Kind Alice
Alice was always very kind to me.
She and granny shared a house together for as long as I can remember. She had been friends with my granny since they were in grade school.
They even went to college together in the late '60s. When we learned about bra-burning protests in history class, I thought of them.
Alice didn't come from money, but her husband had made quite a bit before he died. He had invented one of those things that no one knows about, but is used in half of the stuff we buy, some space-age polymer or revolutionary chemical protein.
So Alice did things for me.
She knew what my favorite candy was, Sour Patch Kids, and since I was nine she'd always have a bag for me when I came over. When I was twelve, she bought me a new bike, shiny and red with 18 gears, and she even bought me a new, soft, silicone bike-seat -- “That seat that came with it looks like a pain in the butt.” When I was fifteen, Alice gave me $500 at the beginning of summer and told me to “have fun, but not too much fun, and be sure to stop by now and then.” When I was sixteen, she gave my folks a real sweet deal on her old car, a 1998 Buick, and I gave her a huge hug before I took my friends to the movies the first night I had the car.
Then I was eighteen, done with high school, and Alice wanted me to stop by before I left for college.
She texted (I didn't even know she knew how to, or had her own cell phone for that matter), asking me to come over at 6:45 on Friday night. I should've known right away that was when granny was at the Elk's Lodge playing Bingo, but it didn't click then.
When I stepped out of the car, she was sitting on the front porch, smiling.
“Hey, Alice. How are you?”
“Oh, honey, I'm fine. I am so happy to see you.” She put her arms out, asking for a hug, so I hugged her.
“Come on in, I'd like to show you something.” We both went inside and she shut the door behind us.
Alice walked over to the mantle above the fireplace, and I thought about how I wasn't tall enough to see any of the photos up there 'til I was thirteen. She pulled down one photo, ran one of her thin fingers along the frame, maybe for dust, maybe for some other reason.
She walked over and handed me the photo. It was of her husband. It was old, black and white, and he was standing in front of a big river, water rushing in waves behind him.
“That was over thirty-five years ago. We were on vacation, celebrating his first patent. That first night in the hotel room, he wanted to make love, but I just couldn't, not with what I knew, had found out. You see, he and I had been trying to have a baby. He wanted a child so much, but it never seemed to work. So, without him knowing, I went to get tested. I figured if I got tested I'd know whose fault it was. I thought it'd be his, that he was shooting blanks, as they say, but I was wrong. It was me. I was not fertile. I told him that night, in the hotel room. He was broken up, crying for a while, then he left the room and I didn't see him until the next day.”
She stopped for a moment. Then went on, looking right at me, right into my eyes.
“We didn't have much sex after that, maybe three or four times before he died, and I ain't been with no one since he passed,” Alice said. “Have you started having sex yet?”
“Uhh... what?”
“You can be honest with me, I won't tell your folks, if that's what you're worried about.”
“Umm, well, yeah, I've done it a few times.”
“I bet you have.” She smiled and touched my arm. “As cute as you are, you know, I always knew you'd end up handsome, ever since you was a boy, I just knew it.”
“Uh, thank you, Alice.”
“Can I get you something to drink, dear? I've got a few of those root beers that you like so much?”
“No, I'm not really --”
“Oh, it's no trouble, I'll get you one.”
She stood up and went to the kitchen.
To be honest, I was nervous, but more like a scared nervous.
She came back and handed me the cold glass bottle of root beer. The top was already screwed off. The top was never screwed off before. She always joked about how old and weak her hands were, how she had trouble with jar lids.
I looked at her, wrinkly smile under her big glasses, her cheeks hanging on. Her eyes had anticipation in them.
“I think I should be going, Alice.” I took a step to the door. “I really got a ton of things to do before I leave on Sunday.”
“No, no, you should stay, finish your root beer, it's awful hot today, probably feel good on your throat.”
“I'd love to, I really would, but I just have so many things to do. Sorry.”
I handed her the bottle. She looked very sad, so sad, let down is how I would describe it. I walked out the door, got into my car, her old car, and drove off.
Now, I can never be sure if she had done something to the root beer, spiked it or slipped me a mickey like in the old movies, but I know this, I sure am glad I never found out.
After that Alice wasn't so kind to me anymore.
*I wrote this story one night. The next day I submitted it. That night they accepted it for publication. That's usually not the way it works.
“Kind Alice” first appeared on Free Flash Fiction.
