Michelle

I know it’s a little too late or much too early, depending on how you look at it, but here’s another Christmas story. This is the first of three tales I’ve written about the Johnson family. One year at Christmas when I was still single, I received a collect call from someone named Michelle. As it turned out, she was looking for Al Johnson. She kept calling collect, and every time, I told the operator she had the wrong number. Just when I was considering the possibility of complaining to the phone company, she stopped calling.
I couldn’t help wondering why Michelle was so desperate to talk to Al Johnson that she kept calling me, even though I wasn’t related to or didn’t know him. One possible answer is in the story below. You can also read this on my Web site.
MICHELLE
            “This is MCI with a collect call from” said the automated voice.
            “Michelle,” said a young woman’s voice. 
            “To accept charges, press 1. To deny charges, press 2. For operator assistance, press 0.”
            It was definitely a wrong number, Ruth thought, as she pressed 2. “Who was that, honey?” asked her husband Al, as she walked into the dining room.
            “Oh, just a wrong number,” said Ruth, as she sat at the table and put her napkin on her lap. “Someone named Michelle was trying to call us collect. I denied the charges, of course.”
            Ruth thought she detected a startled look in Al’s eyes, but it disappeared, and he smiled and said, “It’s probably some college kid calling to tell her folks to meet her at the
bus station when she comes home for Christmas.”
            The phone rang. “Oh for Pete’s sake!” said Al, throwing his napkin on the table. “I’ll get it this time. You stay put.”
            In the hall, Ruth heard Al lift the receiver and say, “Hello.” After a short pause, he said, “Operator, I don’t know anyone named Michelle.” After another pause, he said, “Well, I’m Al Johnson, but I don’t know this young lady. She has the wrong number.” After another pause, he said, “Thank you.” Ruth heard him replace the receiver in its cradle.
            “Damn phone company,” he said, as he strode into the dining room. “Can you believe that operator put me on hold twice while she told Michelle she had the wrong number?”        
            Who was Michelle? Was there a look of recognition on Al’s face, or did Ruth imagine it? A week later, their son and daughter, Scott and Kate, returned home from college and there was last minute shopping to be done and the tree to be decorated. Their friends often visited, and the house rang with their laughter. 
            Al felt it necessary to make himself scarce since there was an important court case scheduled after the first of the year. Despite pleas from Ruth and the kids that he join in their festivities, he spent many nights working late at the office. Although this was a regular occurrence, it bothered Ruth that it happened during the holiday season.
            Christmas Eve was no different. That morning when Ruth told Al she planned a quiet family dinner with no guests in attendance and begged him to come home early, he said, “I’m sorry, honey. This case is very important to me, and I can’t afford to take time off right now.”
            “What about tomorrow?” asked Ruth.
            After a brief pause, Al said, “Okay, tomorrow, I’m all yours. That’s a solemn promise.”
            Ruth and the kids resigned themselves to spending another evening without Al. After dinner, they settled in the basement family room to watch television. An hour later, Norah, the family’s Irish setter, jumped to her feet and ran upstairs barking. “Someone must be at the door,” said Ruth in  surprise, as she rose from her chair and followed the dog.
            “Hush, Norah. Stay back,” Ruth said, as she opened the door. The girl who stood there didn’t look familiar. Certainly not one of Scott or Kate’s friends, Ruth 
thought. She was short and thin, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. Although it was
snowing and the temperature was falling fast, she wore only a light jacket with no hood and tennis shoes. The girl was shivering, and moisture from her soaked feet dripped onto the
 doormat.
            “Come in out of the cold,” Ruth said. As she closed the door behind her, she said, “Good heavens! Where are your boots and your winter coat? Here, let me take your jacket.”
