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Stepping Out

Bob Rashkow

    “I guess it’s that time again,” Evelyn heard Marshall say from the bathroom.
    “I guess so, dear,” she replied. Evelyn was carefully dabbing cold cream on her face. It felt really nice. She wondered if she should do this more often than just on Saturday nights, when she and her husband of 43 years would step out.
    The jar was securely closed. Next she selected a beautiful old gown, still in perfectly good shape, passed down to her by her mother. It was a chiffon, frilly piece, just the right touch for their evening together. Evelyn marveled that it could still fit her after all these years; she decided it was a miracle. At our age, we need all the miracles we can get, she laughed to herself.
    She checked herself in the full-length mirror. Her hair. She went for the blue brush inside the drawer. Patiently, she sat before the mirror and made smooth strokes, brushing and combing until she was absolutely certain it looked the way she wanted it. Soon Marshall would be gently knocking on the door.
    Now, a bit of make-up—nothing special, no, just a touch of pancake, to help smooth out the wrinkles. After all, Saturday evening was a sacred occasion, and everything needed to be just as right as rain. There! She didn’t think she could possibly look any better.
    Marshall adjusted his bowtie in the bathroom mirror. It was his favorite black bowtie. He had four or five of them, he was never sure which, but he liked this one the best; he’d had it the longest time. It still looked fine, once he dusted it off. He checked his white hair and brushed it again, watching each curl closely. Should he put on the cuff links? No, perhaps he would leave them tonight. Only Evelyn would notice if he was wearing them or not, and she really didn’t care.
    He looked down at his newly buffed brown loafers. Almost perfect. Stepping out was always something he and Evelyn looked forward to, as they only did it once a week.
    One more check, one more quick glance. Marshall flicked off the bathroom light and walked down the hall to their bedroom. He gave a light knock and there was Evelyn at the door, looking more beautiful than ever. “Oh, sweetheart. You look so nice!” she gasped, giving Marshall a quick peck on the cheek.
    “You do, too, hon,” he said, returning the compliment. “Are we ready?”
    “I suppose so!” Evelyn twirled around in the gown one last time, checked in the mirror again, and finally turned out the light in the bedroom. They clasped hands and went down the stairs, taking their time, because after all, they had plenty of time to get where they would be going.
    They paused for a brief moment at the front door.
    “How far do you think we’ll get?” Evelyn asked her husband just as he moved to unlock the first bolt on the door.
    “As far as they let us get, my dear,” Marshall replied. He winked at her and unlocked the inner and outer locks.
    They opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. The night was cool and crisp with the sound of crickets. Their quiet, suburban street was dark, and lights shone in many of the surrounding houses.
    Marshall and Evelyn stood for a moment, breathing in the cool, fresh air. The two waited there, content now just to look around at the silent lane. They drank in the scene, and Evelyn was about to ask Marshall if maybe they should start walking toward the bus stop.
    It was then that the first two neighbors approached the house. They were children, of course, and they came as close to the porch as they dared. Marshall glanced at Evelyn knowingly. She smiled sadly back at him. Maybe, if no one else came—
    But the signal had already been delivered. Several of the children’s parents were now walking quickly toward the house, their attention focused on the elderly couple standing serenely on their porch.
    As if on cue, everyone else on the block who happened to be home at that time began coming, walking toward Marshall and Evelyn’s house, giggling or whispering, stopping along their driveway or on the adjacent sidewalk. Half of the gathering crowd were children and teenagers. There were, however, many adults, the majority of them somewhat younger than Evelyn or Marshall. The couple waited, standing proud on their porch, not looking at the gathering group.
    “Weirdos!” A yell pierced the quiet night air.
    “Cave people!” “Creeps!”
    Marshall and Evelyn glanced at one another, but didn’t say a word. They stood there, heads held high, and waited, waited until the crowd would part, would return to their homes and whatever it was they were doing before.
    After a few more minutes and a few more hurled epithets, the crowd reluctantly began to scatter. Children were encouraged to run along home by their parents or caretakers. All of the adults began walking away, a few of them pausing to stare back at Evelyn and Marshall. Finally only a few small children remained. Marshall took Evelyn’s hand.
    One of the little boys called out in a high-pitched, hoarse shriek, “Old geezers!” He ran away, followed by his friend, until there were just two little girls left, slowly walking backwards down the driveway toward the sidewalk, not taking their eyes off the couple, until they broke and ran for it.
    Their neighbors gone, Marshall held on to Evelyn’s hand. He said quietly to her, “Have we had enough?”
    “Yes,” Evelyn answered, looking down.
    “OK, let’s go back in.” Marshall opened the screen door and held it for Evelyn. She went on upstairs while Marshall locked both locks and bolted the door. He joined her upstairs to change into their night clothes. Their Saturday night ritual was over. It was time to begin another week. No more stepping out until next Saturday night.



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