She and granny shared a house together for as long as I can remember. She had been friends with my granny since they were in grade school.
They even went to college together in the late '60s. When we learned about bra-burning protests in history class, I thought of them.
Alice didn't come from money, but her husband had made quite a bit before he died. He had invented one of those things that no one knows about, but is used in half of the stuff we buy, some space-age polymer or revolutionary chemical protein.
So Alice did things for me.
She knew what my favorite candy was, Sour Patch Kids, and since I was nine she'd always have a bag for me when I came over. When I was twelve, she bought me a new bike, shiny and red with 18 gears, and she even bought me a new, soft, silicone bike-seat -- “That seat that came with it looks like a pain in the butt.” When I was fifteen, Alice gave me $500 at the beginning of summer and told me to “have fun, but not too much fun, and be sure to stop by now and then.” When I was sixteen, she gave my folks a real sweet deal on her old car, a 1998 Buick, and I gave her a huge hug before I took my friends to the movies the first night I had the car.
Then I was eighteen, done with high school, and Alice wanted me to stop by before I left for college.
She texted (I didn't even know she knew how to, or had her own cell phone for that matter), asking me to come over at 6:45 on Friday night. I should've known right away that was when granny was at the Elk's Lodge playing Bingo, but it didn't click then.
When I stepped out of the car, she was sitting on the front porch, smiling.
“Hey, Alice. How are you?”
“Oh, honey, I'm fine. I am so happy to see you.” She put her arms out, asking for a hug, so I hugged her.
“Come on in, I'd like to show you something.” We both went inside and she shut the door behind us.
Alice walked over to the mantle above the fireplace, and I thought about how I wasn't tall enough to see any of the photos up there 'til I was thirteen. She pulled down one photo, ran one of her thin fingers along the frame, maybe for dust, maybe for some other reason.
She walked over and handed me the photo. It was of her husband. It was old, black and white, and he was standing in front of a big river, water rushing in waves behind him.
“That was over thirty-five years ago. We were on vacation, celebrating his first patent. That first night in the hotel room, he wanted to make love, but I just couldn't, not with what I knew, had found out. You see, he and I had been trying to have a baby. He wanted a child so much, but it never seemed to work. So, without him knowing, I went to get tested. I figured if I got tested I'd know whose fault it was. I thought it'd be his, that he was shooting blanks, as they say, but I was wrong. It was me. I was not fertile. I told him that night, in the hotel room. He was broken up, crying for a while, then he left the room and I didn't see him until the next day.”
She stopped for a moment. Then went on, looking right at me, right into my eyes.
“We didn't have much sex after that, maybe three or four times before he died, and I ain't been with no one since he passed,” Alice said. “Have you started having sex yet?”
“Uhh... what?”
“You can be honest with me, I won't tell your folks, if that's what you're worried about.”
“Umm, well, yeah, I've done it a few times.”
“I bet you have.” She smiled and touched my arm. “As cute as you are, you know, I always knew you'd end up handsome, ever since you was a boy, I just knew it.”
“Uh, thank you, Alice.”
“Can I get you something to drink, dear? I've got a few of those root beers that you like so much?”
“No, I'm not really --”
“Oh, it's no trouble, I'll get you one.”
She stood up and went to the kitchen.
To be honest, I was nervous, but more like a scared nervous.
She came back and handed me the cold glass bottle of root beer. The top was already screwed off. The top was never screwed off before. She always joked about how old and weak her hands were, how she had trouble with jar lids.
I looked at her, wrinkly smile under her big glasses, her cheeks hanging on. Her eyes had anticipation in them.
“I think I should be going, Alice.” I took a step to the door. “I really got a ton of things to do before I leave on Sunday.”
“No, no, you should stay, finish your root beer, it's awful hot today, probably feel good on your throat.”
“I'd love to, I really would, but I just have so many things to do. Sorry.”
I handed her the bottle. She looked very sad, so sad, let down is how I would describe it. I walked out the door, got into my car, her old car, and drove off.
Now, I can never be sure if she had done something to the root beer, spiked it or slipped me a mickey like in the old movies, but I know this, I sure am glad I never found out.
After that Alice wasn't so kind to me anymore.
*I wrote this story one night. The next day I submitted it. That night they accepted it for publication. That's usually not the way it works.
“Kind Alice” first appeared on Free Flash Fiction.
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