            As Ruth draped the girl’s wet coat over the second floor staircase banister, the girl turned her attention to Norah, who stood next to her, her tail wagging. “Oh, what a sweet dog!” she said, as she threw her arms around Norah, and the dog licked the girl’s face.
            “Who is it, Mom?” asked Kate, as she came into the front hall.
            The girl straightened, and as Norah sniffed her, she extended a hand and smiled at Ruth and Kate. “Hi, I’m Michelle, and I really need to talk to Al Johnson. I called collect last week, but he wouldn’t accept charges.”
            “Michelle,” said Ruth in astonishment. She’d almost forgotten about the mysterious girl who called the week before. She noticed that despite her weak smile, the girl’s eyes looked troubled. “Al’s not here right now,” she said. “But take off those wet shoes and socks, and let me find something warm for your feet.  Surely, they’re soaked.”
            “Thanks,” said Michelle, and as she sat in a nearby chair and bent to untie the shoes, Norah licked her face.
            “Norah, come here,” said Ruth.
            As the dog came to stand beside Ruth, Kate said, “She can wear a pair of my old slippers. I’ll go upstairs and get them.”
            “That’s a wonderful idea,” said Ruth. “While you’re up there, please call your father and tell him Michelle is here, and he needs to come home right away.” Turning to Michelle, she asked, “How about some hot chocolate?”
            “Thanks,” said Michelle. She removed her shoes and socks and Norah sniffed them. She bent and stroked the dog’s shaggy head. Ruth picked up the wet shoes and  socks and laid them on the rug next to the front door and hurried to the kitchen to make the cocoa. When she returned to the living room a few minutes later, Michelle was settled in an arm chair with Norah lying at her bare feet. 
            Kate emerged with a pair of slippers and a disgusted look on her face. “I called Dad at the office. He said he doesn’t know anyone named Michelle, and you should send her away.”
            Michelle burst into tears. Ruth set the cup of hot chocolate on the table next to her and took the weeping girl into her arms.
            “I could drive her to Dad’s office,” Kate said. “Then, he would have no choice but to see her.”
            “I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” said Ruth. “It’s snowing pretty hard, and she has no proper winter clothing. Why don’t you go downstairs and watch TV with Scott? I’ll stay here with Michelle until your father comes home.”
            “Okay,” said Kate. She placed the slippers on the floor near Michelle’s feet and left the room. Ruth handed Michelle a Kleenex and after the girl blew her nose, she gave her the steaming cup of cocoa. “Drink this,” she said. “It will make you feel better. I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee, and then I’ll join you.”
            A few minutes later, Ruth returned with her cup of coffee and sat in a nearby arm chair. Norah was still stretched at Michelle’s feet. Despite the calm scene, the girl still looked upset. As an advocate at the local women’s center, Ruth dealt with many like her. “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked.
            Michelle only hesitated for a moment. She looked straight at Ruth, took a deep breath, and said, “I know this sounds weird, but Al Johnson is my father. My mother died a couple of weeks ago in a car accident, and I have no one now.”
            Stunned, Ruth almost dropped her coffee cup. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me the whole story,”
            “Well,” said Michelle, her voice almost breaking. “About twenty-four years ago, Al Johnson and my mother Jane Barker were seniors in high school in Casper. They fell in love and as a result, I came along.”
            “I see.”
            “Mom told Al she was pregnant, hoping he would marry her, and they would live happily ever after. But Al didn’t want to have anything to do with her or me. He had big dreams of being a lawyer, and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone stand in his way.”
            “How do you know all this?”
            “Mom told me about Al when I was in high school. She didn’t want me to make the same mistake she did, but she said that if I did, she would still love me, and she would never do to me what her parents did to her.”
