Downtown

This short story was inspired by something I saw in one of Carl Parker's paintings. Although the piece itself, called Downtown, is abstract, a perfectly formed woman in early 20th century garb is visible. I call her Mabel. This is her story:

Mabel stared at her closet. Nothing stood out as suitable. She grimaced, pursing her thin lips and opted for black slacks and a thin peppermint pink blouse.

“Good enough,” she muttered.

Thank goodness she’d ironed both.

As she dressed, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She paused to examine her 96-pound frame, thinning white hair and lined face. Not bad for 93.

“At least I kept myself nice and trim,” she beamed.

She walked slowly to her window and lingered in the sun’s warmth a moment. The snow was melting fast under its power.

“Still hat and coat weather,” she muttered.

“Grandma!” a voice pierced her thoughts, “Are you ready yet? We’ll want to get downtown before it gets too busy.”

Mabel started toward the stairs, “Yes, Ruthie,” she called, “I’m coming now.”

Downtown. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been downtown. The eighties sometime, maybe? She wasn’t sure. Big box stores, shopping malls at the city’s edges offering more variety and better prices, and later, home delivery – well, they made going downtown unnecessary. And if not unnecessary, inconvenient.

But she wanted to go. Today. Yesterday. Maybe tomorrow too.

She pushed a white strand from her face as she placed a black, wide-brimmed hat on her head. It was the life she missed. The hustle. The bustle. People, all dressed in their workday best, suits, dresses, skirts and heels, meeting for coffee or a quick lunch. Homemakers squeezing a few moments into their day to grab bakery-fresh bread or a pound of ground round from the butcher. Maybe some bones for the dog.

And in all that to and fro, there was always time for a smile, a quick tip of the hat, a hello or “nice day.”

Ruthie smiled softly at her grandmother, “We better take your walker…”

“We’ll do no such thing!” Mable snorted. “I’ve been walking since long before you were born. I’ll manage fine, thank you.”

“We’ll be walking a lot, you’ll get tired,” Ruthie challenged. She narrowed her brown eyes as if she were trying to transfer her concern to Mabel’s mind.

“Well, should I tire,” the elder straightened herself and smoothed her coat, “We simply will stop in a restaurant or bistro and sit ourselves down with a nice cup of tea.”

Ruthie nodded. She knew her grandmother well enough to know she’d been beat.

In the car, Mabel felt her heart racing. For the first time in many years, she was excited. Truly excited! She babbled furiously as Ruthie drove, regaling her with stories of her youth.

True, they were stories she’d likely heard many times before, but it was no matter.

Downtown!

As a girl, that’s where everything was. Rubinstein’s General Merchandise, Franklin’s Butcher shop, the bakery that changed hands more times than she could count.

She remembered it all like it was yesterday, not 75 years ago. The Five and Dime, the soda shop at the corner. Not the one on Bleaker with the hardware store attached and the cranky owner. The other one, the one across from the Jubilee Theatre. The one where she and Marvin first met.

She smiled to herself at the memory. Marvin. Wasn’t he a pip! Certainly not the most handsome boy at Wingate High. If she were honest, he wasn’t even among the top 10 or 20 contenders. He wasn’t the captain of any sports team. He was just sort of “around.” Always around.

It began late in her junior year. Marvin kept appearing. When she took a par- time position on Saturdays, doing alterations at Weinmann’s Fine Apparel, there he was. Every weekend, looking for trousers. How many trousers did the boy need? It didn’t matter. He never bought anything.

When she and her best girlfriends, Sally-Ann Jenkins and Theresa Prescott, took in a flick at the Jubilee, there he was.

Library. There he was.

Marvin was even at Bob’s Dry Goods.

And he grew on her. Mabel wasn’t sure if it was his continual presence or the fact that he was quite charming and witty, but he slowly grew more appealing in her eyes. They dated, eventually married and had almost 70 years together as husband and wife.

She shook her head. It was just like Marvin to go and drop dead the day before their anniversary. Anything to get out of spending money on a gift.

Ruthie pulled her car up to a meter on Main Street.

“We’re here Grammie,” she sounded uncertain. “Let’s have a quick walk around and then we can go home.”

Mable looked at her hard. Her eyes a mix of icy resolve and confusion. Home? Hurry?

“I intend to thoroughly enjoy my day downtown, dear.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Ruthie opened her grandmother’s door and took her arm.

Mabel looked around. She didn’t recognize anything. Some buildings, perhaps. Not the businesses, but the structures. The Jubilee, for example. It was faded, its brick exterior certainly could use attention, but the structure was still the stalwart of downtown Wingate.

She inhaled. She couldn’t quite take in the air.

“Are you okay?” Ruthie noticed her struggling to breathe.

Mabel nodded. She was fine. It wasn’t her breathing. It was the air she was trying to ingest. It felt thick, heavy, like pea soup that’d been left overnight.

The pair slowly strolled.

“Watch the cracks, dear,” she warned Ruthie. “The road crew obviously hasn’t been out.”

Ruthie said nothing.

Mabel eyes darted around furiously, a caged bird finally set free. Downtown was her home away from home for so long; it was amazing to be back on familiar streets.

Only they weren’t familiar. Her excitement faded with every step. Boards, trash, graffiti. The storied movie house now sported a sign, it looked homemade, saying, “Soup Kitchen Open 9-6.”

The streets were as filled with people as they ever were. But they weren’t dressed in workday duds. They were barely dressed for the season. Ill-fitting jackets, it they had coats at all, dirty jeans. Some asked for money. They were polite at least. Others simply lay in doorways or propped their near-lifeless bodies against stoops, trash cans or poles.

Wacky Weed, Cash Fast 4 U, Vippy Vapes, Buddy’s Smokes n Booze, were all interspersed between condemned structures. There was even a place called Snaks & Shit. It was beside Pawn Palace.

At the corner of Main and Belfontaine, a social welfare office. Mabel stopped and stared at the sign, “State Department of Social Assistance & Human Services.”

“Are you okay, Grammie?” Ruthie’s vice was panicked. They’d walked a good mile.

“Look at the sign.” Mabel shrugged.

Ruthie didn’t quite know how to respond to her grandmother, standing so stoic, so erect. She watched the older woman's shoulders fall, bit by bit, breath by breath.

“I’ve seen enough, dear.” Mabel lowered her head and gently poked her toe against a crack in the crumbling sidewalk. “I want to go home.”

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Originally published at https://mistyrae.ca/

Misty Rae is an award-winning writer, Chicken Soup for the Soul contributor and author of Moments Make the Man and the #1 Best-Seller, I Ran So You Could Fly (The Paris O'Ree Story)