Excerpt: Enough to Go Around

It shouldn’t take a catastrophe, thought Anna Sopko. She hoisted herself up out of her sagging, old, floral print couch and shuffled over to switch off the as-old TV set. She had been watching a news broadcast about an apartment building fire that happened in her area, due to a defective heater shorting out. The residents commented that all their belongings had been destroyed, but at least they still had their loved ones.
Yes, Anna thought, they know what is important in life. But it shouldn’t take a catastrophe to figure that out. Not when life goes by so quickly.
She walked down the dim hallway to her bedroom. She padded along, her slippered feet sinking into her brown shag carpeting. She remembered picking it out as the three-bedroom house was being built in 1973.
But I moved a lot quicker then, even in the middle of winter.
She stopped at the door to her room, trying to recall what it was she had been going in there for, then shook her head in disbelief as she remembered – the laundry. Anna had lately been plagued by episodes of forgetfulness – forgetting her phone number when asked, forgetting to turn off the oven, and sometimes, which deeply concerned her three children, forgetting to eat. She passed it off as “just getting old,” but it bothered her too, more than she wanted to admit.
Michael did this before he died, Anna thought. He would go to the door and just stand there, not only forgetting what he had come for, but where he was. They call it Alzheimer’s now, but back then they said he was senile. I must be going senile now, too. I’m as old as he was. But I don’t go out for a walk around the block and tell the police officer who finds me that I’m going home. Home to Czechoslovakia.
Anna sighed, more from exertion than emotion. She struggled slightly with her laundry basket as she began walking to the garage, where the washer and drier were located. Recently her son Peter had again tried to get her to agree to let someone come in to do the housekeeping, and she again refused. But now as she trudged down the hallway, she began to realize that he was probably right. But it was happening so quickly! Wasn’t it just a couple of months ago that she went camping in Yosemite with her daughter Anya and her family? Or was that the summer before?
She set the laundry basket down on the floor of the kitchen and opened the door to the garage. The cold darkness of the garage was almost foreboding. She pushed the basket with her foot toward the washing machine, visible from the pale daylight streaming in through the ground-level wall vents. She glanced around the two-car garage as her eyes adjusted to the low light. Her eyes roamed over stacks of boxes filled with musty clothing, books, magazines, her husband’s unfinished woodworking projects, children’s and grandchildren’s toys, once-used exercise equipment, and God knew what else. No car. That had been sold two years before when she reluctantly admitted that her reflexes were probably no longer quick enough for driving.
I used to be so independent; now someone has to drive me to do my grocery shopping. I don’t want to be like Michael’s mother, bothersome, taking up space and time in my children’s home. They finally get their children in college, and I come along so they can take care of me, when they want to finally go on a cruise. How bad will it get? How soon? Will they have to help bathe me like I had to do for Michael?
A lump formed in her throat as she remembered caring for her husband before his death eight years earlier, watching him deteriorate more each day. She could feel the creaking of his bones as she helped him to get in and out of the tub. Sometimes, he was like a little boy as he sat there and whined when soap got in his eyes. Sometimes he cried, but not from the soap. And she cried with him.
She poured too much soap into the washing machine, and then she realized that there was already a load of clothes in there, ready to be transferred to the dryer.
“Dammit.”
Since she could pull the clothes out easily, she figured they hadn’t been sitting there too long. Piece by piece, she shook the powdered soap off onto the cement floor, then put the clothes in the dryer.
Her mind flashed back to her girlhood, when she would shake out the wet clothing before hanging it out to dry. Being the eldest daughter, her days were filled with many household duties necessary for running the small farm that her family had in Czechoslovakia. She smiled, proudly remembering how strong she had been, how responsible. She did all the cooking, cleaning, milking, everything.
Mother was so angry when I said I wanted to go to America!
