Don't Let the Screen Door Slam, by Shmal Ellenberg

Bob Sh’mal Ellenberg

34 Zaun Trail

Palm Coast, Fl. 32164

352-256-9279

word count 3795

This story: I probably worked on more than any other. I wrote it orignally ten years ago. I'm not great with grammer and really need a editor, but for now, this is what I do.   

DON’T LET THE SCREEN DOOR SLAM

            Robin was with her father who had just died. He was in his bed when the front tire on my bicycle blew out right in front of their house. Since it was the only house for a long way on the sandy country road I walked through the open gate, up onto the porch and knocked on the door to see if there was a telephone I could use to call some one to come get me. It wasn’t like me, but I had forgotten my tire pump and cell phone.

            Later, Robin told me, that when she heard the door knock, at that exact moment, she was staring at her father lying in bed with his eyes open. She said she wasn’t sure if she should close his eyes, or leave them alone. She told me how she began to reach down to close her father’s eyes, but on an impulse, turned away and went to answer the door knock first.

             When Robin opened the door, I could see the ashen complexion of her skin and the surprise on her face as she saw a stranger standing in the doorway behind the screen door. 

            Robin’s eyes gazed the man. She took in his long, wavy, white hair that came down to his neck, his white, trimmed, thick mustache. She felt he looked very handsome with broad shoulders, strong, under a gray, dusty tee shirt out of his pants.

            She spoke to me, softly, through the screen door; in her voice, I sensed a bit of bewilderment and hesitancy. “Can I help you,” she finally asked?

            I told her, with my own hesitancy, since I sensed something was going on. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know what else to do. The tire on my bike just blew out right in front of your house and I need to call a friend. This never happened before, but I forget my cell phone and tire pump.”

            Robin stumbled on her words a bit to explain what had happened to her, but finally, in a soft, cracked, surprised, voice, she said to me, “my father just now died.”

            I was taken aback and felt a bit embarrassed. I moved away from the door. “Oh, jeez, excuse me, I’m terribly sorry.” I hesitated not sure what to do. “Maybe I should go to a neighbor?”

             “There aren’t any neighbors for a distance.  I guess you can use our phone.”  

            “Are you sure,” I asked, “maybe you want to be alone with your father?” It was an awkward moment; neither of us sure what to do. 

             We stood for a few beats as we looked at each other through the screen door, and instead of doing or saying anything Robin unlatched the screen door, and pushed it open. I stepped away, as she walked out onto the open porch. She sat down on one of the deep, wicker chairs with soft looking pillows. She took a deep breath. “I think I need to wait a few minutes and think what I need to do. We, my brother and me, knew he was going to die soon, and dad too, but we didn’t make any arrangements with a funeral home. Is that odd?” 

            “Do you mind if I sit down?”

            “No. No, that’s fine. I have to get myself together.” She smiled lightly. “You look safe. Please sit with me.”           

            I sat down in another wicker chair and looked self-consciously out into the forest across the road from where my bike leaned on the picket fence.

            We were both quiet for a few moments. Then she said, “I don’t know why I’m going to tell you this, but I saw a titmouse this morning on the porch rail fluttering its wings, singing away, like it was telling me something.”

            I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, considering, but it’s not my nature to keep unsaid what’s in my mind, “ah, maybe something about your dad.”

            “Yeah. When I came out on the porch just now, that briefly crossed my mind. Do you think that could be?”

            “I only have a slight understanding of what communication can go on between species. But that’s interesting about the titmouse. I just saw a whole flock of robins. There must have been hundreds of them in and around a huge, live oak tree down the road a ways; the one near the big curve. Odd, huh, one titmouse and a flock of robins.”        

            Then she smiled and introduced herself as Robin.

         “Ah, interesting again. I’m William. I’m not sure why or how things happen, but since I’m here, maybe I can be of some help to you. My mother died recently and I had to call a funeral home to come get her.” I told her the name of the funeral home, but I could see she didn’t hear me; her mind was someplace else. 

             “Do you want to call someone to come get you?”

              “No, my call can wait. Your call is more important.”

             “I do need to call my brother first. He lives on the other side of the hill not far from that big oak tree where you saw the robins. I need to tell him about dad. He’ll come over and know what to do.”

