May
Thursday, September 27, 2012 at 8:45PM Mrs. G. 
Mrs. G's grandparents had a neighbor named May who lived five houses down from their brick ranch in Frayser. May was thin, brittle thin, and wore a troubling, roaming wig that was the same color as her skittish dog Cappy. Cappy was a Schipperke, a breed Mrs. G. has neither seen nor heard from since the days of May. Cappy went everywhere with May, and May, a nautical wear enthusiast, liked to keep one red patent leather loafer on the road. She would cruise up and down West Lakeland Drive, Cappy in the passenger's seat of her maroon Cutlas Supreme, several times a day, unaware she was under the constant surveillance of one Ramelle Henderson, Mrs. G's grandmother, who got up out of her chair, walked across the room and looked out the living room window to monitor every car that went up or down her street. Mrs. G's grandmother, a nearly impenetrable, private person unless it was your privacy that required penetrating, was less into Neighborhood Watch and more into Neighborhood Stalk. If anything was going down on West Lakeland Drive, it would not be on her beat.
As far as Mrs. G. could tell, May's biggest transgression was, according to Mrs. G's grandmother, being a lush. At least once a week when May drove up the street, Mrs. G's grandmother could see the outline of the cardboard box from Tinky's Liquors and the narrow heads of six bottles of vodka sticking out of it. Mrs. G's grandmother didn't truck with booze. You were borderline alcoholic if you consumed two beers or six liters of vodka.
May was Mrs. G's grandmother's friend in the loosest sense of the word. Back to the subject of privacy as long as it wasn't yours...Mrs. G's grandmother kept friends at arm's length. Loyal and true, her family was her main concern and she roped them off inside the confines of an emblematic boxing ring. Family stayed in, strangers and friends stayed out.
May's second biggest transgression was calling Mrs. G's grandmother after 7:00pm (uncivilized unless someone was dead, not injured: dead) and carrying on about being a lonely widow, the difficulty of cooking for one and the new sailor suit with brass buttons she bought Cappy. If May was sober, Mrs. G's grandmother would listen patiently for approximately six minutes. If May was drunk, Mrs. G's grandmother would hang up quickly and not speak to May again for one week. She just wouldn't have it.
"I've got no time for her mess," Mrs. G's grandmother would say. "No time." If she was really angry, she would follow it up with, "I don't know why it's so hard to cook for one when you're drinking your supper!"
Mrs. G. always felt sorry for May when she was banished for a week. The phone would ring and ring and ring, and Mrs. G's grandmother would snort and say, "Pour yourself another one, Maise, because I'm not picking up the DAMN PHONE!"
Mrs. G's grandfather just shook his head and stayed out of it.
This borderline cruel, feckless dance went on for years. It appeared to work for them as it rarely wavered. It was as carefully planned and deliberate as a Box Step.
The only reprieve May had from this habitual routine was the neighborhood Saturday night potluck and card game. She was invited no matter where she was in the punishment cycle. Denying May access to the neighborhood gathering was a line, for whatever reason, Mrs. G's grandmother wasn't willing cross. All of West Lakeland Drive would gather at Mrs. G's grandparents house for an evening of food and games. Some of Mrs. G's best childhood memories revolve around these evenings. Grudges over who needed to mow their lawn and slights over whose dog was barking too late at night were tabled, and everyone broke bread and played penny poker.
And May, rain or shine, brought her infamous "seafood" casserole. Infamous because many of the neighbors who managed to choke it down, suffered for days. No one really knew what was in it and no one ever asked because, as we all know, some things are better left unexplained.
Despite the odd dynamic of their friendship, Mrs. G. witnessed her grandmother do something every Saturday night that intimated she cared more for May than she was willing to let on. Halfway through the evening, Mrs. G's grandmother would covertly dig to the bottom of her trash can, dump May's seafood casserole and then cover it up with other garbage. At some point during the evening, May would return to her empty casserole dish and say, "Well, I guess you all liked it, but it's always a hit." Everyone would play along and May would take her empty casserole dish home like a prize, happy, and likely thinking about what she would include to perk it up next week: smoked clams? catfish chunks? The world was her oyster.
Mrs. G's grandmother and May were neighbors for well over 20 years. If May wasn't under Vodka Probation, they spoke to each other daily. It was a friendship that astonishingly sustained them both. Neither one of them had heard of boundaries or codependency. They simply practiced a slightly tweaked, adjusted version of love thy neighbor. And as the luckiest among us know, love is a tricky, wily, unpredictable but beautiful, beautiful bastard.
Back in the Day, Family, Relationships
Reader Comments (38)
Thank you for coming back with this; told in a way only you can tell a story.
Heartbreaking, lovely, true.
Who knows what each woman was going through or needed. They, as we do, did the best they could. I think any of us could be either of them at any given point, but I see love, grace and courage in this story.
I love this!
oh that's a soul-satisfying relationship, and brilliant read. thank you for that. the thought of seafood casserole does make me a bit queasy though.
