Becoming Mona Lisa (10 page)

“Okay. You don't have to leave WalMart. It was only a suggestion.”

“Maybe I could stay there while you take your classes. That way I wouldn't have to decide right away.”

Role call! The ever-procrastinating Mona Lisa Siggs, reporting for duty!

“Whatever you want, Mona. I mean that.”

“I want us to stay like this, to never go back to how we were.”

“We will,” he said, crossing the room to kiss me. “Anything for you, my crazy Mona Lisa.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Will you research crows for me?”

“I will do that. Let me talk to Ray Cunningham. He's a retired farmer, used to have a huge farm about an hour's drive from here. I think if anyone would know anything about crows it would be Ray Cunningham.

Or, Stephen King?

“Thanks, honey,” I said.

“Well, I'm out of here.” Tom rinsed his coffee mug, and I walked him to the door. I held my breath when he opened it. “Looks pretty clear,” he said. “Ah, they've been here, though.” The deer car was covered with crow shit.

“Great God,” I said. “Look at that thing. I never imagined it could look worse than it did yesterday.”

“Me, either,” Tom said, wrinkling his nose.

He kissed me one last time, and lingered for a moment. He tasted like coffee, and hope. “I'm gonna get the patio set out of the Jeep. Leave the rest of the stuff and I'll get it later.”

“Okay,” I said. He unloaded the table and chairs, carried them to the porch, and reached for my hand.

“I love you,” I said softly.

“I love you, too.”

I stood on the porch until I could no longer see his car, then returned to the kitchen. I thought of him for a long time as I sat drinking a second cup of coffee. I couldn't believe how far we'd come in forty-eight hours. I grabbed my cell phone and sent him a quick text message.

Good luck with Princeton. I love you.

It had been thirteen minutes since I told him that. I didn't want him to forget.

I finished my coffee, boxed up the entire set of
Ida's eclectic coffee mugs
and set them by the back door. I imagined myself taking them to the dumpster, my pulse quickened, and I panicked. They belonged to someone I loved. How could I throw them out as if they were nothing?

As comical an approach as I took to the hand-me-downs, Henry may have meant something to Ida, enough that she'd hung onto his coffee mug, and once upon a time her friends had gone to Myrtle Beach. They'd thought enough of Ida to think of her while they were hundreds of miles away, and enough to remind her each morning as she drank her Sanka.

I ripped the tape off the box, grabbed the Myrtle Beach mug and set it on the counter.

I'd loved Aunt Ida enough to think of her over coffee. That one had to stay. The rest could go. I stood in the kitchen crying over a coffee mug, and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. The sex must have gotten things going again, and I found myself an orgasm away from a total hormonal meltdown.

I scrubbed out Aunt Ida's mug, filled it with coffee, and took it into the bathroom with me.

I followed Denise's
Eighteen Steps to a Beautiful Me,
and was almost late for work.

“Hey, Beth,” I said, when we met in her office so I could retrieve my cash drawer.

“Morning, Mona,” she said softly, without looking at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked before I could stop myself. If there was, I knew I'd be hearing about it for a month.

“Edith Purnell died Monday,” she said, and when she looked at me, I could see she'd been crying.

“What?” I asked, taking the chair across from Beth's desk.

“Her nephew found her Monday night. The coroner said she'd been dead about twelve hours.”

“She missed the whole damned Criminal Minds marathon,” I said, without thinking. “I'm sorry, Beth. That was a horrible thing to say.”

“I said the same thing,” she said with a weak smile, and all of a sudden, Beth and I became friends. “Mona, I'm not real friendly with a lot of the people here. I was wondering if you'd go to the funeral with me. I'll give you the time off, of course.”

I started to cry, softly at first – then with a ferocity reserved for the moment you find your dead kitty under the porch. I couldn't stop myself. I cried for five full minutes, three minutes into my shift. “She was my aunt's friend,” I said, pausing for a moment to blow my nose.

“She was my only friend,” Beth said, and I felt so sorry for her, I started blubbering again. I collected myself, blew my nose, and cleared my throat.

“I need to get out there,” I said, motioning toward the door separating the mourners from the world of low-priced shopping.

“Take your time, Mona. It's a bit slow today.”

“Thanks, Beth. I'm sorry about Edith. I'm sorry you lost your friend.”

“My only friend,” Beth reminded me.

“No, not your only friend,” I said, pulling Beth into a friendly, and I stress FRIENDLY, hug. “When is the funeral?” I asked. I hated funerals, and hadn't been to one since Aunt Ida died.

“It's Friday morning. It's at ten o'clock at the Presbyterian church right up the road.”

“I work Friday night. I'll pick you up here at quarter to ten,” I offered.

“You're off Friday night. You've been here forever, Mona, and I don't think you've ever taken a vacation, a sick day, or a personal day. You're not going to a funeral, and coming back here. You could spend the evening with your husband.”

“Thanks, Beth. I'd like that.”

“Thank you, Mona. Oh, there's one more thing. Edith's nephew is staying at her house, but he can only stay a week. There are fourteen cats that need good homes if you know anyone.”

Did I want a cat? I didn't think so.

“I'd like to take one. It's the least I could do for Edith.”

What is with me today?

I turned toward the door, and almost didn't hear Beth speak behind me. “Mona?” she whispered, and I turned.

“Yeah?”

“You look really pretty today.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I got a makeover.”

“I noticed on Monday, but didn't get a chance to say anything.”

“Thanks, Beth,” I said.

