Castles in the Air

The rain came down in chubby little drops against the picture window that overlooked the backyard swing set and the large red dog house that our new puppy, Easy, looked out of. 

She looked confused and a little scared by all the rain and wet grass where she played on sunnier days.  The backyard was her sanctuary.  She knew every corner of it, where every dried-up bone was buried.  Her Mom, Serenity, had her in the dog house and chased her and played with her until she wandered out into the busy street and was hit and killed by some speeding High School girl in a Saab.  The girl cried, but what’s done is done. 

Amy and I got Serenity for our daughter Chloe for her sixth birthday.  We knew that she wanted a dog more than anything else.  We picked out a cute Basset Hound, with long droopy ears and red eyes—tri-colored.  Chloe said she liked Bassetts because they looked stubborn like her.  She said that she could tell, they have a mind of their own.  She liked that. 

Within a few months, Serenity went into heat.  One of the neighborhood mutts sniffed her out one night and that is how we ended up with Easy. 

Saturday night was bath night for Chloe.  Amy always took care of that duty.  Chloe loved her baths and hated having her hair washed.  I fixed a tuna sandwich with avocado and settled in for a movie.  It was crappy, Mommy Dearest if I remember right.  That Joan Crawford was a real mean bitch. 

Amy rushed out of the bathroom.  

“Wasn’t your grandmother a principal?”  She asked. 

“Yes, she was.  I think she was a superintendent too.”  I said. 

“Do you know when her birthday was?  Or, do you know if she became the principal after a birthday that she had?” 

I was taken aback.  Even for Amy, this seemed like a strange line of questioning.  I could tell she was disturbed. 

“I was five when she died, I don’t remember much about her,”  I said, hoping Amy would move on to more important things.  “How’s Chloe’s bath going?”  I asked. 

“She said something very strange; it freaked me out,”  Amy said.  “I was washing her hair and she said that she had a birthday a couple of days ago and would be principal soon.” 

I laughed.  “It sounds like she doesn’t like her hair being washed and she wants to exert some control.  Seems logical.” 

A hard stare covered Amy’s icy blue eyes.  “No, that’s not it.  I think she is channeling your dead grandmother.”  Amy was serious. 

Amy had shown many signs over the years of some sort of delusion disorder.  She functioned well though, and was a successful businesswoman, and talking about her mental state was futile. 

I said, “I think it’s completely normal for her to pretend she has some control, maybe she equates teachers and principals with authority and she just wants some say-so about her hair being washed.” 

“I don’t fucking think so,” said Amy as she went to our room and shut the door. 

Chloe came out of the bathroom in her snoopy pajamas and sat next to me on the couch.  Her hair was wet and combed.  Her eyes were red, and she wasn’t smiling. 

“What’s the matter, honey?”  I asked. 

“I don’t want to talk about it Daddy,”  Chloe said. 

“You don’t have to.  Sometimes it helps to talk when something is bothering you.” 

“I know Daddy, thanks.” 

I took Chloe to the bathroom and blow-dried her hair.  She laughed at how she looked in the mirror.  Hair blowing everywhere. 

Amy emerged from our room.  She was rubbing her eyes.  She said they were bothered by staring at the computer screen. 

“Was your grandmother a Mason?”  Amy asked. 

“Not that I know of.  Can women be Masons?” 

“She’s buried in the Masonic cemetery,”  Amy said, with narrowed eyes. 

“So are people dogs and cats and children.  None of them are Masons.” 

Amy sat on the other end of the couch.  “I just don’t want your family to try and influence my daughter to be a teacher, just because half of them were teachers.” 

I stood up and walked to the kitchen.  I poured a large water glass of Chardonnay.  I needed a drink.  I faced Amy.  “I don’t appreciate this, Amy.  It’s nonsense.  My dead grandmother isn’t trying to influence our daughter.  And, there is an underlying tone of snobbery going on.  Like, you have a problem with teachers.  What the hell?” 

“Why do you like teachers so much?”  Amy yelled. 

“Please lower your voice, Chloe went to her room to play quietly.  She seems stressed. Amy, I don’t like teachers any more than I do mailmen or doctors or garbage men.  But they are all honorable professions.  What would be so terrible if Chloe wanted to be a teacher or principal?” 

“Nothing, I guess.  I just don’t understand why she would.  I have homeschooled her for kindergarten and 1st grade.  She’s never been around teachers or principals.  That is why I think she is channeling your grandma.” 

I laughed, and I could tell it pissed Amy off.  She took a real condescending tone like she was talking to someone that wasn’t very bright.  “Where I come from in Vegas, the kids I went to school with didn't worship teachers.” 

“We don’t worship teachers in the Midwest either, we just have respect for them.  And I’m wondering why you don’t.  We teach our daughter every day.  It’s as if you are surprised that Chloe knows about teachers and principals.  It’s ludicrous.”  I said.  

We heard Chloe talking in her room, Amy got up and we went to the door of her bedroom and listened. 

“Mr. Capybara, you got an F on your paper, the F stands for fun.  Teddy Bear you got an A, and that stands for absolutely fantastic.” 

We opened the door a little more so that we could see better.  Chloe had all her stuffed animals and dolls lined up.  She was sitting with her back to the door and had moved her toy desk so that she could face her students and teach them. 

“I need you all to pay attention to what I’m saying.”  She quizzed them. 

“Raggedy Ann, what is two plus two? Four, that’s right.  Good girl.  Here’s a sticker.”  Chloe went over and pasted the sticker on the arm of the doll. 

“It will be bath time soon for all of you, I know some of you don’t like baths.  I’m talking to you, Humpty Dumpty  And none of you like getting your hair washed.  Well since you have all behaved very well today, we will skip the hair washing, since I’m the principal.  I can do that.  I’m in Charge.” 

We stepped back from the door.  Amy shook her head and frowned.  “Have you been telling my daughter she would be a good teacher?”  She asked. 

“No, I haven't.”  I looked at the ground.  Thoughts whirled in my tired brain. 

 What in the fuck?  Who did I marry?  Maybe I should talk to a therapist about this...I always knew she was peculiar, but this is scary. 

“Honey, why don’t we go to bed?  It’s been a long day.  I’ll give you a back rub, you look tense.” 

We undressed and got in bed.  Amy lay on her stomach and stretched out.  I put in a Van Morrison CD. I squeezed some baby oil on my hand and rubbed Amy’s Shoulders and upper back.  I worked my way down to her butt; I squeezed it like I was kneading dough.    I hoped it would work. 

As Amy drifted off, she muttered, 

“Were you ever a Mason?”