Anna added the right amount of soap and put the clothes in to be washed. She started both the washer and dryer, and then she went back into the house. She was standing in the kitchen deciding if she should eat something when she heard a thump which seemed to come from her bedroom, like something had been knocked over. She could hear rustling sounds; someone was definitely in her bedroom.
Peter? No, he’s not off work yet. Marya? She would still be at work too. Anya always calls first.
She felt clammy as she realized that it was not one of her children. She stood in the hallway, transfixed in front of her bedroom, with no thought of what to do.
God protect me!
Anna never really looked at the young man. She felt herself go numb as his form appeared in front of her, front to front, toe to toe as he stopped short, startled for a second. He didn’t seem very tall, but even someone shorter than herself would have alarmed her, terrified her as much.
He took a small step back, but Anna didn’t notice. She couldn’t yell, couldn’t say anything with her tongue thick and cold, her entire body frozen, unaware of her heart thumping fanatically.
Scream, why don’t you?! Help! Oh, God!
She managed a mere gasp as the young unidentifiable man in a low-brimmed baseball cap yelled, “Get out of the way!” He clamped his free hand on her shoulder and shoved her down to the floor. Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the carpet, coming down hard on her right hip. A shooting pain sped through the right side of her body, up to her shoulder, down to hit her elbow, and then spread to the tips of her fingers.
Anna grimaced and moaned slightly, then opened her eyes to see the young man’s back – his blue jeans and black T-shirt – as he opened the front door and slung a black canvas backpack over his shoulder. He ran out, leaving the door wide open. Sunlight poured in through the door, almost reaching the hallway where Anna, her body heaving with gasping sobs, was lying.
Oh, God, he will come back! I tried not to look at him so he would think I couldn’t remember what he looked like, but he left the door open so he could come back to kill me! Oh, God, why now when I am too old to defend myself?! I’ve lived in this country over sixty years! Sixty years and nothing like this happened before! I lived in New York for fifteen years and Los Angeles for forty-seven years! Forty-seven years and I’ve never been robbed! Now, when I can’t run, can’t scream, can’t fight back, now I get robbed.
As she cried, she tried to keep herself from reaching hysteria. Her legs felt rubbery and shaky so she began to crawl out of the hallway. She wanted to close the front door – bolt it – her one protection from another attack, but the phone was closer.
Peter! I have to call Peter!
She sat up a little with her legs bent under her, picked up the receiver, and punched the number four button on the memory-dial phone her son had bought for her and shown her how to use. Her gasping had subsided somewhat.
“Peter . . . Peter . . .”
“Ma! Ma! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“You come quick. Someone robbed me . . . he - ”
“You were robbed? Are you hurt?!”
“I’m okay, but I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. He was in the house, and - ”
“He was in the house?! Is he gone now?”
“Yes, but I’m scared, Peter. Will you come?”
“Yes, of course, Ma. I’ll be right there. You get out of the house and go to the neighbor’s. I’ll be right there, okay?”
“Okay, Peter. Please hurry!”
Anna felt the sobs coming on again as she struggled to hang up the phone. She collapsed, slumping between the couch and the coffee table. The last thing she remembered was hearing a truck rumble past her home.
Fifteen minutes later she jolted back to consciousness as she became aware of her son lifting her and saying, “Ma, ma – it’s Peter. Are you all right? Let’s get you up here on the couch. Ma? Can you hear me?”
“Oh, Peter. Thank God you’re here. I was afraid he was going to come back.” She trembled as her son lifted her from the floor to the couch.
“I thought he did when I arrived and saw that the door was wide open and you were on the floor! Why didn’t you go to the neighbor’s?”
“I just . . . couldn’t . . . move, Peter. I was so scared!” Anna grimaced and put her face in her hands as she cried.
Peter sat down next to her and put his arm around her. “I know, Ma. It’s okay now. It was a very scary thing to happen, but it’s over now.”
Her sobbing continued as she tried to speak. “We lived here forty-seven years and nothing like this happened before! You were just a little boy when we moved here, and no one in our family ever had this happen before!”
