Driving Blind

“Yes, sweetheart,” came the chorus.

From then on Mr. Coles, Mr. Clements, and Mr. Tiece could be seen mowing lawns, fixing lights, trimming hedges, painting doors, cleaning windows, washing dishes, digging bulbs, watering trees, fertilizing flowers, rushing to work, rushing back, bending, flexing, running, pausing, reaching, busy at a thousand and one tasks with a thousand and one perspirations.

Whereas in Kit Random’s clocks had stopped, flowers died or went insane with abundance. Doorknobs fell off if you tapped them, trees shed their leaves in mid-summer for lack of water; paint flaked from doors, and the electric light-system, burnt out, was replaced with candles rammed in wine jugs: a paradise of neglect, a beautiful chaos.

Somewhere along the line Mrs. Coles, Mrs. Clements and Mrs. Tiece were stunned at the pure unadulterated nerve of Kit Random shoving notes in their mailboxes during the night, inviting them to come by at four next day for poisoned tea.

They absolutely refused.

And went.

Kit Random poured them all the orange pekoe which was her favorite and then sat back, smiling.

“It was nice of you ladies to come,” she said.

The ladies nodded grimly.

“There’s a lot for us to talk about,” she added.

The ladies waited stone-cold, leaning toward the door.

“I feel you don’t understand me at all,” said Kit Random. “I feel I must explain everything.”

They waited.

“I’m a maiden lady with a private income.”

“Looks suspiciously private to me,” observed Mrs. Tiece.

“Suspiciously,” echoed Mrs. Cole.

Mrs. Cleme

nts was about to toss her teabag in the cup when Kit Random uncorked a laugh.

“I can see no matter what I say you’ll add sugar lumps and stir your spoons so loud I can’t be heard.”

“Try us,” said Mrs. Tiece.

Kit Random reached over to pick up a shiny brass tube and twist it.

“What’s that?” asked all three at once and then covered their mouths as if embarrassed not one of them had said anything original.

“One of them toy kaleidoscopes.” Kit Random shut one eye to squint through the odd-colored shards. “Right now I’m examining your gizzards. Know what I find?”

“How could we possibly care?” cried Mrs. Clements. The others nodded at her snappy retort.

“I see a solid potato.” Kit Random fixed the device to X-ray Mrs. Tiece, then moved to the others. “A rutabaga and a nice round turnip. No innards, stomach, spleen, or heart. I’ve listened. No pulse, just solid flesh, fit to burst your corsets. And your tongues? Not connected to your cerebral cortex …”

“Our cerebral what?” cried Mrs. Tiece, offended.

“Cortex. Not as off-color as it sounds. And I’ve made a brave decision. Don’t get up.”

The three women squirmed in their chairs and Kit Random said:

“I’m going to take your husbands, one by one. I’m going to, in the words of the old song, steal their hearts away. Or what’s there if you left any on the plate. I’ve decided that flimsy-whimsy as I am, I’ll be a darn sight better midnight or high-noon companion than all of you in a bunch. Don’t speak, don’t leave. I’m almost done. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Oh, yes, one thing. Love these fine men. But I don’t think it crossed your minds, it’s so long ago. Look at their faces. See how they crush their straw hats down hard over their ears and grind their teeth in their sleep. Heck, I can hear it way over here! And make fists when they walk, with no one to hit. So stand back, don’t even try to interfere. And how will I do it? With cribbage and dead man’s poker, and miniature golf in my garden, I’ll pull flowers to sink par-three holes. Then there’s blackjack, dominoes, checkers, chess, beer and ice cream, hot dogs noons, hamburgers midnights, phonograph moonlight dancing, fresh beds, clean linens, singing in the shower allowed, litter all week, clean up on Sundays, grow a mustache or beard, go barefoot at croquet. When the beer stops, gin stays. Hold on! Sit!”

Kit Random lectured on: