Crystal (Orphans 2)

Karl continued his organized, regimented existence throughout his day, always eating at the same hour in the evening, watching his news program, reading his newspapers and his magazines, and going to sleep at exactly ten P.M. every night, even on weekends, unless they had plans for an evening out.

If Thelma indicated she wanted to see a movie, Karl would research the reviews and report to her first, deciding whether or not it was a waste of money. If there was any doubt, he would suggest the matinee show because it was discounted and wasn't as great a risk.

"Balance, Crystal?' he explained. "That's what makes life truly comfortable, maintaining balance. Assets on one side, liabilities on the other. Everything you do, everyone you meet has assets and liabilities. Learn what they are, and you'll know how to proceed?'

He often lectured to me like that, and I listened respectfully, even though many times I thought he was being obsessive about it. Not everything in life could be measured on a profit-and-loss statement, I thought.

In a way, Thelma's life was almost as regimented and organized as Karl's, only hers was determined by the television scheduling of her soap operas and other programs. If she left the house for any reason during the day, she scheduled her appointments and errands around what was on TV that day. Although she could videotape shows, she said it wasn't the same as being there when they were actually on.

"It's like watching history being made rather than watching it later on the news?' she told me.

She had reading time reserved, as well, and sat on her rocker with a lace shawl around her shoulders, reading whatever had come in that month from her romance novels club. Pots could boil over, phones could ring, someone might come to the door. It didn't matter once she was engrossed in her story; she didn't care. She truly left one world for another.

Nevertheless, she was as devoted to Karl and his needs as any wife could be. On Sundays, Karl would plan the week's menu, carefully selecting foods that could be utilized in different ways so as to justify buying them in larger quantities or make use of leftovers. Thelma would then develop that menu, following it to a T. If something wasn't just the way Karl had planned it, she treated it like a major crisis. One morning, I had to go with her to another supermarket nearly twenty miles away because the one she shopped at didn't have the brand of canned peaches Karl wanted.

Whereas Karl was a quiet, careful driver, Thelma talked so much from the moment she sat behind the wheel that my ears were ringing. Her attention was often distracted, and twice I jumped so high I nearly bumped my head on the roof when she crossed lanes abruptly and drivers honked their horns.

A week after I arrived, we took a ride to visit Karl's father. He lived alone in a small Cape Cod-- style house, the same house he had lived in for nearly forty years. It was in a very quiet, old residential neighborhood of single-family homes, most as old as Karl's father's.

Karl's father was taller and considerably thinner than his son, with a face that reminded me of Abraham Lincoln, long and chiseled. From the pictures I saw on the table in the living room, I concluded Karl took after his mother more. His brothers, on the other hand, resembled their father, both being taller and leaner than Karl.

Papa Morris, as he was introduced to me, was a feisty old man who had worked for the city water department. He was content to live on his pension and social security, socialize with his retired friends, play cards, visit the local bar, and read his newspapers. Karl had arranged for a woman to come and clean twice a week, but Karl's father wouldn't permit anyone to cook for him.

"When I can't take care of myself, know it," he muttered after Karl had made the suggestion again.

However, the kitchen wasn't very clean. Pots were caked with beans and rice, and some dishes were piled up, waiting for the cleaning lady. Thelma went right to work when we arrived. I helped her, and we got the kitchen into some order while Karl and his father talked. Then we all sat in the living room and had fresh lemonade.

Papa Morris stared at me with interest while Thelma described what a wonderful beginning we had all had together since I had come to live with her and Karl. Papa Morris's large, glassy brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"You like livin' with these two?" he asked me skeptically.

"Yes, sir," I answered quickly.

"Yes, sir?" he muttered, and looked at Karl, who sat with his hands in his lap.

"She's a very polite young lady," Thelma said. "A lot like Whelma Matthews on Days in the Sun," she added, looking at me proudly.

"You don't have to call me sir, Missy. No one's ever called me sir. I don't wear no airs. I'm just a pensioner?'

"She's very smart, Pa. All A's in school," Thelma continued.

"That's good?' He nodded at me, his face softening some. "My Lily always wanted

grandchildren, but none of my boys gave her any. Grandchi

ldren are sort of a return on your

investment," he muttered.

"Speaking of investments," he continued, turning to Karl, "what's been happening with that mutual fund you had me put my CD into, Karl?"

"You're up twenty-two percent, Dad."

"Good. Smart boy, Karl," he said and reached into his top pocket for some chewing tobacco.

"You should give that up, Dad. It's been known to cause mouth cancer," Karl said. "I was just reading an article about that yesterday."

"I've been doing it for fifty years. No point in stopping something I enjoy now, right, Thelma?"