Melody put new flowers on the dog's grave near the back fence. They'd been cheap at the supermarket. She'd taken off the plastic wrapping though. "This is the last lot Buster. Dan already thinks I'm mad." She’d have to plant something, then there’d always be flowers.
She went inside and stood in the kitchen and looked around. Spotless. Even the apples in the chrome fruit bowl were shiny, perfect edible ornaments. She felt like cleaning something. Perhaps the outside fridge. She went out, armed with rags and cleaning products. Yes, the fridge was a worthy target. Full of half-drunk soft drinks that had long gone flat and a few forgotten onions, now sprouting new onions in an optimistic display of life battling on in the direst of circumstances. She threw it all in the bin and felt her spirits lift – de-cluttering was therapeutic. Maybe she should just unplug the fridge and get rid of that too. Outdoor fridges were for parties and they hadn't had one of them since they moved here.
When she was little, her Mum and Dad had thrown endless parties. They had grown-up parties all the time. And on her birthday they’d invited every kid in the street for a feast of pastel toned cup cakes and home-made cordial and tiny finger sandwiches that her mother called “tea sandwiches”. Over the years there'd been fireworks, magicians, a guy on a unicycle (or had that been Dad?), an ice sculpture, a make your own pizza party and twice she'd kissed Thomas McMahon behind the tool shed: once at her 15th birthday party and once, with his hand on her breast, on her 17th.
Tom McMahon. She imagines that he has forgotten her, but perhaps she's wrong. He still lives in the same city they grew up in; almost the same suburb. When she visits her parents she drives down the street he and his wife ("bride" her mother said actually) had bought a house on, and wonders which it is. She could ask her Mum, but she prefers to guess. Is it the one with the swing set and bikes in the front yard? Or the one with the pseudo English country garden? Or the one with a picket fence around grass that never gets mowed and ivy that chokes the view from the front windows?
Melody wonders about whether she and Tom would have lived in that same street if they were still together. She thinks not. She wouldn't want to be so close to her parents but maybe Tom has a good reason for staying so close to his. His "bride" in any case is far from hers - she's Indonesian according to Edith, who may just as well have meant Indian or even native American you never could be sure. This native American idea though, this is the first time she's thought of this - perhaps instead of the smell of jasmine rice and peanut sauce coming from the kitchen she should be picturing living areas draped with Navaho rugs and sand paintings. Melody doesn't want to be his bride or to sit in his Navaho rug-draped living room with him - she just wonders about that alternate reality. The childhood sweethearts story they could have told their grandchildren appealed to her sense of the romantic. What Dan and she would tell their grandchildren, if they had any, would involve the terms "de facto", "mortgage share contract" and she was certain, if things ever got that far, "pre-nuptial agreement" and "registry office". And Dan would think it ridiculous if she wanted to wear white or give out sugared almonds.
Dan was not much of a party type. In fact, he was not even much of a social type. Not that he was anti-social, on the contrary, he was working together with Bill over the road on some community watch project Bill had cooked up after the Jenkins got broken in to last month. It's just that he didn't see the point of purely social pursuits. And besides, you need an excuse for a party and no-one throws a party for their 34th or 36th birthday, there were no anniversaries to celebrate and there wasn't any engagement or wedding on the horizon either as far as she could see. No, she thought as she scrubbed the crisper drawer rather more vigorously than necessary, for the moment she'd have to make do with hosting the annual Christmas get-together.
***
It was Halloween, but she'd forgotten to buy lollies, she had meant to. She’d gone into the supermarket with this specific mission, but got distracted at the cut-price flower stand. She didn’t tell Dan. Now it was six o'clock and so it was too late. They had debated what to do. It wasn't done, not to have something for the children in the street. They knew nearly all of the families. Dan had wanted to give them handfuls of peanuts in their shells they still had from Christmas. Melody told him that children shouldn't have peanuts. And Dan said "If they're supervised they can." But he knew he'd already lost the argument.
They'd decided to turn all the lights off and pretend they weren't home. It had already been dark for 40 minutes and so there wasn't much to do. They sat in the lounge room on the floor so their silhouettes were below window level. It wasn't long before they heard the high pitched voices of children.
"Sasha and Lila?" guessed Dan.
Melody was silent.
The children were running ahead of their parents ringing door bells and not waiting for a response before banging on the door.
Inevitably the door bell rang.
"Leave it," said Dan.
"That was the plan. That's why we're sitting here in the dark. I hadn't forgotten."
