FRANTIC

© 2012 by Danna

I was frantic. Susan told me to find some ‘jingle jangles’ for the club meeting. What the heck did she mean by ‘jingle jangles?’ The only thing I could think of were those Mardi Gras beads that people throw off the floats down in New Orleans. Why did we need beads for the club meeting anyway? Were we going to do some arts and crafts?

I hurried down town to my little two block business district and hit the Trash and Treasures. “Hi, Wilma. Do you have any Mardi Gras beads?

“Mardi Gras was last week. I doubt it but you can look around.”

I walked through all the clutter that a good flea market would collect, dust and all, but nothing that jingled or jangled. I walked out their back door, across the shared parking lot to the local grocery, and in through the back door. Everything was strange. I could smell new carpet and paint and . . . hey, where did that wall come from? Something was very wrong.

“Scotty, what’s up with this wall?” I asked a dimly lit room.

A very confused man in a business suit answered, “We’re not open yet. How did you get in here?”

“Through the back door as usual.”

 He stood and ushered me to the front door. “We’ll be open Monday. Come back then.”

 “But who are you?”

 He handed me his business card. It read, Joe Johnson, Atty

“What happened to Scotty?” I asked. He just smiled and shut the door. I heard him lock it behind me.

Now what? I started walking and asked the first person I saw if I could borrow their car to go find some Mardi Gras beads. The club meeting would start at three o’clock and time was running out. I drove downtown Oakland. Where do I begin? Oakland is a vast sea of hills punctuated with tall buildings and very little parking.

Before I took another step I decided I would call Susan and make absolutely sure what she meant by ‘jingle jangles.’ Of course I didn’t have her phone number so I thought I would stop by my old office building and look it up. I parked in one of those parking garages that’s ten stories high and had to walk a few blocks.

Now what? Where was my old office? I peeked in and asked the gal at the front desk, “Where is Visitor Control?”

A nice young . . . very young . . . how old was I now? . . . Ugh . . . answered, “They moved.”

“Where to?”

“You can’t get there from here.”

“What!”

“May I help you?” she f-i-n-a-l-l-y offered.

“Can I borrow your phone book?”

She handed over a very thick, very heavy yellow book and I began flipping through pages. Susan? What was her last name again? Hammond? No. Harmon? No. Hamner? Yes, that’s it. Hamner! I found the H’s. The print was so small. I must get new glasses soon, I thought.

H-a, H-a-c, H-a-i . . . “WHAT?” I blurted out. “Continued in next book . . .” 

I looked up and little miss office efficiency was staring at me. I wanted to throw the book at her! I found my composure, though, and smiled. “Sorry, I just realized they won’t have her cell phone listed in here anyway.”

Now what? I looked at my watch. It was already three-thirty. I might as well go home. I turned around in a dark hallway and panic gripped me. Where did I park?  I don’t remember where I parked!!!

Did I come up this hallway from that direction? Or maybe it was down that way? Think, Danna . . . think! I walked through the automatic doors. What was this street? Now was I on the south side or the north side of the building? South! So I must have parked on the north side? I walked down the block and turned the corner. It was all uphill. Did I walk downhill from the parking garage? Oh, God, help me. I can’t remember. Everything was so familiar when I arrived and now it was a foggy mess.

Alright. I’ll start walking. Something will look familiar soon. Oh, my hips hurt. I should have stayed in better shape.

A hoard of teenagers in school uniforms with backpacks rushed by me. I stopped one of the girls and asked, “Where did I park?”

She gave me this curious but sympathetic look. “What does it look like?”

“What does what look like?”

“Your car. What kind of car do you have?”

“I don’t remember. It was borrowed.” A rush of heat and adrenalin went through me. I was FRANTIC!

School children continued to flow down the hill as I trudged upward. It was getting dark. Where are those ‘jingle jangles’ anyway? I’ve lost my purse. Where are those car keys?

I heard something. Petey was shaking himself awake and his collar was jingling jangling. I turned over to pet his soft, curly, white hair.

It was six-thirty in the morning. Time to get up and get ready for Writing Class.

Sidenote:

1. We had just discussed Mardi Gras in writing class two weeks earlier, hence the beads.
2. Scott’s family owned a grocery store in MS when we lived there and my daughter dated him a few times.
3. Across the parking lot from the grocery was a little junk shop.
4. I don’t know how I got from MS to Oakland, CA but I lived there when I first married in 1968.
5. My first job was in Visitor Control in the Security Division of the Atomic Energy Commission (now the Dept of Energy) in Berkeley, CA.
6. I went to school with Susan from kindergarten through high school. 
7. My granddaughter wears a uniform to school every day and hates it.
8. Petey sleeps in his little bed on top of my bed every night. When he wakes, he stretches and shakes his body and his ID jingles against his collar.

DREAMS ARE STRANGE, AREN'T THEY?
SO TRUE!