James and Galatians

by Victoria M. Anderson

            One never thinks that life will go awry. One wakes up, engages in the morning routine, is cordial to the spouse and children, pops off to work, spends one fourth of their time in mindless drudgery, meanders home in a zombie-like state, is cordial to the spouse and children, partakes in a meal (ritualistic of course), engages in the evening routine, goes to sleep, repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat, ad nauseum. That is the entirety of the adult human lifespan.

            “Things. Don’t. Go. Awry.” Jane kept repeating this to herself as if it was a mantra. Jane, the dutiful daughter, minding the Diner for her parents. Things don’t go awry. Jane, voted most likely to succeed, her dark and set jaw, always working and reworking math problems for herself and her friends in the high school calculus class. Things. Don’t. Go. Awry. Jane, part-time babysitter, always making time to watch the neighborhood kids; infants her specialty. Things. Don’t. Go. Awry. Jane, tall, statuesque, lean, skin the perfect shade of dark chocolate. Things. Don’t. Go. Awry. Jane, named after her grand mum whose ring she’d worn since her 12th birthday. Things. Don’t. Go. Awry.

            July all started innocuously enough. The Petersons, Madge and Carol, had moved into the neighborhood. They had bought the old Carson place. It had three floors and a belfry, falling apart, rickety and drab. The old Carson place was the one blight on an otherwise pristine tree-lined street. Everyone welcomed the Petersons with open arms. Madge Peterson was a typist. She boasted she could type 107 words per minute. Carol Peterson was a dentist. His practice was in a sleek new building that had air conditioning units in every window. Posh. They had two children, Peggy and David. Mr. Peterson’s constant pronouncement that children should be seen and not heard ensured that they were quiet and obedient. Draconian, yes. But the Peterson’s were clean, something the former occupants, the Carson’s and their brood were not.

           In a very short time, they had transformed the house into something close to godliness. Madge was devout. Such new Testament verve hadn’t been seen in a long time, not since tent revivals and snake handling. With her fervor, Madge dragged Carol to church every Sunday. She insisted on paying Jane double her babysitting fees when Jane babysat as she felt a pang of distress that Jane couldn’t go to church at that time. Madge promised she would pray for Jane’s immortal soul, so that it can be lifted up to heaven. Jane would chuckle and assure her that Wednesday night bible study and Saturday afternoon ministry would ensure her saved soul and her ticket into heaven. Jane minded the Peterson children for ten Sunday’s in a row.

       The first week had the awkward getting to know you phase. The kids’ eyes would dart to and fro with lizard-like rapidity. They would whisper to each other conspiratorially while sequestered in their rooms. The second week uncomfortable blinking; Peggy tugging at her ear and David picking at his clothing. By week four Jane had noticed the children staring off into the ether for endless minutes. They’d jump when she yelled their names, eyes affixed on the interloper. They would blink rapidly, their eyes grew to saucer shape, and then their bodies went rigid. Six weeks in and Jane was sure she was losing at the world’s most immutable game of Hide and Seek. Mrs. Peterson assured her that things were as they should be. By two months, Jane noticed the Peterson children had stopped fidgeting and whispering all together. Were they even breathing? Yet, things don’t go awry. Peggy could go for minutes without blinking. David had a permanent vapid grin on his face. Neither child would move. Mr. Peterson reminded her that children should be seen and not heard. Things don’t go awry. Jane worried as the children didn’t even answer to their names being yelled into their ears while the force of the exhaled syllables made their hair waft. They stopped eating. [Things]. Then the kids stopped blinking. [Don’t]. The kids stopped moving. [Go]. Finally, the Petersons stopped asking Jane to babysit. [Awry].

           Things.

                    Don’t.

                          Go.

                              Awry.

            Autumn started unexceptionally. Jane took an early morning shift at the Diner. She loved the smell of coffee and bacon. The sounds of glasses tinkling, bacon frying, the chit-chat of the punters, and orders being called out filled Jane with energy. Betsy Wilson breathlessly rushed in at about 8 o’clock that morning. Betsy needed Jane to watch wee Rosa as Betsy had been called into the hospital. There had been a crash on the state route that runs just north of town and Betsy was the best trauma nurse in five counties. Jane received baby Rosa and assured the harried mum that all would be well.

           Things.

                    Don’t.

                          Go.

                              Awry.

            By noon, baby Rosa had had enough of the hustle and bustle of the Diner and fell into slumber. Jane sat and pondered. She realized she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Peggy and David Peterson in some time. She hoped the children were doing well in their new school. The after-church crowd meandered in for lunch around one. Jane was surprised to see the Petersons among them. Still holding a now wakeful and cooing Rosa, she approached the Petersons to inquire after their children. Madge and Carol looked up in astonishment. “Well, of course the children are doing just fine.” They smiled. Jane queried as to their whereabouts. At that moment, Rosa gave out a cry and begin to fuss. Carol chuckled softly and wiped his glasses with his handkerchief. Madge tenderly patted Rosa on her legs. Jane cocked her head as the world around her slowed; a fog covered her periphery. Carol and Madge’s soothing voices were whispering. Time seemed to stand still. Rosa stopped fussing. Then, as if woken out of a reverie, Madge squealed and bolted out of the diner to her car.

          Jane turned to Carol and he smiled patiently. He rose from his seat and strolled after his wife. Jane watched anxiously as the Petersons returned to the diner. Each parent was holding a child. A child? They were at the door. Not Peggy and David. Not a child. They walked into the Diner. Porcelain dolls. [Things]. The Petersons sat the dolls down gingerly. “Well,” Madge breathlessly said. “It’s been a tic since you’ve seen the wee ones. Here they are, right as rain.” [Don’t]. “Peggy and David are pure and undefiled,” continued Carol. “See how loving, happy, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled they are? James and Galatians. It’s as it should be with all children.” [Go]. Both Madge and Carol were now staring at baby Rosa. June, horrified, backed away, stumbled over a chair and tried to suppress a scream. Madge deftly caught baby Rosa. Rosa blinked rapidly and her eyes grew to saucer shape as June’s screams reverberated throughout the Diner. [Awry].