For years, I stumbled in company like a strap-hanger in the subway trying to keep my balance as the train sped along to its next stop. I wanted to discover how people knew what to say, moving effortlessly from one topic to the next. I failed. The best I could do was to map every inch of the vacant lot. It was my playground, a hobby shop of garbage, a botanic of wild flowers. It was where I spent most of my time.
I knew where clover and chicory grew during summer and where to find the deepest snow drifts during winter. I gauged my growth by how far I was allowed to roam.
I always liked escaping to the lot and sitting on the wall along the backyard that served as a collection point for garbage, but mostly broken glass with an occasional unspeakable thing in a paper bag that none of us would go near. I sat on the stonewall that faced out to the lot where in autumn, I could feel the coolness of the stones from the wall press through my clothing against my thighs.
The lot was two blocks long with a pavement on one side. When I went to school, I walked along that street every day. It was slate smooth and perfect for roller-skating. When it rained, I was careful not to squish earthworms. At the end of the sidewalk was a white house. Dozens of cats fed from broken dishes on its steps. Since my sisters were much older than I, I was left alone most of the time with my imagination. One late afternoon in winter when the sun struggled to make a showing, I met the women who lived there. They sat on the stoop, cats curled inside their laps.
“Do you think it will rain?” asked the first woman of no one in particular, as she emptied a can of what smelled like tuna fish into a soup plate.
“No,” said the second woman. “I’ll bet a case of cat food it don’t rain.”
The third woman said, “Lookie, girls. We’ve got company.”
“Oh, goodie,” said the first woman. “I’ve wanted to introduce Bartholomew to a new friend. Mew, this is…What’d you say your name was, honey?”
“Linda.”
“Bartholomew, this is Linda and she lives…Where’d you say you lived, honey?”
“Right down the street.”
“And she lives right around the corner,” said the first woman shoving Bartholomew’s nose into a soup plate. “He don’t talk much,” she said, “but he’s real friendly.”
“Maggie, you haven’t introduced us to your friend.”
“Linda, this is Mildred the Mop Woman because of her mop of hair and the one with a big mouth is Janet. My name is Cynthia, but people call me Maggie.” All three women stood up and curtsied. “Would you like a beer?”
“No thanks. I’m not allowed.”
“Did you hear that, Mildred? She’s not allowed. That’s cute.” All three women laughed so hard the cats jumped off their laps. “So what’re you allowed to do?”
“I bet she even has to ask permission to go to the bathroom,” said Big Mouth.
I only asked permission in school, I told them, and pet the cat.
“I found Mew when he was little,” said Mop Woman.
“You found Mew!” said Maggie. “Now don’t start that up again. You know very well who tucked him up in a cardboard box with newspaper and brought him home.”
Mop Woman said, “Listen, Maggie. You may be three years older than me but you’re not any smarter. I’m the one who found Bartholomew. It was when we went to the paint store and the painter’s son said he had some kittens in the back.” She asked me, “What games do you know how to play?”
“I know how to play Hopscotch, Jump Rope, Marbles, Baseball Cards, Johnny-on-the-Pony, Freeze Tag, Red-light-Green-Light…”
“We don’t play any of those kinds of games. We’re too old.” They all looked at each other. “Let’s play Why the Lilacs Smell So Sweet.”
“Janet, anyone can see she’s too small for that,” said the Mop Woman. “She’ll never be able to reach. She’s too small.” She stopped for a second, and fed the cats some more. “Why don’t you stay here. We can play games together and I’ll buy you a sparkly ring for your finger. Come sit next to me.” She moved over and made room on the stoop.
I felt an upheaval in my stomach like sitting on the top seat of the Tilt-a-Whirl that visited our block every summer. “I have to go now.”
“So soon?” said Mop Woman. “We’ve got lots more cats inside the house. Don’t you want to come inside and see them?”
–to be continued
I think the house you are referring to was up the street from us and we always spoke of the people who lived there were strange and witches. Do you remember that. I often dream of the lot and in those dreams we would plant seeds near our building. Also hiding from the bad neighborhood kids on the hillside.
Yes, that’s the house! There were always dishes left out for cats. I remember it always\ys smelling badly when I walked to school. Interesting dreams!
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