            “What did her parents do to her?”
            “They cut her off completely. When she told them she was pregnant and that she was going to keep me, even though Al wouldn’t marry her, her dad said it would be over his dead body. Luckily, she had a drama scholarship at the university of Wyoming. She was a pretty good actor in high school, you see. So she just packed all her belongings in the car her parents gave her as a graduation gift and moved to Laramie. Instead of starting in the fall as she’d planned, she was able to get into the summer session.”
            “How soon after that did you come along?”
            “I wasn’t due until January. Mom was able to complete the summer and fall semesters, but by the time I was born, the scholarship money had run out, and
 since Mom’s folks had cut her off completely and the financial aid department at the university
was of little help, she had no choice but to quit. She found work in a nursing home doing activities with the residents.”
            “How interesting,” said Ruth.
            “Yeah,” said Michelle. “It was only part time, but it gave her more time to spend with me. What was so neat about it was the day care center right there in the building. So even when  Mom was working, I often saw her. She even got us kids involved  in activities with the residents.””         
            “That’s wonderful. I’ve read that being exposed to children can work wonders with nursing home residents.”
            “Being around the residents was good for me. Some  of those old people were like grandparents. Of course, it’s a fact of life in that kind of place that old people die after you get attached to them.”
            “I know. How long did your mother work there?”
            “Until a couple of weeks ago, when she was killed in a car accident,” answered Michelle. “I was working there, too.”
            “Really,” said Ruth. “What were you doing?”
            “I wasn’t lucky enough to get a college scholarship, but by the time I graduated from high school, Mom had become the activities director. Although she couldn’t afford to put me through college, she was able to pay for my training to be a certified nursing assistant.”
            “I see. So you worked as a nurse’s aide from the time you got out of high school until your mother died a couple of weeks ago?”
            “Yeah,” said Michelle. “It was hard work, but it was so cool. When residents first came, and they couldn’t walk, after a few weeks of physical therapy, I watched them walk right out the door, with a cane or walker maybe, but walking all the same. Also, a lot of the residents who couldn’t do anything for themselves anymore smiled or said nice things to me when I helped them get dressed or eat or something like that.”
            “I imagine that any kind of work with nursing home residents can be very rewarding. You said that back in high school, your mother first told you about Al.”
            “Yeah,” answered Michelle. “In fact, when it was time for their twentieth high school reunion, she tried to track him down. She called his parents in Casper, pretending to be on the committee that organized the reunion, and they gave her his address and phone number here in Sheridan. I found that in her address book after she died. We even thought of taking time off from work and going to the reunion. Wouldn’t that have been a surprise for the rest of her classmates?”
            “I’m sure it would have. Al never said anything to me about anyone calling him. I always wanted to go to his high school reunions, but he didn’t seem interested. I realize now that he was afraid I would find out about his relationship with your mother. I guess that was a source of embarrassment to him.”
            “You’re probably right, but the way Mom saw it, if he wanted to punish her for not giving me up, that was fine, but I didn’t choose to be born so it didn’t make sense for him to push me away, too.”
            “I agree.”
                        “He didn’t see it that way. He told Mom that he still didn’t want to have anything to do with her or me, and if she continued calling him, he would seek a restraining order against her.”
                        “Any excuse to be in a courtroom,” said Ruth. “That sounds just like Al.