“I know, Ma. We were very fortunate. But now, we’ll just install bars on the windows and some other security - ”
“It doesn’t matter! It could happen anywhere! Not just in the house – on the street, in my own neighborhood!” Anna realized she must be sounding hysterical.
“Ma, Ma, tell me what happened. Just start with that and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay, I’m sorry . . . it’s just, when I think of what could have happened . . . ” she cried, not able to let go of the fear that still filled her.
“But it didn’t, Ma, it didn’t. Just . . . take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Come on, breathe with me now.” Peter took her hands, looked into her eyes, and guided her through a calming breath. Anna looked at the concerned face of her middle child, round and smooth like her husband’s had been when he was younger. Peter also had his father’s deep, soulful gray eyes and bald head. In fact, he looked so much like Michael that she let herself believe for an instant that it was her husband holding her, soothing her. That he was there and he was not senile; he was strong and he was looking into her brown eyes. Just for one cherished moment. Yes, Michael, I feel better now.
“Okay,” Anna said, blinking at Peter. “Well, I was in the garage doing laundry, and I came back into the house and I stood in the kitchen and I heard noises coming from my bedroom.”
“What kind of noises?”
“Like someone moving around in there. Drawers opening and shutting, clothes rustling, like a box on my dresser falling down.”
“Mm-hmm. Then what?”
“I started to walk down the hall and then all of a sudden he was right in front of me, and . . . he . . . ” Her voice halted.
“It’s okay, Ma. Just tell me.”
“He said, ‘Get out of the way,’ and he pushed me down and ran out the door and left it open. And then I was too scared to get up and shut it, so I crawled to the phone and called you.”
“Okay. So you haven’t been in the room yet?”
“No, I just stayed where you found me.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to go have a look. You just sit here; I’ll get you some water.” Peter walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of water from a pitcher in the refrigerator. He took a sip as he walked back to his mother and handed her the glass. Then he headed down the hallway toward her bedroom.
Anna heard Peter stop as he reached the entrance to her room. Oh, what did that worthless bum take? she wondered.
“Well, Ma,” she heard Peter call out. “I’m trying not to touch anything, in case the police want to get fingerprints. But it looks like he went through your jewelry box, and some clothes are on the floor in front of the closet. I think he took your old mink stole. And it looks like a lot of jewelry. I don’t remember all that you had, but I don’t see the ruby set – the ring, necklace, and earrings. Did you happen to see anything he took with him?”
Peter asked the question as he walked back from the bedroom. Anna noticed that his coat and tie were on, and she hoped she hadn’t disturbed him at work. If I were younger I could have handled this myself. I would have known what to do.
“No, Peter. All I saw was a black backpack he put over his shoulder. It looked like it had stuff in it. He was white. He had a baseball cap on. I think he had brown hair.”
“About how tall was he?”
“I guess about as tall as you.”
“Well, I’m 5’9”. Is that about what he was?”
“I don’t know, Peter; it happened so fast. He was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt, I think. And that’s all I remember . . . ” Her voice trailed off as she remembered opening the presents Christmas morning in 1938. She had treasured her mink stole for almost fifty years. Michael had saved his paltry factory worker earnings to buy it for her. She had worn it every Christmas, every anniversary, including their fiftieth, just a year before he died.
“He had no right to take it,” she mumbled, tears pooling in her eyes.
Peter, standing by the phone, hadn’t heard. “Okay, Ma, I think we’ve got enough to start off with. I’ll call the police now.”
She heard him flip through the pages of the phonebook, then pick up the receiver and dial out. “Hello. I have a burglary to report . . . ”
Anna leaned over to set her water glass on the coffee table. She began to wring her hands and bit the inside of her bottom lip. The buzzer went off inside the garage, signaling that the clothes were finished in the dryer. Anna glanced at the door leading to the garage as the buzzer stopped.
“He had no right to take it,” she whispered.