Ah Mrs. G. It is time for your book. This is wonderful.
That is quite astute of you to pick that up, about co-dependency and boundaries, and how it's a matter of perspective. It reminds me of my husband's parents. They constantly natter at each other. She can be (selectively so at times, I think) scatter brained, a little Edith Bunker like, he is very precise, exacting, can be somewhat overbearing and they can sure spend what seems like an eternity annoying the hell out of each other. My husband simply says "that's how they communicate. It's worked for them for fifty years." I think I quite understand the beauty of your Grandmother and May's friendship.
And just when I wanted to knock their two heads together (not sure why... might be the functional dysfunction), that neighborhood potluck poker party and your grandmother's covert disposal of the seafood casserole made me think of them fondly. Turns out that --at least for me-- sometimes functional dysfunction helps us love our neighbors (and our families).
Memoir material. ♥
Wonderful. Thanks for breaking the fast with this.
Heather, I love you for, "The world was her oyster." You're absolutely one of my favorite writers. :)
You are the best, Mrs. G. I love you so!
Our relationships with others are best when we are willing to accept people, warts and all, hmm? To be easygoing and forgiving...with awesome shoes!
Great story, again, Mrs. G. Just a note: May's dog was most likely a Schipperke, a Belgian barge dog, hence the name: Little Boatman. (Read about them here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schipperke ) Schipperke's are still around. I had a friend who had one. Although they seem to lose something in the translation once you get them off a barge and into Suburbia.
I think I prefer your name: Skipperdee. Sounds more "Eloise". Or was Eloise's turtle the one that was called Skipperdee?
Love this.
Great story. I fondly recall when it was rude to call people after a certain time at night and when if the phone rang during times like dinner no one dared get up from the table to answer. Now we all know phones ring every 15 minutes and are answered under any circumstances.
I'll bet those Saturday nights at your Grandmothers were a lot of fun.
Darla
My mom and her BFF, Cathy--the lush in the house behind us--had a very similar relationship. Thanks for sharing this wonderful story, and especially for reminding me of the crazy cat-and-mouse game Loretta and Cathy played all the years of my childhood. (The card game in our universe was Pinochle. Never could figure that one out...)
Oooh, I can smell that casserole! Eesh!
That was a delicious story. More delish than that casserole, even! (winky)
"I don't know why it's so hard to cook for one when you're drinking your supper!"
great line.
You have a way with words that warms one and, yet, makes one think and laugh.
Good to read you Heather.
Many Hugs- in fact- hugs galore.
Thanks for the kind comments all, and thanks for the breed tip, Lisa! I did have Eloise in my mind when trying to come up with Cappy's breed.
Great story. And I want the shoes. And I can't believe Lisa figured out the dog breed, and it is of course nautical.
So glad your back! Please be writing a book! This was wonderful! I saw so many people I know including myself in this story!
There's a line in the movie "Moonstruck" where the aunt tells Cosmo, the uncle: "You have such a head for knowing".
Mrs. G., "You have such a head for storytelling!"
I felt like I was there. Thank you.
Great story. I'm sharing....
i was just going to suggest the same breed of dog Lisa mentioned. they're neat little dogs.
This is beautiful, Heather. What a great story, and well written - you have a great Voice.
Great story Mrs. G. Glad you are back!
Love the story, Mrs. G. and can't compliment the shoe pic enough. It's perfect! It drew me in before the first word of the story. You are doing everything right!
Thank you for the story. I needed a 5 minute reprieve from my life today, and through my headache, anger and sadness - I found a smile on my face. Bless you for sharing it. I'll ditto the comments about writing a book. I could devour a book with these types of characters. You would have me committed for life.
Crusty old ladies who'd protect someone's feelings like that are my favorite kind of hussy.
Nicely done, Mrs. G. A good read.
Nicely written. And those dogs? Good ones except when they aren't.
Nicely written. And those dogs? Good ones except when they aren't.
I've read this story 3 times today, and I think I love it a little bit more every time I read it. Rock on, Mrs. G!
I loved this vignette -- thanks ever so much! My grandmother had the same street monitoring propensity. She would get up from the table in the middle of a conversation to watch a car travel by.
Although my grandmother was not a drinker, I do remember one time when her college age grandchildren came for a visit, we brought a bottle of wine in case we got thirsty during the card game. Hearts, of course. Oh how that wine made her giggle. She stored the empty wine bottle in her kitchen window so all her neighbors could see she could be a mite naughty sometimes too.
Thank you for your genius story telling!
"This borderline cruel, feckless dance went on for years. It appeared to work for them as it rarely wavered. It was as carefully planned and deliberate as a Box Step."
Such a great turn of phrase ... I am in awe.
What a wonderful story. I wish I had your great memory for people and events of my youth - not to mention your way of telling those stories.
I'm so glad you're back, and with such a GREAT story. Thank you! You're still as funny as ever!
Loved this so much.