                        Michelle smiled and said, “When Mom died a couple of weeks ago, my life sort of fell
            apart. I ended up selling most of our stuff including my winter coat and boots, to pay her funeral
            expenses. We had a nice service for her in the chapel at the nursing home. Some of the staff and 
            residents’ families chipped in, but it still wasn’t enough to cover everything.”
                        “”That’s too bad. I suppose your mother’s parents didn’t even come
            to the funeral.”
                        “Nope,” said Michelle. “I called them when she  died, but her dad said that as far as they were concerned, they  didn’t even have a daughter named Jane.”
                        “That’s terrible!”
                        “After the funeral, I tried to get time off work so I could think things through, but they wouldn’t let me do that. So I just quit. I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay in
 Laramie. There are too many memories there.”
            “I understand.”
            “I decided to try calling Al. I didn’t choose to be born so he has no right to push me away. I don’t want to ruin your Christmas, but one way or another, I’m going to make him acknowledge me.”
                        “You’re not ruining anything. Let me be the first to welcome you to our family.” Ruth and Michelle stood and embraced.
                        A car turned into the driveway. “That would be your father,” said Ruth. “He’s home early for once. Sit down, and I’ll go talk to him. I’ll make him see sense.”
                        Ruth hurried to the kitchen and stood by the  back door. Al was determined to ignore  Michelle. When Al made a decision, it was almost impossible to change his mind. But Ruth needed to try, for Michelle’s sake.
                        The kitchen door burst open and Al hurried into the room, closing  it behind him. He wore a broad grin despite the fact that in the short walk from the garage to the house, he was already covered from head to foot with snow. As he stamped the snow from his boots, he said, “I do believe we’re going to have a white Christmas this year.”
                        “Al, how can you smile at a time like this?”
                        “You didn’t send her away, did you?”
                        “Of course not,” said Ruth.
                        “I didn’t think you would. Honey, It’s time I faced up to what happened twenty-four years ago. It was as much my fault as it was Jane’s. I’m assuming she told you about Jane.”
                        “Yes,” said Ruth. “Her mother died in a car accident a couple of weeks ago. That’s why she came here. There’s nothing for her in Laramie now.“
                        “Oh, God,” said Al, his smile fading. “Besides that damn case, she’s all that’s been on my mind this past week. That’s why I’ve been staying at the office so late. I wanted to bury myself in my work so I wouldn’t have to think about her. When Kate called tonight, that
            was the breaking point. I had a good cry. I realized that Michelle would never go away, no matter what I did. I stopped off on my way home and bought her a little present.”
                        “Oh, Al, I love you!” said Ruth, as she embraced his snowy body and he pulled her to him.
                        After a moment, Al said, “Let’s go talk to my daughter. Where is she?”
                        “She’s in the living room,” said Ruth, stepping aside for him to lead the way.
                                    As they entered, Michelle stood and Norah leapt to her feet. The dog danced in joyous circles around Al, leaping high in the air, barking, and wagging her tail. “Hush, Norah,” Ruth said and the dog fell silent.
                        “Dad, is that you?” asked Michelle, gazing in bewilderment at Al’s smiling face.
                        “Yes it is,” said Al, extending his arms. As father and daughter embraced, Scott and Kate hurried into the room. “Dad,” they shouted in unison. They stopped short and stared in astonishment at Al and Michelle as they embraced.
                        With his arms still around Michelle, Al turned to them. “Scott, Kate, I have a very special Christmas present for you this year. I would like you to meet your sister, Michelle.”
THE END
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome

