Fiction: Norma and Galahad
By Terry Riccardi
arttimesjournal August 8, 2020
Norma had long ago placed meeting Mr. Right, remarriage and raising a family of her own on her list of Things That Will Never Happen for Me in This Lifetime. After many frustrating, exhausting years as a teacher, she was now facing the challenge of replacing the structured framework of life that the school day had once provided.
Not having to set the alarm clock five nights a week was delicious; reading murder mysteries until four in the morning was a decadent delight; rolling over and going back to sleep while rain, wind, or snow raged outside was bliss. She reveled in being able to visit her doctor, dentist and hairdresser in the middle of a weekday. She ate anything she wished, went to movies at midday, enjoyed leisurely lunches with friends, and took a tour of Cape May.
On the very first September morning that children all over the city returned to a Norma-less school system, she stood outside Macy’s, waiting for its doors to open. Minutes later, she felt herself a small corpuscle, carried gently and unhurriedly along throughout the eerily quiet, wonderfully empty veins of the peaceful store.
“It’s really great that you’re having such a wonderful time, Norma,” said her brother, Al. He sipped his coffee, and Norma waited for the “ but” as she watched her sister-in-law's slim back at the sink. Ellie probably wouldn’t turn around until Al had made his point. She didn’t like any shade of unpleasantness; it clashed with her sunny yellow kitchen, custom-designed house, happy daughters, adoring husband, and elegant gray cat.
“We're happy you're doing things you never had time for before,” Ellie said over her shoulder as she continued washing their dinner dishes.
Al smoothly picked up the thread. "But maybe you're doing just a little too much. You should relax more, come over here, where you're always welcome. You'd get to see a little more of your nieces, and you know how much they love you."
A small part of Norma floated gently up, bumping painlessly along the kitchen ceiling and admiring the tableau—caring brother, his loving wife, their sunny kitchen. Al’s but had been gently uttered, but ceiling Norma spotted it easily.
Galahad entered the room in all his elegant grayness and moved toward the screen door. He scratched at its bottom panel and Ellie, back still turned, reached out her right arm and opened it slightly for him.
“I’m thinking about taking some classes,” Norma began, watching the cat’s apparently boneless body curve and slide smoothly out through the narrow space between door and jamb.
“Maybe art, or writing. And there are lots of places I'd like to see. Now I can finally do it.” She shifted her chair to watch Galahad’s progress. At the far end of the late-fall lawn a squirrel stood upright, clutching a nut, and constantly checking on the now statue-still cat.
Ellie dried the last dessert plate, the squirrel turned its attention to its snack, the statue moved imperceptibly, and Norma asked, “Do you ever worry about Galahad killing birds when he’s outside?” Ellie, misjudging the remark as an attempt to leave Al’s point unaddressed, wiped her hands on a floral dish towel and returned to the table.
“Not really. He loves his cat chow, and the girls sneak him pieces of whatever they don’t like under the table. He doesn’t go out much; he just likes an occasional change of scene. As you do. Lucky lady, trying to decide what you want to do next. I envy you, really. The girls still have your postcards from Cape May taped to their bedroom mirrors.”
Al took over. “The girls are growing up so fast, it’s almost scary. You’re their only aunt, and now you can come over more often. You could even stay over for a week or so...”
"You and the girls would have the whole house to yourselves. And maybe we could go see Cape May while you're here," Ellie said, as if she'd just thought of it.
Ceiling Norma watched the couple push the freedom-threatening load of familial responsibility ever closer to her unwilling shoulders.
“Mmmm, I don’t know what classes I might take, or where and when my next trip will be.” Glancing past Ellie’s shoulder, she thought the still, silver hunter was a bit closer to his prey, but it was hard to be sure. “Could I have another slice of that wonder-ful pie?”
Ellie put another piece on Norma's plate and got up to freshen everyone's coffee.
“Just remember, Norma,” Al continued the joint offensive, “soon they’ll be teenagers, and they’ll go off to college, get married, and move God-knows-where.”
“True, Al. But that comes with being parents.”
Ellie returned with the coffee pot, and there was definitely less distance between Galahad and the squirrel, though Norma had been unable to catch the cat in motion. Gathering courage from her silent ceiling self, she sipped her newly hot coffee and rejoined the fray.
“You've given me a lot to think about, Al. That’s what's great about not teaching any more—I can sit and think, in peace and quiet, about what I want to do.” She noticed that Galahad was now at the far end of the yard, and the squirrel was nowhere in sight.
As Ellie sat down at the table, Norma rose. “Thanks for the delicious lunch, Ellie. Please give the girls my love.” As Al hugged her goodbye, she added, “I’ll catch them in next time,” hoping to assure him of her auntliness.
She opened the screen door a bit, having heard the faint scratch on its outer side. Galahad entered, looking at no one, his tail straight up. Bending down to give him a farewell pat, Norma unobtrusively used the edge of her sleeve to wipe off the spot of blood too high up on his forehead for his tongue to have reached.
Terry Riccardi is a philatelist, free-lance editor, and inveterate reader. When not creating stories, she can be found trying to bowl a perfect game, watching classic movies, and searching for lost jigsaw puzzle pieces. She hopes to be a world-famous author when she grows up. Her work has appeared in Potato Soup, Scarlet Leaf Review, and other literary journals.