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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “Path of Least Resistance” Down in the Dirt (v131) (the September 2015 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

Order this writing in the book the Intersection the Down in the Dirt July - Dec. 2015 collection book		get the 318 page July - Dec. 2015 Down in the Dirt issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Little Soldiers

James Krehbiel

    Sam sounds so calm and in control. When did you last see it? What were you doing right before? I remember that same ring of assurance in my own voice when Sam was a little boy and he’d misplace his baseball mitt or his Lou Gehrig baseball card. I remember prompting him with the same questions he’s now plying me with. I know he’s trying to be helpful but it feels futile. Okay Ma, just don’t panic. Where were you when you last used it? Just retrace your steps, Ma. He makes it sound easy, like it should just all come miraculously bounding back to me.
    I try to retrace. I’ve got my nighty on and my slippers... must have come from the bedroom. Was I in bed, sleeping? Where did you last see it, Ma? I wish I knew what “it” was. Did I come in here for an “it”... or was there something else? I’m not sure. I glance around the room hoping for the spark. There’s at least a week’s worth of dirty dishes piled up in the sink. You’d never know I was actually a good housekeeper. I remember Mother always said clean up your kitchen before you go to bed so you don’t wake up to a mess. And the curtains... they’re filthy. When was the last time I washed those? They’re white lace and look so nice when they’re clean and fresh. I must write myself a note to do the dishes and wash the curtains... get back on track. I’ll worry about it later. My brain feels fuzzy, blanketed in cobwebs as I stand here searching. I eventually give up, and shuffle back to my bedroom.

*    *    *

    Saturday night dinner for Sam and his wife. Saturday night... for goodness sake, write it down and put it in the right pile. I have two, one for things that need immediate attention and another for things that can wait. I jot down a note to myself and set it in the “wait” pile. What to serve. Something easy, something I’ve made a hundred times. Come on, think.... pot roast! Yes, pot roast... that’s easy. I can do that. I’ve made that before. Write it down. Put pot roast down now... don’t forget. I scribble another note and add it to the pile. There, good. Okay, is there anything else? Do I have all the ingredients? Check now and find out... before you forget. Sam and Barbara might come over for dinner sometime and I need to be ready. I notice the dishes piled up in the sink. My, there are a lot of dirty dishes. I really must wash those. I open the refrigerator and stand peering in for a minute. I push my hand to the back, find the orange juice and pour myself a glass. I add the empty glass to the week’s worth of dirty dishes in the sink and drag myself back to bed. Must to remember to do those dishes.

*    *    *

    A ringing pulls me from my sleep. I reach over to turn off the alarm clock... need to get the boys up and ready for school. The ringing doesn’t stop; it isn’t the clock. My brain feels mired in sludge. I try to hear where the ring is coming from. Is it the phone... where’s the phone? I walk into the living room, listening. The couch. I bet it’s in between the cushions. Sometimes it slips down there. The phone stops ringing. Is that Sam’s voice in the kitchen? I run my hand around the cushions. There’s a bobby pin, an emery board, some loose change. I wondered where that emery board was... I should put this change with the rest. Write yourself a note so you don’t forget.
    The light on the answering machine blinks. I wonder who called and push the button to hear.
    “Hi Mom! It’s Sam here. Barbara and I wanted to confirm dinner on Saturday. If I don’t hear back, we’ll assume it’s still on. We’re looking forward to it! Talk to you later, Mom... love you!”
    Saturday? Dinner? I check my notes. Ah, here it is and right next to it... pot roast. Good. What day am I on now? Where’s the paper? That will say. No, that’s yesterday’s paper... here’s the day before that. I should be able to figure out what today is. Let’s see, yesterday was the... the 13th. Wednesday the 13th. Was that someone’s birthday? Why do I think it was? Oh, I hope I didn’t forget another one. Ah, here is, today’s. Let’s see.... it’s Thursday. Okay, dinner day after tomorrow... pot roast. Write it down now before you forget. I really must wash those curtains. They’re so dingy.
    It looks like a small army standing on the counter top, each piece of paper folded in half and standing at attention like little soldiers, vigilant in their duties. My goodness, there are a lot of them. Do I need all these? Lunch with Marge. Didn’t I already do that? I don’t think I need that one anymore. Clean stove... I did that one I think. I can throw that one out. Dinner Saturday. That hasn’t happened yet... has it? Better keep that one. Pot roast. What’s this for? Pot roast? Pot roast is easy. I’ve made it a hundred times. Not sure but shouldn’t throw it out yet... might be important. Have to remember to hide these before Sam and Barbara come... don’t want him to see them. He’ll think I’ve lost it. Maybe I should make a note.