            “That sounds like the right first step. You do your thing. I’ll wait.” 

            As she went inside, she held the screen door so it didn’t slam. I rolled a cigarette, stepped off the porch and walked a few steps away from the house to have a smoke. I was in some wonderment about her father dying just as my tire blew out where it did. I thought of spiritual teachings I’ve studied and how might it be that even a bicycle tire can be connected with events outside of its own tire-ness. It was so odd that I forgot my pump and cell phone. I almost never leave home  without my phone. I wondered why Robin chose to answer the door when her father had just died. I thought that was strange. Maybe she wondered that too.  

            When she came back out, she held the screen door with the back of her bare foot gently let it close; she carried a tray with a bottle on it and two glasses. She set the tray on the table. “My father loved sherry. I don’t drink much, but I thought we should have a toast to celebrate my father’s passing and you being here. It must mean something that you showed up when you did.

            I took a drag of my cigarette and put my foot on the first step of the porch. “Yeah,” I said feeling awkward with the circumstance. “I know what you mean. I had that same thought. Did you call your brother?”

             “He had the engine out of his old Studebaker truck dad gave him years ago and was putting it back in. He said it would take him a little while longer. He’s the one who suggested we have the drink for daddy. He likes sherry too, but said we can begin without him.” She hadn’t sat down yet, but poured the sherry as I took a last drag on my cigarette and dropped it on the ground. I put it out real good, twisting the toe of my shoe, being cautious of the dry pine needles and the forest that surrounded the house. I noticed Robin look down at my ankle as it twisted back and forth. 

            “Did you roll that? You don’t look like a smoker.”

            “Yeah, I did.  I don’t smoke a lot. A couple three a day.”

            I stepped back on the porch and took the glass Robin held out to me. 

            As we both held our glasses, I asked her, “Do you want to make a toast or say something to your father?” 

            “Jesus,” she said, “I never made a toast for anything or anyone.”  

            “Why don’t you think a minute? Take your time. Something about him will come to you. Maybe not, but we can sip with him in mind anyway.”

             I could see her chest breathing heavily, her eyes misty from held back tears, as she looked into the forest she and her father must know so well. She turned to me then looked into the sherry glass. She raised her face and closed her eyes. “Mister, this is the most difficult day of my life.” She hesitated, “daddy you are such a wonderful man. I will miss you so much. You are a good father, husband, human being, and I will always remember you that way. May you be at peace; I will always love you.”

             She stopped and looked at me and raised her glass. Tears were now flowing down her cheeks. I right away felt sympathy for her and my eyes began to tear also. We looked into each other’s watery eyes, touched glasses and sat down. She slowly raised the sherry to her lips and sipped. Feeling she had made peace with her father, I sipped the sherry and held the glass on my thigh, while she set hers on the wicker table between us. We were quiet. The forest was alive with sounds. We both listened, thinking our own thoughts about what was happening. 

             “I know I’m not showing it, but this is really difficult for me.” 

             “I’m sure it is. I’m a stranger, and for whatever the reason, I’m here. If you want to talk about anything at all, I’m a good listener.” It was a special time, me showing up, and I wanted to offer her something. I watched a glittering stream of late day sun that shone through the trees and lit on her pale face. It flickered through the leaves into her eyes. She blinked her eyes at the sun stream, tears on her cheeks, as she turned her head slightly. As the branches swayed with the evening breeze I watched the sunbeams change places, now on her rose-blond hair that dropped loosely onto her shoulders. My eyes moved from her hair to the lines of her neck, to the hollow of her throat, her collarbones, and below, where I knew there was warmth and softness. I brought my eyes back up to her face, wondering if she caught the drift of my eyes.

            “William, you have a gentle spirit about you. I feel that’s why you’re here now. I’m not sure what I want to say.” 

            “We can sit here. You don’t have to say anything.” 

            “I know,” she said with sadness in her voice — a soft, drawn out acceptance of what was.

            We were both quiet for a few moments. She looked into my eyes then looked away. It was then that she told me about being with her dad and how uncertain she was about whether to close his eyes when she heard me knock at the door. “I surprised myself that I got up and left him and came to the door.”