"OK"
"I wonder if we have any biscuits?"
"For you or for the kids?"
"For the kids."
"No we don't."
"OK, for me."
"Nope."
They settled into silence. The kids had given up and gone on to the neighbours who were listening patiently to the little rhyme they said at each door.
"We didn't have dinner yet."
"No, but what are we going to have in the dark?"
"We could order pizza."
"Oh yeah, then they'll never guess we're here."
"We could order like twenty of those side orders of ice-cream and give those out."
"Yes, ice-cream, that's a practical treat - it'll be melted by the time they get home."
"It will not - most of them only go along the street, and they don't have to take it if they think they'll be out long."
"Well I don't feel like pizza anyway."
"Right. Sorry," she didn't know what she was apologizing for. It was a sort of a reflex. "Toasted sandwich?"
"No. I'm not that hungry."
They could hear the lady next door complimenting the children on their costumes and jack-o-lanterns.
"Well, I want one."
"Lantern?" asked Dan momentarily confused.
"No, a toasted sandwich."
"Well, go get one then."
"I will," she went and clattered about in the kitchen. Bread. Cheese. A tomato. She waited in the kitchen for it to cook. "Completely prepared in the dark," she announced when she returned with the sandwich.
Dan said nothing.
Melody bit into her sandwich and burnt her tongue.
Dan still said nothing.
Another group of children rang the bell.
"Perhaps they'd like a toasted sandwich," said Dan.
"Very funny." She began to sob quietly.
Dan put his arm around her. "Those tomatoes can get pretty hot."
***
"You know Dan," Melody ventured later, when the flow of children had slowed and they had lit some old candles and put them on the coffee table, "I've been a bit lonely since Buster died."
"Have you?" asked Dan.
"A little. Perhaps it would be nice if I could have a little bit of company again."
"I'm not sure we're ready for the commitment again yet, what if we want to travel? Dogs live a long time. How long had you had Buster?"
"Two years."
"Yeah, well he died of unnatural causes - it could have dragged on and on"
"It could have dragged on?"
"His life."
"He wasn't dragging, he was perfectly healthy."
"Yeah, but eventually..."
"What about a cat then?"
"A cat?"
"Yes, you know miaow, miaow and all."
"Don't get sarcastic. I think I might be allergic to cats, I can't remember, I'll have to call Mum and ask."
"You're not allergic, Dan, your grandmother's place was infested with them and you were fine when we were there."
"That's true. What about a few fish?"
"They're not much company, are they, goldfish?"
"I didn't mean goldfish. We could have a tropical fish aquarium - all those bright colours..."
"Dan."
"What?"
"I was thinking perhaps, about a baby?"
There was a pause. "Well. Gee. I'd have to think about that."
***
Dan sometimes has the feeling that his grasp on his world is more tenuous than other people’s. His friends own houses and cars and are married, progressively securing each of their accoutrements. Dan feels like he could slip away and nothing would change – Melody would find another bloke, Bill would run the neighbourhood watch program alone – only his bike tires might go flat and his in-tray at work would over-flow with paperwork until they employed a replacement. Which probably wouldn’t take long.
He rides a bicycle to work, which he says he likes and that it keeps him fit and young and he doesn’t live far enough from the office to justify driving. But his boss was on an overseas trip. Dan couldn’t go because someone had to hold the fort. So Dan got to borrow the car with it’s new car smell that they spray in from a bottle when the boss takes it in for it’s regular service. On the first day he had it, he killed a dog. From then on he was scared to drive it, so he left it in the boss’s car-park at work, and went back to riding his bike.
Dan feels unworthy of Melody. He is certain her aura must be lovely because she is only ever good. He feels like her goodness only spurs him on to think bad and selfish thoughts. And in bed at night he thinks of horrible crimes he could commit if only he were brave enough. He longs to be strong enough, big enough, wide enough for Melody, for her to explore the world through him. He brings her small offerings – chocolate muffins nestled like two birds in brown paper, a second hand book that he thinks she might like, and a brightly coloured umbrella to keep the rain from her pretty head. He hopes, in this way, to be able to unfurl her. But she sleeps turned away from him, curled up tightly as if she must protect her soft and vulnerable centre in moments of unconsciousness.
***
She hadn't been home five minutes when the doorbell rang. It was Kevin. He loomed large in the doorway. She had no doubt that he was harmless, but couldn't help wishing Dan was home just the same.