Stealing Home

I recently read Stealing Home by Sherryl Woods. This is the first in a series of three books about the lives of three women in the fictional town of Serenity, South Carolina: Maddy, a doctor’s wife, Dana Sue, a restaurant owner, and Helen, a divorce attorney. In Stealing Home, after Maddy’s husband leaves her for a much younger nurse whom he has gotten pregnant, she opens a spa with Helen and Dana Sue and falls in love with Cal, her son’s baseball coach who is ten years her junior. I found other citizens’ disapproval of Maddy and Cal’s relationship hard to believe in this day and age, but without it, there wouldn’t have been much of a story.
I’m now reading the second book in the series, A Slice of Heaven. After Dana Sue’s daughter is hospitalized with an eating disorder, Dana Sue finds herself reaching out to her ex-husband whom she threw out after he had an affair. The third book in the series is called Feels Like Family, and according to introductory information at the beginning of A Slice of Heaven, it’s about Helen, the single divorce attorney, who finally finds a man. You can visit Sherryl Woods’ Web site at http://www.sherrylwoods.com/
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome

What I Never got for Christmas

            When I was a child, there were things I wanted for Christmas and never received. For one thing, I was fascinated by the electronic doors at the supermarket. This was back in the sixties, and my favorite part of accompanying my mother to the grocery store was standing on the mat in front of the door and watching it swing open. Once through the door, I had to stop, turn, and watch the door close behind us. Needless to say, I wanted a magic door for Christmas. Nothing doing.
            I loved elevators, especially the one in my father’s office building because it had Braille numbers. It was cool to walk into that elevator with or without Dad and push the correct button for his floor. Although our house only had one floor except for the partial basement, I had to have an elevator for Christmas. That didn’t happen, either.
Soon after I started taking piano lessons, my mother played recordings of piano concertos by Mozart and Beethoven on the phonograph. I thought it would be neat to have a symphony orchestra that would accompany me whenever I played the piano. I wanted one for Christmas but didn’t get that, either.
One of the more realistic presents I wanted and never got was a battery operated toy telephone. A friend had one in her room and used it to call her brother in his room and talk to him. I thought it would be great to do the same thing with my brother. But the phone never appeared under our Christmas tree.
            I eventually realized that the magic door, elevator, and symphony orchestra would be impossible to deliver, even for Santa Claus. But since my husband Bill suffered two strokes that left him partially paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair, I’ve occasionally dreamed of having a million dollars. I could use it to buy a house in California with a swimming pool. I could hire a staff of servants to cook, clean, and maintain the place and certified nursing assistants and therapists to care for Bill and help him maintain the strength he still has. Then, I could concentrate fully on my writing and enjoy my time with my husband without worrying about dressing him, taking him to the bathroom, or dealing with his finicky eating habits. But unless a distant relative I don’t know dies and leaves me a fortune, I don’t think I’ll get that wish, either.
It doesn’t matter that I never got the things I wanted for Christmas. I’ve learned to be grateful for what I have. Okay, our house doesn’t have an elevator or a magic door, but we don’t need an elevator, and although having a magic door would make wheeling Bill in and out of the house a lot easier, we can get by without it. As long as there’s love, we have all we need.
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome

Black Christmas

I’ve been reading a book called I’m Dreaming of a Black Christmas by playwright, comedian, and actor Lewis Black. To read more about him, visit http://www.lewisblack.com. This Web site contains information about his books and appearances. A Google search also revealed several YouTube videos including this one. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mCDZMWVWuc

 

 
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome

Christmas Memories

As I said before, I sing in a women’s barber-shop group. One of the songs in our Christmas repertoire this year, entitled “Christmas Candles,” is about memories one has of the season: singing Christmas hymns, hearing church bells, everyone at the dinner table while Dad says grace, and of course, candles on the Christmas tree. 
What memories do you have of Christmas? Did you buy your tree in a lot or cut it down in the woods? Have you ever used an artificial tree? Were your decorations homemade or store bought? Did you have an angel on your tree? Who was the one with the honor of placing the angel on the tree? Did you ever string popcorn balls on a tree? Did your family sing Christmas songs together, or better yet, go caroling through the neighborhood? When you sang at home, did someone accompany you on the piano or another instrument? Did you open presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?
Please feel free to share your Christmas memories in the comment box below. If you have trouble, you can use the link below to e-mail me, and I’ll post your comments for you. I’ll leave you now with a story I wrote years ago about a special gift I received for Christmas. This was published in Christmas in the Country, an anthology of stories written by disabled authors. I would like to wish all my readers a memorable Christmas and a happy and prosperous 2011 to come.
CHRISTMAS BOWL
As a kid, I was forced to try a variety of different sports in school physical education classes. Unfortunately, due in part to my visual impairment, I was not very successful at any of them. I either fell on my face, as a result of running with someone who ran faster than I could, or I was hit in the face with a ball. Also, I couldn’t aim a ball into a basket to save my soul. In college however, I discovered a sport which I could do pretty well, despite the visual impairment, and without injury.
In 1981, I was entering my second year at Sheridan College in Sheridan, Wyoming. I was required to take at least two semesters of physical education, and it was time for me to quit procrastinating and just do it. I signed up for bowling because to me, that seemed to require the least athletic ability and the chance of injury was rather slim.
The first few days of class were rather humiliating. I found that no matter what I did, the ball always ended up in the gutter. Fortunately, nobody laughed at me, which they would have done if we had been in elementary school. However, in between frames, I watched other students bowl strikes and spares and heard them cheering for one another and was depressed by the realization that no one was cheering for me.