*    *    *

    “Oh Marge, you can’t be serious! Bob really said that?” I try to tuck my feet up under me while cradling the phone on my shoulder. “Ow!... oh, it’s nothing. Just not as limber as I used to be.” We chuckle.
    “Well, of course I remember when he mentioned it. I thought he’d probably forget though by now.” I feel sharp. Memory firing on all cylinders!
    “Well, just don’t say anything more. Maybe he’ll forget. Wouldn’t that be a blessing?” What a lovely conversation, I’m thinking. No fuzz.
    “Okay Marge, I need to get going anyway. Sam and Barbara are coming over for dinner tomorrow and I need to pick up a few things at the store. Keep me posted.”
    I gather up my purse, keys and coat. Okay, good, I have everything.
    I walk down to the corner grocery store, find a cart and rummage through my purse for my shopping list. Now, what did I do with that?

*    *    *

    “Mom? Mom, are you awake?” Sam and Barbara hover over the side of my bed.
    I pry my eyes open. I feel groggy. “Oh! What a nice surprise!” I love it when Sam and Barbara pop in for a visit.
    “Mom, it’s Saturday. Dinner... did you forget?”
    Saturday? Dinner? Oh dear, did I? “Umm, well no, of course I didn’t forget.” I force myself up. Thank goodness I’m dressed and not in my nighty. “Why don’t you two have a seat in the living room. Dinner will be on in a few minutes.”
    What to make. What to make. Pasta? No, I don’t have any. Chicken? Pork chops? I can’t, nothing’s thawed. I look around the kitchen hoping a meal will magically appear. What do I do? They’ll know I forgot.
    Sam is leaning against the kitchen door. “How about if we take you out for dinner? You shouldn’t have to cook.” He glances at the soldiers.
    “I didn’t forget. Really I didn’t.”
    “I know you didn’t Ma. Come on, grab your purse. Let’s let someone else do the cooking for a change.”

*    *    *

    I remembered to make the coffee. The soldier on the coffee pot reminded me. Sam is stopping in to chat on his way home from work. He sits across from me at the kitchen table. He looks serious – concerned, as he stirs his spoon around in his cup.
    “Ma, I’m worried about you.”
    “Worried? About me?
    “Yeah. You seem kind of forgetful lately.”
    I glance at the two soldiers I’d forgotten to hide. “I’m no more forgetful than anyone else my age.”
    “What’s with all the notes?... and dinner last Saturday?”
    “I told you I didn’t forget! I was just a little side tracked is all.”
    “Ma, there were at least twenty little notes on the counter Saturday! Doesn’t that tell you something?” There’s disbelief in his tone.
    I peek over at the counter.
    “A few reminders... that’s all.”
    “A few? Ma, you don’t have to try to hide anything from me.” His voice grows softer. “I’m your son. I’m on your side, remember?” He sounds as though he’s talking to a child, like he’s trying to make me feel better and that I’m not alone in this, even though I am.
    I shift my weight, trying to untangle my legs from the chair.
    “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
    “We can see a doctor, Ma.”
    “No. Absolutely not. You know how I feel about doctors. They’re all charlatans.”
    “Ma...”
    No! I said no and that’s the end of it.”
    “Then maybe you should move.”
    “Move? Move where?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe an assisted living place... or a nursing home.” He pauses for a second and adds, “Some of them are really nice, Ma.”
    “I’d rather be dead than live in any of those places! The people there are just waiting to die. I can do that here in my own home.” I take a sip of my coffee. My hand trembles. “I don’t want to be one of those people drooling on themselves in a nursing home, unable to recognize my own children.” Those people...
    Sam glances up. “You won’t be, Ma. Trust me.”
    “How do you know?”
    Sam is silent.
    “I don’t want to be here two per cent of the time. What kind of life is that?” I mindlessly swish my spoon around in my cup. “I watched both my parents die, Sam. Neither of them had any reason to go on. Not a shred of joy existed for them at the end. Is that what you want for me?”
    “I just want you to be safe. You still have a lot to live for. You’ve got Barbara and me, the kids... your rose garden.” Sam hesitates and if I hadn’t been looking, I might not have noticed the wince or the way he shifted in his chair. He immediately looks away, out the window. “Barbara and I have been thinking of putting in our own rose garden. You could help us. We’d like that. And don’t forget you’ve got your friends... Marge.” And then he adds in a soothing tone, “I just want what’s best for you, Ma.”
    My eyes drift from the little whirlpool I swirl around in my cup, to his eyes. Something has changed, something in how he’s looking at me. His look of care – compassion suddenly seems fearful.
    “Do I really have all that if the day comes when I can’t remember any of it?” I look at the pile of dishes in the sink, the yellowed lace curtains and the two soldiers standing at attention. “Is that really what’s best for me, Sam? I’m not so sure anymore.”