            I hesitated, unsure what to say, but wanted to give her support for her decision. “I believe there are energies in us, maybe even from outside of us, that move us for reasons that are beyond our understanding.” 

            Robin smiled and chuckled a bit, “Yeah, tell me.”

             I looked out into the trees. I enjoyed the freshness of the early evening, cool, country, air. My thoughts flashed to her father inside, his eyes still open; my tire that went flat. “I like the quiet. That’s why I took the bike ride on this road into the forest. The forests are my favorite place. I lived my youth and most of my life in cities, but there was always something in me that never felt it was my place. When I was around forty, I took a trip into the forests of North Carolina and my life changed. I found my home — and myself I guess. I was a carpenter up until then, but when I came home I took a few photography classes and became a photographer. Never thought of doing that early on, but seeing the natural world changed something in me. I wanted to take pictures of that beauty. I love to take pictures so people who can’t get out to see the natural beauty of life can see it in the pictures I take. I knew I could never really do that, but that’s what I like doing.” I was quiet for a moment asking myself, why was I talking, her father just died? 

            “I’m sorry. I’m talking too much. These are your moments. I have a camera on my bicycle. It’s in a pack on my bike. I took pictures of the robins, as a reminder.” I looked into Robin’s eyes, “now they have more meaning.”

            “You left it there,” she asked surprised? 

            “I usually don’t, but something about this place made me feel safe, even though my tire popped.” 

            “Maybe you sensed the peacefulness that surrounded my father.  Maybe your tire popped because my father died. I don’t know what to think about death being inside there: In my house that way. I’m not angry that death came here. I believe it’s around all the time. It stops where it must and does what it must. I think that death is mixed in with life and sometimes death dominates the space, but mostly life does. Daddy was actually waiting for death to come. He told me, early in the afternoon, he was going to die today. He was so clear — I thought he was kidding, or teasing me. 93 is old. He was real tired. He didn’t do much with life anymore and was ready. He was in bed most of the time, except he was still able to get up on his own, to use the potty-chair by his bed. He sat with me at the kitchen table eating a little every day and right here where you are. We sat out here almost every day. I felt so proud of his will power to keep doing what he could. He loved nature. That’s why he bought this house.” She stopped talking and looked out at the trees and breathed easy. She wiped tears from her cheek with a napkin she had on the tray. “A few days ago he said he was getting ready. He was. Then you show up. Here’s more sherry. Do you know much about death? Oh, I’m sorry, that’s an odd thing to ask.”             I reached over the white wicker table and held my glass steady as she poured. I didn’t plan to, but as she withdrew her hand with the bottle, my other hand came up and softly touched her hand holding the bottle. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to touch you as a simple sign of comfort.”

            “I know. No, I don’t mind. I like your touch. I think this is amazing that you are here; like some kind of miracle or something. You know what I mean?”

            “Sure I do. Synchronicity is real. It’s true that there are no coincidences.”

            She very softly said, “I know.”

            “Listening to you, I can tell you’ve spent some time considering the transition from this life. I’m not sure if death is really death, or just a change of place and form.” I paused, “I know it’s not so simple. I look for words to express this and understand this life and what follows. At times in my life, I was around people who left their bodies — family mostly — a couple of close friends. I felt a deep connection with that, like I do with life when I take pictures. Seeing death happen, this transition from here to, I don’t know for sure, to another plane, I felt there was nothing to fear about it.”           

             “My daddy used to say that about life,” she filled in, as tears were now freely flowing from her eyes.

            “Yeah, it’s sad that a lot of people have that fear.”

            All of a sudden, like we were done, Robin on an impulse said to me, “I really need to go in and sit with my daddy for a bit. “Excuse me.”  There was an abruptness in her words, maybe not intentional, but it came out that way. She spoke as she got up, not waiting for me to say anything. She poured more sherry in her glass, and took it with her. Then, as if remembering, she held the screen door with her shoulder, turned her head to look at me: “my brother will be here soon. Please, wait for him. He said he wanted to meet you. Oh, your bike tire! I forgot. Harold will help you with it. It feels good that you are here.”

            I stood up, with nothing more to say, as she quickly went inside, quietly closing the screen door.