"Hi Kevin."
"Hi Mrs Melody." He looked at her without breaking his gaze.
"What can I do for you Kevin?"
"Nothing. Oh nothing Mrs Melody, I just wanted to tell you something."
"What's that Kevin?"
Kevin was silent. She couldn't read his expression. He moved his hands urgently over one another.
"Is it your mother Kevin? Is she alright?"
"Oh yes Mrs Melody. She is very well thank you."
Melody waited. This was usually the most efficient method of getting the girls at school to say what they had come for.
"Mrs Melody, I am very sorry about Buster. He was a
very good dog."
"Thank you Kevin. I miss him very much."
"Yes Mrs Melody. I used to hear him at nights, and now I can't hear him anymore. It makes me feel sad."
Melody hesitated. "Would you like to come around and see his grave Kevin?"
"Oh, OK."
Melody stepped onto the front step beside Kevin and pulled the front door closed behind her. "Let's go around the side way." She led the way to the narrow gap between the house and the fence that lead to the back yard. "Come on Kevin, I'll show you Buster's grave."
"Mrs Melody: you shouldn't worry about being lonely. It is going to be OK."
"Umm, thank you Kevin." They had reached the back yard. She hadn't liked having him right behind her like that. "Well, here's Buster's grave." she gestured at a small pile of rocks surrounding some new rich black potting mix. "I have planted petunias, but they haven't come through yet."
Kevin stood respectfully at the foot of the grave, his hands clasped together and still now in front of him. "Petunias are nice. My mum grows them."
"Yes, your mother has a lovely garden."
And then there was nothing left to say. Kevin stood a moment longer in a concentrated pose that looked like it may have been copied from television, but was more likely taught to him by some uncle when his father died many years ago. He turned to her and said. "I am very sorry for your loss Mrs Melody."
And she said, "Thank you Kevin," and softy gestured for him to go ahead of her back down the narrow space between the house and fence.
When they got to the front yard he turned to her and
said, "Thank you Mrs Melody, he was a good dog."
Melody forced a smile. "You can just call me Melody if you like. Give my regards to your mother."
And she stood in the front yard and watched him walk back down Hudson Street, stopping to smell flowers and running his large fingers along the contours of the fences, shifting his weight completely with each deliberate step.
***
Dan rode up the driveway and jumped off his bike. The garage was open. He could see, through the tinted back window of Melody’s royal blue hatch-back, that Melody hadn’t unloaded the groceries yet. She must have been distracted. Dan manoeuvred his bike between the fence and the shed wall. He locked his bike, took a large cardboard box off the back and put it gently on the ground behind his bike.
On inspection, all the white plastic bags in the back of the car were full of stuff neither of them had eaten in twenty-five years.
Melody came out of the house. “You’re home.”
“What’s all this.” Dan pointed at the bags.
“I thought, we don’t want to be caught short next Halloween.”
“Or the one after by the look of it.”
“Yeah, well the kids in the street deserve a treat.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah – I thought we could have a little party in our backyard – put up the party lights and stuff.”
“Won’t people think that’s a bit weird?”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t have kids. They might think we want to fool around with them or something. God, they’ll stop calling us Barbie and Ken and start calling us Michael Jackson.”
“Dan, don’t be ridiculous, we know everyone, we could invite Kevin too, he’d like it and we could have old fashioned games like bobbing for apples.”
“I think it’s a bit strange.”
“Well I wasn’t planning to consult you.”
“So I see.” He nodded at the boot. “Well go ahead if you want – warn me of the date so I can make other plans.”
“You have to help – serve sausage rolls and stuff.”
“That’s if anyone lets their kids come.”
“Well we could make it a secret party, only tell the kids.”
“Oh great, that’d go down well, and get them all to tell their parent’s they’re staying at each others houses.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh Melody, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well I’ll figure something out.”
“Fine, well until you do, I don’t want the pantry clogged up with Red Skins and green cordial – put it in the shed.”
“What’s that noise?” asked Melody.
“What? Oh, I have something for you” Dan went to the side of the house and retrieved the cardboard box and gave it to Melody.
She opened the flaps and looked inside. “A puppy!”
Dan looked at her face. “Do you like it?”
“He’s adorable,” she gently paced the box on the shed floor lifting the puppy out. “I think, perhaps I’m just a little bit allergic.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I’m sure you’ll get used to him in time.”
“Certainly, certainly. In time.”
© Christy Collins 2007