But the instructor saw that I was floundering and tossed me a lifeline. She arranged for me to have a lane all to myself so I  would have an opportunity to practice continually without having to wait for others to bowl. She also worked with me to perfect my arm movement so I could aim the ball right down the center of the lane. 
Gradually, I improved. My gutter balls became less and less frequent, and I began hitting more and more pins each time I bowled. One day, I finally bowled a strike, and the alley seemed to reverberate with the cheers of my classmates.
            By the time the holidays rolled around, my average score was seventy-six. I loved the sport and wanted to practice in order to improve my game. I even watched the professional bowling tour on TV. I was living at home at the time. The problem was that since I couldn’t drive, it was impossible for me to borrow the car and drive out to the bowling alley whenever I wanted. So I constantly begged my parents to take me bowling, which they readily agreed to do most of the time. We would often go as a family, with my younger brother Andy tagging along. At Thanksgiving, when my uncle, aunt, and cousins from out of town were visiting, I even talked them into bowling with us, and we all had a wonderful time.


As Christmas grew closer, I became somewhat depressed, as I realized that the bowling class would not continue the second semester. I had really come to enjoy it and wondered if I would ever bowl again, once the term drew to a close. Then, to my wondering eyes on Christmas morning, there appeared a bowling ball, a pair of shoes, and a bag in which to carry them. My parents even gave me an electronic bowling game. They had realized that I was serious about this sport, just as Andy had been serious about tennis a few years earlier.
Through the years, I continued to bowl, although not as frequently, due to having other interests and obligations. I still have the bowling bag with the ball and shoes stowed away in a closet, and I bowl from time to time when I get a chance. 
One year, I actually joined a team, which played on a ladies’ bowling league. Unfortunately, we only bowled a few times and the team finally broke up due to a lack of interest. I offered my services to another team captain I knew, but I was never called. Perhaps my seventy-six average didn’t make me league material after all. That doesn’t really matter, though. The important thing is that there is one sport out there in which I can participate successfully, despite my visual impairment. That realization was one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received.        
THE END
   


Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome

More Poems Published

Two of my poems have been published in the December 2010 issue of Wordgathering, an online publication containing works by disabled authors. I’ll paste them below.
WHILE WALKING HOME
As my long white cane rolls from side to side  in front of me,
I feel the sun, the gentle breezes that caress my face.
I should hurry, but why?
The sun shines in a cloudless sky.
The air is warm, permeated with the scent of roses.
He’s been home alone for three hours.
Fifteen minutes more won’t matter, will it?
When I get home, I’ll take him outside in his wheelchair
so he can enjoy the late afternoon sun,
flop into my armchair in the living room with my feet up,
kick off my shoes, drink  Dr. Pepper
while downloading e-mail onto my Victor Stream.
Its synthetic voice will read to me,
as I fold and put away laundry, prepare dinner.
We’ll eat together, content,
as another day draws to a close.
AWAITING THE RETURN OF THE BETTER HALF
The phone rings.
With his right hand, the only one that works,
he presses the talk button on the cordless unit,
slowly lifts it to his ear, says, “Hello.”
“Hi, honey,” I say. “How are you?
I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
He places the phone next to him on the bed,
presses the talk button a second time to disconnect the call.
A container filled with urine balances between his legs.
He listens to his recorded book, anticipates my return.
Finally, the kitchen door opens, closes.
He hears me moving around,
wonders why I don’t  come to him.
He picks up the phone, dials my cell.
“I’m here,” I tell him.
“I’m putting my things away.
I’ll be right there.”
When I enter the room with a cheerful greeting, we embrace. 
He tries unsuccessfully to kiss me while laughing.
Then, offering the urinal, he says,
“I’ve got something for you.”
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Author of We Shall Overcome