It’s Sunday evening and I’m in the kitchen preparing our regular meal of roast chicken, canned corn, rolls, and salad. The same meal we’ve eaten every Sunday since I was a child. The only difference is now I make the meal instead of my mother. Which I actually don’t mind. I like counting on this meal every Sunday. It’s predictable. I mean who needs variety?
Just like my job. I’ve been working at Bertson’s Grocers for ten years and the job is so easy, some days my shift ends and I don’t even remember what’s happened all day. Like I worked on autopilot or something.
My daily routine at home with my mother is pretty much more of the same, too. And I’m okay with that. I don’t even mind our weekly trips where I drive her around on her errands. What else am I going to do with my spare time anyway?
There is one small change tonight, though. I think grinning to myself. A surprise. Well, not for me, for my mother - I’ve harvested my first vegetable from my garden and was planning on preparing it as a part of our meal.
I initially created the garden as part of a Mother’s Day present. My mother occasionally talked about her family always having a garden when she was little and I thought it might bring back some nice memories. So, I got up early on Mother’s Day and worked for hours creating a small garden in the backyard with handwritten labels on popsicle sticks.
I was so excited to present it to her — unfortunately, it didn’t go over very well. When she saw the garden she complained that it made us look like some poverty-stricken immigrants who couldn’t afford to buy tomatoes (swing and a miss).
Even though the gift didn’t land well, I decided to keep the garden anyway. I put a couple of bushes along the southern end of the garden to hide it from my mother’s gaze. I guess I should have just replaced the grass and been done with it, but it felt so good creating something and I couldn’t bear to destroy it. Besides, mother never went in the backyard, so she eventually forgot all about it.
But, now I have green beans to show for my efforts. Maybe ten are a bit short of a harvest, but it’s something, and I can’t help but imagine my mother impressed.
I think about her reaction as I excitedly run the can opener along the edge of a can of corn (maybe she’ll be so happy she’ll want me to grow corn next). Afterall, she’s the one who said I need to find a hobby that will make me more appealing to men. I think growing your own food, which is a money saver, should qualify for this.
As I crank the can opener, my right knuckle catches the lid of the can of corn, cutting me. I examine my knuckle, now bleeding, set the can down and head for the bathroom for a band aid.
The kitchen phone starts ringing causing me to abandon my plan and turn back to answer it.
“The phone’s ringing, Ruby! Hurry up, they’re going to hang up.” my mother screams from the living room. I grab the receiver just as her words end and utter a hurried hello.
“Hello, “ a male voice responds. “Yes, how can I help you?” I said briskly certain it’s a telemarketer.
The caller clears his throat, “May I...yes is.. May I speak to Ms. Ruby Slipper's?” (wow, they’re actually asking for me for once).
“This is Ruby Slippers?” I say disinterested as I access my cut knuckle.
The caller clears his throat again, “Yes, this is Stanley Foster, my mother gave me your number. She said you would be expecting my call to a lunch…the caller stammers…I mean to go to lunch” (What? Did he just say go to lunch?)
My heartbeat begins to quicken. Okay, this must be a wrong number. I think to myself. But he said my name?
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Yes, my mother is friends with your mother and she told me to call your lunch…he clears his throat...I mean to ask you to go to lunch.”
I can hear a woman’s voice in the background yelling, “Tell her we met at the Yarn Barn”.
The Yarn Barn? I didn’t meet anybody at the Yarn Barn? I whisper to myself then look up to see my mother heading my way, red faced and angry.
“Ruby, you're going to ruin everything” she snaps at me under her breath, “What are you doing? Just say yes and hang up”.
I stand frozen as she closes in on me, then grabs the phone and puts it to her ear.
“Hello Stanley, this is Ruby’s mother, Mrs. Slippers. How are you today?…pause…Well, that’s nice. Listen, Ruby had to step away from the phone for a minute. She’s in the middle of making dinner. She’s such a wonderful cook”…another pause…Tell your mother I said hi and I’ll call her later. Okay, Here’s Ruby.”
My mother puts her hand over the receiver then whispers, “Now take the phone, say yes, and hang up before you screw this up any further.” then she shoves the phone back in my hand.
I raise the receiver to my ear, as my hand shakes. “Hello?” I whisper barely audible. “Hello, Ruby? The male voice responds, then adds a feeble “So, would you like to go to lunch this Saturday?” I glimpse at my mother who looks as though she’s ready to punch me “Yes,” I utter in response. “Oh, okay, so I’ll meet you at the Bread Basket at noon” He responds sounding a bit surprised. “Goodbye then”
“Bye,” I say to the dial tone, then hang up the receiver in shock.
“What on God’s green earth was that?” Mother shrieks “You almost blew it!”
I stare at her, unable to speak.
“Do you know what Florence and I had to go through to bring this about? Honestly, do you even want to have something good happen in your life?” Then she softens and sings with a smile, “So, when is he taking you on your date?”
Her words shake me from my fog, ”Date?”
“Yes, Ruby, when are you going out with him?” My mother snaps back.
“I, uh, The Bread Basket. I’m meeting him there on Saturday for lunch,” I respond in disbelief.
“The Bread Basket? Well, I guess that’s okay for a start” she replies, then smiles and turns heading back to the living room humming a song under her breath.
I wander from the kitchen, head-spinning and move in the direction of the staircase, then grab the banister and make my way up the stairs, knees wobbling. As I reach the landing I hear my mother’s voice shout from below, “Ruby, what about dinner? I’m getting hungry. I haven’t eaten since lunch, you know.”
“I’ll be right back”, my voice squeaks in response as I make my way to the bathroom, then slowly shut the door behind me.
I lean my hands on the bathroom counter and look at myself in the mirror (what just happened?). My hands are shaking so bad I clasp them together in front of me to try and still them. Looking down I notice the small cut on my right knuckle has stopped bleeding.
I reach for the faucet, turn it, fill my hands with water, and splash my face. Then I sit down on the toilet seat and attempt to replay the phone call in my head, but I can’t remember anything other than — the Bread Basket, Saturday, at noon.
The room starts to spin as thoughts of meeting a strange man in a few days form in my mind.
I’ve got to get out of this. I can’t go on to lunch with someone I don’t know, specifically a man. I don’t have a clue what to do in a situation like that.
My mother’s voice rises up the stairs causing me to jump, “Ruby, I’m starving, where’s my dinner?”
But if I cancel my mother will kill me, literally, I believe.
I attempt to stand up, knowing I have about 10 seconds before another demand rises up the stairs. My legs appear to be functioning again so I head out of the bathroom and toward the staircase grasping the railing to steady myself.
Slowly, I make my way down the stairs as a thought begins to seep into the recesses of my mind - an unexpectedly pleasant thought.
Reaching the landing I head toward the kitchen immersed in this lovely new thought. Passing my mother, sitting in the living room, I hear her mumble something, but I don’t take it in because I’m transfixed by this new thought.
I make my way into the kitchen and over to the can of corn, then begin cranking the lid with the can opener again, picking up where I left off a short while ago.
It’s as though nothing has changed, but something has changed, something big. And, the thought of it causes a small smile to grow on my face and a warm tingling sensation to spread throughout my body.
I, Ruby Slippers, have a date.
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