4/26/1999 Geoff Ashbrook
Arthur Dentilwerk came in just in time, arm in arm with his wife of twenty years. The room was aflame with ball and a saturating sound which was louder the further in you went. A few hundred feet away he could see the center dance floor, which was fringed by every imaginable sitting device, scattered platinum refrigerators (with gold dentilation) containing everything from frozen Charleston Chew’s to ice cream to rice dream to wines, stouts, porters, ice, flavored ice, frozen fruit to eat with fork or spoon, to empty chilled mugs cups and glasses. Everyone was astir, with graceful gowns, smart suits, magnetic pants, inflatable footwear, suits made entirely of leather, or tissue paper, or of cut up priceless vintage comic books, kilts, straight jackets, full body wool bathing suits from the forties, knit or quilted or flannel or velure night gowns covered with images from the mythologies of children’s literature, all dancing, or prancing, or doing gymnastics on various assorted clumps of equipment, horses, mats, parallel bars. There were people talking standing, or talking sitting, or designing houses or can openers on the occasional public drafting desk. There were jugglers, bag pipe players, and basket ball players reading poetry. As soon as he stepped in, his father of forty five years rushed up and embraced him.
"Well Arthur, your not late but I had for some strange reason this awful fear you wouldn’t make it. Here, have some ginger-honeywater," handing him a glass of dark opaque liquid which fizzed with carbonation. "By the way, who is this your with?"
Arthur laughed and smiled. "I know, doesn’t she look wonderful?"
"No, I mean who is she?"
"What do you mean, this is Helen. Maybe it’s the lighting, she really does look different the way she’s all dressed up, but honestly."
Then Helen said, between flattered and disturbed, sympathetic, "I thought someone would have to take a double take." And she reached out to tap him on the head as she always did when she and Arthur’s father were chatting.
But he backed away from her, her hand sweeping the air in a lone gesture. "no…" he said, "I’m quite certain I’ve never seen you before in my life. What is going on here, Arthur?" His bushy wiry old eye brows pointed down at the middle, and his thick mustache twitched.
Arthur wondered sadly if this were Alzheimer’s. He didn’t want to think it could be true. His father was only sixty two, and was leading a productive life. Then he saw his three children running towards him from behind one of the gleaming refrigerators. He wandered if his father would recognized them.
"High dad," said the eldest, Greenchy, thirteen just the Tuesday before last. "Hello," chimed in the others, bouncing about and looking almost comfortable in their suit and dress. "Where’s mom?" Greenchy asked.
Helen was turning pale. She’d thought it a bit sad that her father in law had mistaken her, but this? She smiled and said, "Ok, very funny, you really had me for a minute there, you know? Where are we sitting?" And she took off her coat.
Greenchy walked up to Arthur, keeping her distance from the strange lady, and smiled shyly, and whispered to her father between her teeth, "Who is she, dad?"
Arthur was stunned. He tried to think back to what he had done during the day. Had anything unusual happened? He looked over at Helen, and she shrugged and shook her head. "One minute," He said to his father and children, "we’ll be right back," holding his index finger in the air.
He took Helen by the hand and they stepped back out into the lobby, Arthur listened as the heavy door clicked shut behind them. They each took a deep breath, and looked at eachother for a few moments. "Well," she said, "We might as well go back in and try to straighten this out, it’s not like we can go somewhere else."
Arthur nodded and sighed, "Ok," he said.
He opened the door for her, the sounds of the ball flooding them again. As she walked in she watched her feet, as she had before. But this time, instead of stepping on the wide brass plate at the base of the door frame, she stepped over it. But she watched as Arthur stepped squarely on it as he quietly shut the door behind him.
As soon as they stepped in Arthur’s father of forty five years rushed up and embraced her, with the same expression on his face as the first time she’d seen him coming towards them, without a hint of the confusion tugging on him which he had worn when they left just a minute ago, and her children were nowhere to be seen.
"Well Helen, your not late but I had, for some strange reason, this awful fear you wouldn’t make it. Here, have some watermellon-peachwater," and he handed her a glass of light opaque liquid which fizzed with carbonation. "By the way, who is this your with? And where’s Arthur, I hope he’s on the way."