Short Story by KR Mullin

AFLOAT

Leaving Alabama

In August, the woman's husband announced that they were moving. He'd been selling wallpaper throughout western Alabama and Mississippi, but a better territory had opened in Minnesota, and he'd gotten it and put their house on the market. The woman was further surprised by the fact that he'd made an offer on a rural property with a large, old house by a lake and that his offer had been accepted.

Although she'd lived in Birmingham all her 42 years, she tried to be pleased and only offered an argument against the expense, which would strain their already over-extended financial situation. She also pointed out that they could do with a smaller house now that their daughter was married and living in Florida and their son had moved to Kansas after graduating from college.

The woman's husband could not be bothered with such trivialities, so she went through the house and listed things she should do to increase its value:

Replace cracked window in back door
Empty attic and clean it
Paint bathroom
Attach new drawer handles in kitchen
Improve front yard
Refinish upstairs hallway floor

On Labor Day weekend, even though there had been no offers on their house, the woman's husband loaded the car with his necessities and left for Minnesota to start a new life while she stayed behind to tidy up the old one--packing some of it and disposing of the rest.

It took another month including two price drops before someone made an offer on their house. Even though it was lower than their asking price, the woman accepted, much to the dismay of her husband, and called the moving company. A week later, she told the real estate agent that the house was empty, and he stopped by for the key. He then offered her a ride to the bus station, and, when he learned that her bus didn't leave until 8:30, made some other offers which she declined.

Listings

The woman kept a small, spiral bound notebook in her shoulder bag for making lists, and the bus trip gave her plenty of time for considering some of her old lists as well as devising some new ones.

First, she started a page entitled "All the Stops from Birmingham to Duluth". This was a numbered list and began with "1. Birmingham". She also started another numbered list entitled "Places I've Lived" even though she thought she might have already listed these in a previous notebook.

Other lists were not numbered because there was no special order to the items. For instance, "Things to Do on a Farm near Duluth". This list began with "Read all of Oprah's books".

Because she'd planned her trip to include a visit with her son in Kansas, another page was entitled "Topics to Discuss in Kansas City" and began with "Thanksgiving? Christmas?"

Three-syllable Stops from Birmingham to Duluth

1. Birmingham
3. Carbon Hill
6. Hamilton
8. Tupelo
10. Holly Springs
12. Mt. Vernon
14. St. Louis

The woman's son had become a disc jockey at a small radio station outside Topeka and, although she reached Kansas City in time for breakfast, his schedule did not permit him to meet her until 3:00. He surprised her by bringing his new girlfriend, a bubbly girl who was studying to be a nail sculpturist; however, the girl apparently spent an inordinate amount of time at the radio station. In fact, she monopolized the conversation by describing in detail each of the recording artists who had dropped by the radio station to promote an album or a tour.

Although the woman didn't recognize any of the names, she nodded and smiled appropriately while sipping a diet soda. When she finally told the girl that she was unfamiliar with these performers, the girl expressed concern and suggested that the woman should hang out at the radio station for a couple weeks. The woman's son laughed nervously at the suggestion and said he didn't think that would be such a good idea.

After boarding her bus at 5:00, the woman looked at the page entitled Topics to Discuss in Kansas City. She decided that it was just as well that these topics hadn't been discussed because they'd probably be better as topics in a letter. She changed the title on the page and then turned back to her List of Stops, debating whether she should count Kansas City, MO, as #17 even though it had already been listed as #15. She decided that it, like President Grover Cleveland, should only be counted once.

17. Cameron
18. Bethany
19. Lamoni
25. Albert Lea

Terminal

When the woman arrived in Duluth (#32) just before noon, she was worn out from too much not-doing-anything. In spite of long hours napping on the bus, she found herself nodding off while waiting for her husband. To keep herself awake, she took out her notebook and entitled a page "Highlights of My Trip"

1. Great breakfast at Gretchen's Kitchen in Memphis
2.

The woman stared at the "2." while her eyelids drooped. She awoke with a jolt when the notebook slipped from her fingers and fell onto her foot. She took a deep breath, got up, and dragged her suitcases out of the terminal.

In the glare of the noon sun, the sidewalks of Grand Avenue were bustling. The cold air was invigorating after the closeness of the bus station, and she closed her eyes as she inhaled the city. How many miles had she come only to find herself inhaling the scent of Birmingham, of burgers grilling and people kicking up the day's dust?

But there was another scent in the breeze that swept down Grand, something that floated under and around the other scents, something the woman didn't yet recognize. It was Lake Superior, a few miles to the northeast, saturating the city with its history and its hopes.

The woman's reverie was punctured by the insistent bleating of a car horn, and she saw her husband waving frantically at her from the driver's side of an unfamiliar vehicle. She walked toward him with her head tilted as if unable to understand what she was seeing.

"It's our new SUV," her husband shouted, sliding the back door open for her suitcases. "Get in before we get a ticket."

The woman clambered obediently into the back and sat down as quickly as possible, looking around the vehicle as her husband slid the door shut and hurried away from the curb.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "I've been waiting for half an hour at least."

She wrinkled her brow. "I've been inside. Why didn't you come in?"

"Why didn't you come out?" he said. "I said AT the bus station, not IN the bus station."

In silence, the woman began a list in her mind:

What I Should Have Said

Why didn't you just say 'Meet me outside the bus station' ?
Why didn't you say that you'd be at the curb in your new SUV?
Why didn't you park somewhere and take me to lunch?
Why didn't we meet at a restaurant?
Why didn't we meet IN a restaurant?

Finally she asked, "Can we stop somewhere for lunch?"

"No can do, hon," he said. "Got a sales meeting this afternoon. You'll have to fend for yourself at the house."

He dropped her and her suitcases at the edge of the driveway behind the house and was gone before she'd walked to the back door. As she reached for the knob, she realized that he hadn't given her a key. She twisted the knob hopefully, but it refused to budge.

She zipped her jacket and walked toward a weeping willow beside the lake. A flock of geese honked above her, and she wanted to honk back, wanted to go with them, wanted to be back in Birmingham more than anything she could think of, and knew that she'd soon be gathering her wishes into a list.

§ § §

KR Mullin holds a BS in Biology, an MA in English, and an Italian Greyhound in thunderstorms.

He wrote his first short story in 1950, his first poem in 1955, and his first bad check in 1971.

If offspring could choose their parents, KR Mullin would be the child of Geoffrey Chaucer and Emily Dickinson. He can be reached at krm6343@yahoo.com.

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