Yes. You’re lucky I can remember it. You were worried it was about Dee Dee living in your back yard.” Susan holds back a laugh.
“That’s right.” Jane opens her old hand on the table pointing the tips of her fingers towards Susan. “And you thought it might be that the neighbors knew of my many distinctions in the fashion world.” Jane shimmies her shawled shoulders and ends it with a quick pat on Susan’s forearm. “I can assure you it was neither.”
“Ladies!” A very thin man dressed in black set his pad on the table while he adjusted his long ponytail. “What can I get you?”
Before Susan can respond, Jane orders.
“For this lady, one very hot black tea with cream on the side. And I’ll have a coffee, black.”
“Will that be all?”
“No. A hot cross bun. Heated. Two plates.” Susan smiles at Jane’s taking charge. Dismissing the waiter with a flip of her hand Jane says, “Well…. where was I?” Jane says, dismissing the waiter.
Susan taps her nose as a small gesture of pride in remembering where Jane left off. “You were saying it wasn’t Dee Dee or your wee bit of limelight.” With a coy charm Jane corrects Susan. “I am sure I didn’t say a wee bit, Susan, but I get your gist. Well…. you are right. I was saying, not Dee Dee, not me. It turns out it is about someone else altogether?”
Susan shifts her weight forward lacing her fingers together on the table. ANd listens.
“There is a woman in the neighborhood who is BEEG trouble for everyone in the neighborhood. Well…for at least those who came to the meeting.”
“How many came?”
“The house was crowded. It was at Baines’ house. I did mention them. They are the ring leaders.” Jane stops to correct herself. “I’m not sure that’s what they are, but Mrs. Baines led the meeting.”
“Black coffee?” the thin man announces. Jane points to herself. “Hot tea for her.” She watches how he places the cups. “Hold it!” Jane insists he wait as she looks across at Susan. “Is it hot enough?” A little embarrassed, Susan smiles with affection. “It’s fine, Jane. Fine. Please go on. You were saying there is a woman in the neighborhood?”
“Yes. Apparently…. well…. not. The woman came to the meeting. It is fair to say she stormed the door. Banging on it. Shouting and complaining about someone parked in front of her house. But get this, I was the guilty party!”
“What happened?”
“Yeah. I was as curious as you sound. In this woman’s world, parking in front of her house was trespassing. I know. It sounds crazy. It stumped me. But believe me, those neighbors take her seriously. They have a long list of offenses against her.”
“Jane. What happened to you?”
“Oh. Yeah. Nothing, really. She disrupted the meeting and left. No harm. No foul. But the oddest thing is,” Jane shakes her head struggling to find the words, “I can’t explain how I felt. It was odd in a very unpleasant sort of way. Did I tell you about the traffic jam on the day I brought the vase and cup?”
“I think you mentioned it.”
“Well…. I suppose I thought it was an anomaly. Something that could never happen again. But it was this woman, the same woman who has the neighborhood up in arms. She was the instigator. I am not even sure if that is the right word, but she certainly was the cause of the traffic jam. She left her car in the middle of the street while she investigated something underneath a parked car. Mind you, I was the only…. well…. I’d have to say fool now who went over to her and asked her in a polite way to move her car.” Jane wrinkles her brow to come up with something. “You know…. there was a couple on the street watching. At the time I thought they were gapers. You know the type who just watches but never gets involved. They were on the curb by the parked car where this woman was looking for something on the ground. They egged me on. No. That wasn’t exactly what happened. They signaled to me what I should and shouldn’t do. The man was taking photographs. It was, I can tell you, frustrating as hell. But glory be, Susan, the gaper couple? Turns out they are the ones who hosted the neighborhood meeting. The same ones to which Julie Berker was connected. The Baines.”
Susan notices how animated Jane is. The tale leaves nothing else to say. It is fortified with feeling.
The waiter returns and cuts in.
“Enjoy, ladies!”
He places two plates, a large cinnamon bun dripping with frosting down the sides. “Is there anything else I can get ya? A refill?”
“Not now.” Jane tells him. The tone of her voice sounds like get lost.
The conversation lightens. “I hope this is ok with you?” Jane, always in charge picks up a plastic knife and fork to divide the bun.
“Yes. Yes, it’s fine. I must admit the presentation is generous.”
Both smile.
“You were saying Jane?” Susan skims her fork across the white sticky frosting.
Jane sighs. “Well…. I’ve covered most of it. The result of the meeting seemed to be to schedule another meeting. The woman of the house, her name is Angela, gave strong advice at the end. A closing argument if you know what I mean?”
With her mouth full of the sugary sweet Susan listens not really knowing what Jane means.
“She asked everyone to keep in mind what she said, don’t break the law and take precautions regarding this woman, Mrs. Geesky.”
Susan swallows the wrong way, and chokes.
“Are you OK?”
Susan keeps choking.
“Do you need some water?”
Susan brushes the question off. ‘Mrs. Geesky?’ she thinks to herself. ‘Oh my God!’ Jane signals the waiter for a glass of water.
“Here. Drink this. Just a sip.”
Susan sips the water. “No.” Susan hears herself negate.
“What?” Jane is baffled.
Susan raises her hand and waves it in the air as she chokes out, “No. I’m OK. I’m OK. The water helped.” She clears her throat.
Jane looks at Susan….” Are you all right? You look dazed?”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I….” Susan stutters “I…. I am more worn out than I thought.”
“Do you want to go? I mean we can ask them to bag this….”
“Don’t be silly. You wanted another cup of coffee. And I think another cup of tea might hit the spot. Might give me a little pep.”