*    *    *

    Thank goodness I saw the pot roast and dinner Saturday notes. Let’s see now. The pot roast is in the oven. I’ve got the vegetables started. Put the rolls in the toaster oven to warm them up. Do it now so you don’t forget. Sam and Barbara will be here soon. I glance out the kitchen window and see the Riley girls getting off the school bus. Sam took that same bus when he was little. I remember waiting for him each day. I hear the dryer buzzer go off in the basement. I know it’s the dryer because I know what the buzzer sounds like. I go downstairs to get the clothes out... don’t want wrinkles. From upstairs, I hear a beep-beep-beep, over and over. What’s that sound? I don’t recognize it. My brain feels muddled. I finish getting the clothes out of the dryer and plod back upstairs. I try to find where that beeping noise is coming from. I walk into the kitchen.
    A swath of black hovers just below the ceiling. What is this? The air feels thick. I look over at the soldiers sitting on the toaster oven. They’re surrounded by smoke. It pours out from below them. This doesn’t seem right. I’m not alarmed. It actually looks pretty. The smoke drifts around the soldiers, like in a dream, not real, and I stand there for a moment, entranced.
    The soldiers burst into flames.
     I feel my heartrate spike. What do I do? Call Sam? Run next door? No... stay calm now and think. Call Sam! Yes, call Sam now... quick. Where’s his number? What did I do with it? I paw through the drawer where I think my address book is. It’s not here. Maybe I wrote it down. I check the soldiers on the counter. Buy bread. Pay bills. Call Marge. Pot roast. No phone number. The flames grow. They flare out under the overhead cabinet. I search for an answer, my eyes darting from object to object. I know... don’t I have a fire extinguisher? Where is it? Come on... think! I look in the back hall. Not there. Maybe it’s below the sink. Not there either. I can’t find it. What do I do? Open a window. Yes!... get rid of the smoke. Do it now. I open the window over the sink. The air fuels the fire and it flares up. It’s getting worse. I notice a kitchen towel. I know... hit the fire with a rag. I saw that somewhere... I know I did. I grab the kitchen towel and whack the flames. Ashes fly up, and then land, igniting the soldiers on the counter. The soldiers... I have to save them... can’t let them burn. The fire spreads. My chest is pounding. What to do. Come on, think. Water! Yes, water. Throw water on it... quick! Hurry, do it now. I turn the faucet on full and pull the sprayer out. I aim at the toaster oven and press the lever. Water sprays everywhere. Black smoke billows out into the room. I start coughing. I spray more. I spray the soldiers on the counter. I spray the wall behind the toaster oven. I spray the cabinets above. I keep spraying. Everything is soaked.
    I cup my hands under one of the blackened soldiers. I try to read it but the writing is smeared. The paper, like mush, falls apart. It slips through my fingers and splats onto the counter.
    Sam pulls into the driveway as the last few firemen exit the house. They say the fire is out and remark that my dinner is ruined. It’s safe to go back inside.
    “My god, what happened?”
    We stand in the middle of the kitchen looking at charred walls, a melted toaster oven and water dripping from cabinets and counters. The pot roast is still in the oven. It’s crusted black. Smoke drifts out through the open window.
    “I guess I accidently left the toaster oven on.”
    “Thank god you had the sense to call the fire department.”
    I don’t have the heart to tell him that I wasn’t the one who called the fire department. It must have been that nosey Mrs. Burke across the street who called.
    “Well, you sure can’t stay here tonight. You’ll stay with Barbara and me. I’ll call tomorrow and find someone to clean this up... repaint.”

*    *    *

    That evening, I hear Sam and Barbara talking. They must think I’m asleep.
    “I feel bad but she can’t stay there alone anymore, that’s for sure. You should have seen the place!”
    “Where is she going to go?
    “We don’t have the room here.” Sam pauses. “As much as she’ll balk, she’ll have to go into assisted living or something. I don’t see any other choice.”
    I shuffle back into their guest bedroom and sit on the bed. I think about the dinner I forgot, the soldiers standing at attention for me, and the fire I set to my kitchen. I think about waiting to die in a nursing home.

*    *    *

    What a pleasant evening I think as the scenery slides by. I sit half way back on an empty bus. The driver was friendly enough when I got on, but I can tell he’s wondering about me. He keeps glancing back at me in the rear view mirror. “Last stop,” he calls.
    “You sure you want to get off lady? The next bus isn’t till morning.” I wait for him to open the door.
    “Yes, I’m sure.” I sound convinced.
    I stand looking out over the river. The lights reflecting off the water are beautiful. I wish I’d come here more often, but it doesn’t matter now. I see someone turn a light out on the other side... then another and another. People ending their day.
    There’s only a half moon tonight. It appears and disappears above me. There’s enough of a breeze to make it feel clean... crisp but not too cold. I’m thinking I could have worn a warmer coat.
    I grip the railing, pulling myself forward. It’s steeper than I thought. My feet hurt. Half way up, I stop and button the top button of my coat. The wind is whipping up more. I think it must be the elevation. I catch my breath and continue on.
    I’m out of breath by the time I reach the top. Except for the whirling of the wind, it’s silent. No traffic. No activity. I slip my shoes off... too much pressure. The cold soothes my feet. My hands are freezing... must be the metal railing. I look out over the river... the sky, the lights reflecting off the water, the breeze. A good choice.
    I slip between the second and third railing. For a second, I reconsider - pause, but I am sure. There are no more buses.

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