            I poured myself more sherry and set the glass on the table. As I stepped off the porch I looked through the trees. I could see the bright red sky in the west, as the sun was beginning to move on to another place. The air was still — the forest noises had quieted. I walked down to the gate where I left my bike against the chipped, gray, picket fence. I took the camera out of my pack and set the settings for dusk. I began to take pictures of the colorful, evening sky through the trees. I didn’t want to miss these moments. There was something special about the day and the early evening sky that was upon us. I thought of her father who left this plane so close in time to setting sun.

             As I took pictures, my concentration and the quiet were split by the noise of a vehicle coming down the road. I watched the old truck as it slowly moved on the bumpy, washboard road. The swirling dust from the dried, soft, Florida sand that rose up around the truck. I took a picture of the truck as it neared. It was her brother coming to see his father. He slowed the truck and pulled up along side the fence, parked, and got out.

            “Hey, how ya doin? Sorry about your dad.”  

             “The old coot was not afraid of life and he knew death was coming up on him. I’m Robin’s brother, Harold. She told me your bike broke down right when dad died. Any connection?”

             “Got me on that one. Probably.” We each held out our strong well-worked hands. We held our grip and eye contact longer than men do when they casually meet. “Hey. I’m William. I was out for a ride and things happen the way they do. There’s something behind everything that happens, but who knows what it’s about.”  

             “Not me, that’s for sure.”  

             “Robin’s inside and the sherry’s on the porch table. You’ll have to get a glass.” 

             “I’m going inside for a bit to be with dad. I saw him this morning.” Harold breathed, swallowed hard. There were slight tears that came down his cheek. “I can’t believe it. He told me today was his day. He’s pretty amazing that dad of mine: Knew it was a good day to die. Man, look at that sunset. Saw you with the camera: Photographer, or just for fun? 

             “Make a bit of a living at it, but it’s fun. I’ve been fortunate. Got your engine in quicker then you thought.” 

             “I’m a mechanic, but it went in faster and smoother than any one I ever put back. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it almost went in by it-self. Learned my trade from my dad. He was the best mechanic around. You know, to be honest, I felt he was with me helping the engine go in. He gave it to me years ago after he had it for 20 years. Hey, William, don’t go away, we’ll be out in a bit.” He turned back with a friendly smile. “Oh, with that tire I guess you’re not going anyplace real soon. I’ll leave that bottle on the porch for you and get another one inside. Harold went through the open gate, onto the porch. As he passed the wicker table he picked up the bottle of sherry, but turned back and set it down. I watched him go in as he held the screen door so it didn’t slam. 

             I looked up as I heard the singing of one titmouse fly past me waving its wings. For fun I waved back. I rolled another cigarette and walked back onto the porch where I picked up the glass of cherry and stepped back into the yard away from the house. I lit the cigarette as I watched the last of the suns rays as they continued to change the colors in the sky. I considered my day and all that had happened. I tried to quiet my mind, but it rambled on a bit about how easily Robin and I were able to share of our selves and how she chose to come to the door instead of remaining with her father. I wondered if there was anything mystical about the titmouse on the porch or the robins and how easily Harold put the engine back into the truck and whether I could still help them with the mortuary. I put the cigarette out and walked back onto the porch just as Harold came out. “Hey, William, Robin told me you know of a mortuary. Why don’t you give me the name and I’ll see if they’ll come out this way.”

            “Yeah, I can do that. How are you both doing? I know it wasn’t a shock. You both seemed ready.”

            “Yeah, like I said, he got us ready. Kind of amazing that he knew. I sort of see my dad now as a role model for how to leave this life. I know it doesn’t happen this way all the time, but being ready may make it easier.”

            “You sound like you’ve done some study on this.”

            “Yeah, you’re right. I do like to study life.”

            “We have some things in common. I like that. The name of the mortuary is Livingston and it’s in town. I’m sure they’ll come out and do their thing.”

            “I’ll give them a call.  If you have time why don’t we wait around? Robin enjoyed you being here. She said you should stay for a small meal. She’s working on that now. I’ll find out when the mortuary people can come out, then I’ll give you a ride back to town.”

            “Thanks. That all sounds good.”

            “Hey man, thank you. I’m glad you showed up when you did.”