The Simplest Thing in the World

“So, Miss Kay,” he added emphasis to this, obviously trying to mock me from my encounter with Mrs. Geiger. “How was your first day at St. Clair?”

“Horrible.” I told him. “I was pushed into a locker at least five times. They dumped chocolate milk on my head, and none of the girls would play with me at recess because they were intimidated my good looks.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” He muttered.

“What?” I asked.

“What?”

“What did you say?”

He turned a corner suddenly, causing me almost to crash into another person.
Mumbling my apologies to the stranger, I prodded him again.

“I didn’t say anything. Do you like television?”

I narrowed my eyes, “Um…yes?”

He threw his head back slightly, throwing in a little laugh, “Duh, Charlie. That was a stupid question. You’re American. American’s love television.”

I scoffed, “Hey. That’s a stereotype. Do all British people sit around drinking tea and eating crumpets all day?”

He turned to look at me with a serious look now on his face, “Yes, actually, we do.”

“Liar.” I looked down at the sidewalk, trying to hide the small smile spreading across my face.

Suddenly, Charlie had grabbed me by my shoulders preventing me from taking another step. Looking up, I could see a horrible look upon his face. He pointed down at my feet.

“You. Almost. Stepped. On. A. Crack.”

“Is that against British law?”

He sputtered. “Of course not. That’s silly, Celia. Haha, Silly Celia. I like that…” he mumbled before composing himself again. “Everybody knows that if you step on a crack you break your grandmother’s back.”

“Actually, I think the correct phrase is ‘break your mama’s back’.”

Charlie looked down at me with a very confused expression.

“’Mama’s back?’ Come on, Celia. That is utterly ridiculous. The correct phrase is grandmother’s back.”

The other pedestrians occupying the sidewalk were beginning to give us dirty looks while trying to get around us.

“…well…in that case,” I said softly, taking his hands off of me.

I lifted my foot up and stomped it down upon the crack in the cement. And again. And again. I was practically playing jump rope. I continued for a minute, picturing Ruth going through my suitcase the night before. Meanwhile, Charlie stood off there with his mouth open.

“Why do you hate your gran?”

“I have my reasons.”

He contemplated this and the next thing I knew he was laughing along beside me and breaking his grandmother’s back.

When we finally finished our sidewalk stomping, we resumed our journey home. Soon after, Charlie came to a stop, declaring his residence.

“Welp, this is me. Your place is going to be just down the road. Keep walking straight for two more blocks and take a left, and voila!”

I nodded, “Alright. See you later then, I guess.” I started walking away when he called out.

“Wait! Celia! My television question. I asked it for a reason. Would you like to come in? Hang out? Watch the telly?”

“Um…I should probably get home. But, maybe some other time?”

He shortened the distance between us, taking his phone out.

“I’m holding you to that.” He handed me his phone, the screen showing me a “new contact” page.

I smirked, “What if I don’t want to give you my number?”

“Then, I shall take it by force.” He smiled. “And let me see your phone, woman.”

With a sigh, I held it out to him. After a few moments of typing on both sides, we began parting ways, and I waved goodbye.

“This better not be a fake number!” He shouted as I walked.

I turned around briefly to yell back, “Dang it! Fake number! Why didn’t I think of that?!”

He laughed and pranced up the steps to his building. He had a nice laugh, I thought to myself as I turned the corner and made my way to a home that wasn’t and never would be mine.

Charlie was right. He really didn’t live far from me, taking me about two minutes walking distance between our buildings. As I hit the third floor of Harold’s building, I almost ran smack dab into Meredith.

“Oh, Celia!” She grabbed at her throat in the sudden scare. “You gave me a fright! I was just headed over to your place.”

She stood for a moment, waiting for me to reply, which I wouldn’t be doing. There was the sound of a door closing, and Meredith smiled, reaching behind her.

“Celia, this is my daughter Rosemary.”

A small girl stepped out from behind her. Her hair was very blond and her features soft and pleasant, the sort of face that just made you want to open up and spill your deepest secrets. She dressed very plainly, but very elegantly at the same time, a simple blue skirt, and light pink cardigan. She smiled.

“Hello.”

“Uh, hi.” I could see this girl would make a nice friend, but at the same time she would never replace Zooey. “It’s nice to meet you, Rosemary.”

Meredith’s face lit up, obviously happy that we were talking.

“Well, shall we all go in?” She suggested.

I shrugged and opened up the door to Harold’s apartment. He stood at stove, cooking. Again. This man seemed to love cooking. Ruth sat on the couch looking as grumpy as ever. She looked like she just woke up from a nap. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and headed for my room. Not long after, Rosemary came in, after knocking of course.

“Hi,” she said sweetly. “Is it alright if I hang out here with you?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to be out there.”

She smiled and sat down on the edge of my bed, “Oh, they’re not so bad. You’ll grow to like them.”

I shrugged. “Harold maybe, but Ruth….no.”

“She’ll warm up to you. The Alzheimer’s makes her suspicious of new people sometimes.”

I liked Rosemary enough, but I was a little jealous that she seemed to know my grandparents better than me. I should be the one telling her about them.
She watched me work around the room for a few minutes. I was mindlessly settling into the room, finally. I put my clothes in the closet and drawers and books on the bookshelf, etc.
Then, in the most casual voice ever, Rosemary asked the question I had for the most part not had to deal with yet. I was still slightly (or way more than slightly) shocked no one had mentioned it at school. My scar.

“So, what happened here?” She motioned toward her own jaw, making a slicing motion. For such a sweet girl, she sure did not candy coat things.

“I…uh,” I sputtered. “Car accident. The one that killed my parents.” Like I said, she had one of those “spill it” faces. I couldn’t believe I told her the truth so easily. No tears, no choke ups. Just the facts.

“Oh…” her began to fall like everyone’s does eventually. “I’m so sorry.”

I smiled, “I like your name.” Changing the subject. Good one, Celia. “It’s really pretty.”

The girl shifted uncomfortably whether from the subject change or the mention of her name.

“Thank you.” A slight smile. “It’s a little embarrassing actually. Although in the name game of my family, I got the Golden Ticket.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked, straightening some stray pencils on my desk.

“Well…my mom is a big Simon and Garfunkel fan…I have three siblings. An older sister, an older brother, and younger sister.”

“So?” I questioned.

She sighed and a blush began forming on her cheeks.

“Their names are Parsley, Sage, and Thyme.”

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You know…” she said sheepishly.

I shook my head. I didn’t understand. I mean I suppose they were unusual names, but…

“Parsely, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme? The song? Scarborough Fair?”

I shook my head again. “Sorry, I don’t know it.”

She smiled, “Really? That makes me like you even more.”