I spent the next three hours manning the ship at aisle fourteen. My heart was heavy, because I knew it was the last place Edith had worked. She'd left her name tag under the counter, and I glanced at it from time to time, recalling the attractive woman with the neatly- styled gray hair, and
Home Is Where The Cat Is
sweatshirt. I wondered if Edith and Aunt Ida were somewhere far away, getting reacquainted. This thought gave me comfort.

At one o'clock, Annette Lasky, came to relieve me. “Shame about Edith,” she said, as we passed the WalMart baton.

“Yes, it is,” I said.

“You're off at four, right?” Annette asked.

“Yup,” I said.

“Me, too. Edith's nephew said I could stop and see the cats. You wanna go with me? Beth said you might take one,” Annette said, flashing me a very white smile. It was obvious she was using her employee discount on Crest White Strips, and suddenly self conscious, I smiled back without parting my lips.

“Sure!” I said, a bit surprised.

I got a makeover and suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend. How about that!

“Cool. You seem different today, Mona,” Annette said, after we'd squared up her temporary takeover of my station.

“I am.”

“Whatever you're doing, keep it up, because you look terrific.”

On my way to the break room, I passed Beth, and I lifted my hand in greeting. She turned and followed me.

What had I done?

I considered myself a nice person, but I hoped I hadn't acquired a stalker with my momentary selflessness.

“Mona?” Beth called from just behind my shoulder.

“Yeah?” I said, without turning.

“A woman dropped off a card for you. It's on the table in back,” she said, and I turned. She wasn't as close as she sounded, and I relaxed a little.

“Thanks, Beth.”

I made my way to the kitchen area, grabbed my frozen lunch, and popped it into the microwave. While I waited the six-or-so minutes, I looked at the card. A puppy and kitten adorned the front. The message inside was simple.

Your kindness has not gone unnoticed. Wishing you a nice day.
The card was signed
, Carla
, and it took me a moment to place her. She was the young woman I'd helped out two days ago, but a lot had happened since then.

I slid the card back into the envelope, and it hit something hard. A twenty-dollar gift card.

Groovy!

There was also a folded piece of paper in the envelope and I pulled it free. It was a note.

Dear Mona. I figured this was a nice way of paying you back. I want to thank you for making a rotten day more tolerable. I thought I was invisible, but you saw me, and not as someone who didn't have enough money, but as someone who needed a break. You made me look hard at myself, and I expect things will be better for me in the future. If you ever see that nice gentleman again, please tell him I will never forget what he did for me, nor will I forget you. Your friend, Carla.

Jeez, I was making friends all over the place!

I checked the microwave, which still had two minutes remaining, and crossed the room to the full length mirror.

You made me look hard at myself.

I met my own gaze. I was the same person I'd been two days ago, so how was it I felt so different?

Had I felt invisible?

Yes
.

It hadn't happened overnight. I had slowly disappeared, over time, like a dying star, or an abandoned garden. The star winked out. The flower died. Mona disappeared.

This realization made me want to write something.

I hadn't written much since college, other than grocery lists, nasty notes to Tom about the mess he made with the coffee pot, and a shitload of checks for household bills.

I grabbed my purse from my locker, and dug for my pen.

Could I still write? A paragraph? A sentence? Anything?

I could once. Writing had been my catharsis, my sanctuary, the place I went to find my true self.

Is this where I was? Would I find myself in the writing?

I'd lost myself. I'd become Mrs. Siggs, and somewhere along the way I'd lost Mona Lisa Harrison.

The microwave dinged. I ignored it and stared at the purple envelope. I knew what I wanted to say, but didn't quite know how to say it.

What the hell!

I'd just write it. If it sounded stupid, I could tear it up, and no one would be the wiser.

Write something!

And then, I did. I wrote a quote, two sentences I knew I would carry in my heart.

Forever.

We are not invisible because the world does not see us. We become invisible when we can no longer see ourselves.

“Jeez. That's pretty good,” I whispered. I read it out loud a half-dozen times, and spent another five minutes staring at it. Suddenly I remembered my lunch. “Shit!”

The Mac & Cheese was still warm, and I mixed it with a plastic spoon and shoveled it in like a grave digger under an overcast sky. I had two minutes remaining in my lunch break when I rinsed the recyclable plastic and tossed it into my locker.

I returned to aisle fourteen, and Annette was still smiling. I wondered if she was under endorsement with Crest. “How was your lunch?” she asked courteously.

“Fast,” I said, as we began our switchover.

“So, wanna meet outside at four?” she asked.

“How about ten past? I have to grab a few things before I go.”

“Come to think of it, so do I. Thanks for reminding me. You're really something, Mona.”

Should have stopped by last week. I was really something then, too!

“Thanks!”

“I love your makeup, by the way.”

“I got a makeover. Spent almost two hundred bucks at Kohl's,” I admitted.

“Wow. You could get the same stuff here for about half the price.”

Annette was clearly vying for Employee of the Month!

“You're probably right, Annette.”

“I am. See you at four.”

“See ya,” I said. And then she was gone.

During the next three hours, I dealt with the typical cashier issues: expired coupons, unwanted items, an infrared sensor that didn't always work properly, and customers who were sometimes unkind.

It was quarter to four when I faced my first real challenge. An elderly woman, who was cute as a button, wasn't sure she'd gotten the right amount of canned cat food. I had to print the slip, count each item, and when that wasn't sufficient, I had to unload the bags, and allow her to count each can, which she did with an agonizing slowness.

I smiled at the man behind her, and he flashed me an impatient look. When we finally got everything scanned, my sweet, blue-haired customer began rummaging around in her bag for the thirty-seven cents change she needed to make us “even Steven.”