“Ok. That’s the sport. I’ll try to get his attention.” Jane pulls her long, crossed legs out from under the table to see if she can catch the eye of the guy with the ponytail. “He saw me.” She turns and reassures Susan who has pulled herself together.
“We can’t do what we used to be able to do.” Jane points out the obvious with a soft, silly grin.
Susan echoes it. “You’re such a kidder, Jane. But yes. That’s true.”
There is a refreshing shift between them.
“Well…. what do you think Susan?”
Susan knows she won’t get away with acting as if she didn’t know. “There’s lots to think about. And lots to be thankful for. It’s not about Dee Dee or you, although that might be a little embarrassing.”
“Not at all.” Jane says flat out.
“Oh. Ok. Still lots to think about. Some woman is the center of the trouble. I suppose I’d want to know what her alleged crimes are.”
“Actually Susan, now that you mention it, they did go through a list. Angela, the woman I called the ringleader, I don’t know if she is or not, she has a ledger of things this Mrs. Geesky has done. Mostly misdemeanors as she put it. Trespassing, harassing neighbors on the street, ringing doorbells at all hours, running stop signs….and stealing pets. They’d add gate crashing the meeting as another one.”
“Don’t forget she blocked the street creating a traffic back-up.” Susan appends.
Jane laughs. But before she can respond two refills arrive.
The young waiter sets the refills down. “Anything else?” Jane nods him away.
“Susan, I don’t think it was so much the traffic jam. It was her demeanor. She did what she wanted without regard for anyone else. It is hard to explain but she wanted to fight about it. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” Jane looks to Susan for an explanation.
Susan recognizes the look. ‘I know only too well,’ Susan thinks but does not dare to say. Instead, she says the obvious, “It sounds as if she is hard to describe.”
“You can say that again!”
Susan sighs in relief. “Will you go to another meeting?”
“Never! I’m not signing up as a neighbor. I live there. And that’s enough. As you said, it’s not about Dee Dee and not about me. I don’t have a dog in the fight.”
“I get it, Jane. I suppose you might say the meeting was worth it.”
She gulps down the last of her coffee. “Ready?”
“Oh, yes.” In this agreeable moment Susan squeezes her napkin into an odd-shaped ball and sticks it on top of the teabag in the otherwise empty cup. “This Jane,” she says in her recovered effulgent generosity, “was terrific. I’ve never been here before.” She exclaims as she brushes her hand across the air of the café.
“We’ll have to come again?”
“I’ll drive next time.”
Both women laugh knowing each other’s quirks.
The ride back to Jane’s house was slow. They hit the rush hour traffic.
“Last time you drove we got stuck.”
“Not stuck, Jane. We had to go slow, but not stuck.”
“Nit picking. I call that nit picking.”
By the time they reach Jane’s house they are both drained. Jane offers a perfunctory cup of tea, but Susan declines.
“Wisdom.” Jane smiles as she closes the car door behind her.
“Mrs. Geesky!” Susan said it aloud to herself in the shadows of light from the dashboard. Eager to contemplate the coincidence she wondered if this was fate. A kind of retrograde in astrology? She laughed and dismissed her astrological whim.
‘Maybe it’s more a conflict?’ Each time she came to a stop sign she laid her forehead against the steering wheel searching for an explanation. ‘I can’t draw any reasonable conclusion,’ she admits chagrined. ‘Things like this happen. I don’t have to explain it.’ But her acceptance didn’t explain her reason for concealing her knowing Mrs. Geesky. “Why didn’t I tell her?” She queries herself pressing the brake on her sedan as she searches for the garage door opener. “Jane knew about Samuel. The young kid. All the old guys. Why not this woman?”
Once in the garage Susan turns off the ignition and the headlights. With her head against the steering wheel in the dark she recognizes how very tired she is. She closes her eyes but is unable to rest.
A low soft whine comes from the back of the house. She sits up when she remembers Loretta is alone in the house. She needs to be let out. To eat. Susan forgets for the moment of self-inquiry. When she reaches the back door, Loretta stops her whining. Before she goes in she remembers to turn and click the car fob to lock the car inside her locked garage.
“We are locked up for the night, Loretta.” She swings open the back door wishing she could do the same for her mind.
The back porch and Loretta were the same as when she left them earlier in the day. The day itself began free of any color or shape, but now it seemed different, full of disturbance.
After Susan puts away her belongings, she changes her clothes and finds her old robe and slippers and sits down on the back porch. She takes out a small pad and gel pen from one of the big pockets of her robe. Flips open the pad, turns it horizontal and begins to write down her reflections. Across the top she writes, “confess or not?”
‘This Mrs. Geesky turned up first with a revelation of killing her baby sister and wanting a note for her job and returns to get what she came for. The good note seems to have taken on a value far beyond what I would have expected. According to Jane, Mrs. Geesky is a troublemaker of an unknown quantity. What I know about her is something the neighbors do not know.’
In a wavering flicker of sorrow Susan lets out an audible sigh. Loretta, who was wrapped under her legs shuffles and looks up. “It’s ok, girl. I know I don’t know everything there is to know,” she stops as a wave of light comes up in her mind.
‘I certainly don’t know about this woman. Being acquainted with her behavior does not ease encountering her.’
Susan catches the words she’d written, confess or not? She scribbles another question. “Are others in danger? Am I?”
Regardless of her desire to contemplate these questions Susan is too weary.
“Speed change,” she murmurs as she shuts off the last light and calls Loretta.
“It’s inevitable.”
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