Vamoose

Not Lilacs

Stella watched the Amazon driver drop packages on Min’s porch. Third coffee in hand she contemplated the packages, and vaguely, for some reason, cigarettes. She would never smoke, but wondered at the suggestion. 

She admired Min’s dark purple lilac. Its perfume drifted over the yards through the open kitchen window. Stella got it about lilacs in the dooryards of old homesteads melting your heart after the dead of winter. The color, and all the people in the house the lilac outlived. Most years Min cut flowers and brought Stella a vase full. 

The Amazon delivery wasn’t done. The driver made three more trips between the van and the porch. By the time he drove away fourteen packages stood beside the front door. 

Min came outside and inspected some of the labels. She hefted a couple of boxes. The Prime blue arrows and the white clapboards. Stella winced, wiped the counter with the Space Needle dishcloth and decided to go next door.

I don’t know what’s going on Stella. It must cost a fortune. I don’t want people seeing all this. She picked up two packages and carried them into the hallway. Together they moved the rest inside. The smaller ones on the harvest table, the rest on the floor. 

Min burst into tears. I don’t know what’s going on. How much did all this cost?
A rap on the door distracted them. They opened the door and saw another gray van scuttle away. Three more packages with big Blue Commas, Amazon Prime Blue Pantone 2995C. 

Stella almost laughed out loud imagining Haywire Capitalism. The reality of an endless delivery of Amazon packages no one remembered ordering. Min stood there aging. Her hands trembled in the middle of the day. 
I’ll make tea Minnie, and we can sit in the living room and talk.

Somehow years had gone by since Stella visited Min. Somehow it had got to be Min at Stellas. She pictured the unlived room, vacuum cleaner marks on the rug. The white logs laid on a thatch of kindling by Fred before he died. 

Stella stopped short, stunned, at the entrance to the living room. Cardboard boxes filled the entire room from floor to ceiling. A stepladder stood alongside the wall.
Oh my goodness Min!
What Stella? 
Prime Blue commas randomized across the stacks. 
Stella’s heart sank for her friend. This was the first time she’d experienced hoarding first hand. She thought that's what it was.
What Stella? 

She decided not to say anything for the time being.
I’ll get the tea fixed, she said. She found some lady fingers in the breadbox, and put them on a bright yellow plate decorated with a Dutch windmill. Min ate one and the powdered sugar stuck on her lips. 

Stella got Min’s laptop, and together they looked at Min’s order page on the Amazon site. 
Basketballs, said Stella. Lots of books. Books on grieving, dementia. And here, a fishing rod. 
A Greywolf bamboo rod with an extra tip and one hundred hand tied flies. Over $3000. Was that for Fred? 

Min’s hands clasped to her face reminded Stella of The Scream. A high pitched keening escaped from Min’s throat.
He’s been dead twelve years. 
Maybe you bought it for Harvey. Did you think of that? 
Ha Stella, that's crazy. Spend a thousand dollars on Harvey Vueen? 

What do you say we go for a drive Min? Get out of the house.
I could eat a cheeseburger and some fries Stella. What do you say we go to Dicks. I like the curly fries at Dicks. 
We can park at the landing, and look at the water. 


The wind off the water kept the women in the car. The food wrappers crinkled. Gusts budged the car. Stella thought about the packages and how to bring up the Grief Group again to Min. 

This is so good Stella. Do you think we should have gotten the apple pie? I almost did but I didn’t. 
We could go back for pie. I’m pretty sure I’ve never had apple pie at Dicks.
Well I certainly have. 

I have an idea. It’s Harvey’s birthday in a couple of weeks. What do you say we give him the fly rod for a birthday present, from both of us. I think that would cheer him up and it will cheer us up too. I can feel it already. 
Oh my goodness. I never thought about that Stella. I don’t know where that fly rod came from, but I like the idea of giving it to Harvey.  
He’ll be thrilled. Oh, this is going to be such fun Minnie. 

Min licked her fingers. I guess I’ll have to wrap it Stella. Yes, let’s go back for pie. Maybe two pieces. And I think I have just the right wrapping paper too.
 


Harvey said he’d come if he could bring his tacos. Min wrapped the fly rod with a lovely pine tree paper, pleased how the images fit the occasion. Folding the triangular shapes at the ends of the box with trembling hands, she felt something for Harvey. Fred hovered like a mirage. There were more parts to her than she could keep track of. Stella baked a chocolate cake from scratch. 

Harvey was a good man when he rang Stella’s doorbell. He wore baggy corduroys and a green flannel shirt threadbare at the collar. Stella thought him handsome, though sometimes wished he would show a little more creativity or spark or something. 
After pleasantries exchanged not necessary to report, the roteness of old acquaintances not sure how they felt about each other if they were to really think about it. Good people sorted that way, you know, on that day. Plates of food went around. Min forgot she was to bring a vegetable medley so Stella microwaved some French cut green beans from a can. All agreed the tacos were the best, and the halibut, umm umm. They decided to hold off on cake and let their stomachs settle. 

Min got Harvey’s present and put it on the chair next to him. 

What’s this?
It’s from Stella and me, said Min. Harvey was quiet through supper. Nods and mumbles through the women’s chat. When Stella asked him if any family was going to be visiting he acted like he didn’t hear. Maybe he didn’t. The clock in the living room chimed once.
What does one chime mean, Stella?
One chime is the half hour. 
But which half hour?
  
Another goddamned half hour, said Harvey gruffly, maybe mean. Min shrank. Stella got up and cleared the plates. She came back with the water pitcher and refilled their glasses. Harvey’s fingers pried at the corners of the wrapping paper. Min looked at the floor. 

Oh, said Harvey when he pulled the pine trees away and saw the picture of the rod on the box. 
I want to say how nice this is, said Harvey, having me over and everything. 

With deftness he removed the slender tip of the rod and held it in the air. Next he grasped the cork handle and hefted it. Min looked on smiling. The rod was stunning perfection. The scarlet threads and the caramel bamboo radiant under the varnish. Everyone murmured in admiration. Then, Harvey stood up, took all four sections in his hands, and snapped them over his knee.  

I’m sorry, he said. But now I must … vamoose. 

Min gazed dumbly at the shattered bamboo, some red threads loose. 
Her lower lip quivered. 

Stella folded her napkin and placed it on the table. 
It would be so nice Harvey, she said, if you would stay for cake.