Becoming Mona Lisa (15 page)

“Can I get a little help here?” I heard Tom yell, and I wasn't sure what the hell he expected me to do. I was scared shitless, and as much as it disgusted me to be lying belly to filthy shag, I was pretty content staying where I was until the situation was under control.

“What do you want me to do?” I yelled.

“Isn't there an old fishing net in the cellar?” he hollered.

“You're going to catch a bird in a net?” I asked. I'd begun to creep along the floor, which really pissed me off, since I was ruining my new sweater. My bra was wadded up against my chest, and any notion I'd had about passionate lovemaking was pretty much shot.

“Do you have a better idea, Mona?” he asked, and I started to cry. I had a better idea. I wanted a romantic evening with my Tom. What I didn't want was this flying bastard in my house. I didn't care what it looked like, it was MY house, and I wanted the damn thing out!

“I'll get the net!” I yelled, taking off like a bat out of hell toward the cellar door. My stocking feet hit the linoleum in the kitchen and I slid across the floor and slammed into the wall.

Sonovabitch!

“This is not fair,” I muttered, pausing long enough to check my shoulder for dislocation. “I am drunk, and I wanted to have sex with my husband, good sex, lots of sex, and here I am with a friggin' bird in my house. THIS IS NOT FAIR!” I screamed, as I ran down the basement stairs. “SHIT! Tom, come here! The damn thing is in the cellar!”

I heard light footsteps on the stairs, and the kittens charged toward me. I had to give them credit, they were giving the bird a run for its money. I turned my head for a moment and lost my footing in the poorly-lit space. My foot hit the corner of the cat box, sending an arsenal of litter, mini clumps, and kitty poop up in a graceful arc. “THAT'S JUST DUCKING GREAT!” I yelled with vigor.

The kittens looked like they were playing live-action pinball, and the entire scene was making me dizzy. Duke jumped on a pile of Fangerhouse boxes, achieved lift-off, and sailed halfway across the basement which, I have to say, was impressive as hell. “Tom!” I yelled again, as the bird flew past me, toward the stairs. “Look out, it's coming your way!”

The crow flew up the stairs, and I took off after it. I could hear the kittens on my heels, and I hated myself when I slammed the door behind me, and heard two soft thuds, followed by howls of despair. “Tom! Open the front door!”

“What?” Tom replied, sounding muffled, as if he had something in his mouth.

“Are you eating??!!” I screamed. If he was, I was about to become a
black widow!

“No, I gotta change into a t-shirt. I'm sweating my ass off!” As he pulled the shirt on over his head, the bird whizzed past him. Tom dove for the sofa, bounced slightly, and hit the floor. Hard! “DAMMIT THAT HURT!” he yelled, as I hauled ass toward the front door.

I flung it open, and crouched against it. I was keeping my post until the damn crow flew out, and in the meantime, I had to make sure no one else got in.

Tom crawled toward me. His shirt was on backwards. “You all right?” he asked, and I fought the urge to punch him.

“No. I am not all right.”

“I'm sorry, Mona. I wanted this night to be perfect for you.”

“I know. I wanted a romantic evening. I wanted to have sex,” I whined, as my eyes filled with tears.

“We can still have sex,” Tom offered, and I smiled weakly.

“With that thing in the house?” I asked.

“If we give it time, honey, it will leave,” he said soothingly, reaching for my hand. He caressed my fingers and I smiled weakly at him.

I suppose there were less romantic evenings than those spent holding hands on a stakeout in the foyer, but it wasn't what I'd had in mind, and I swallowed hard to keep myself from sobbing. Tom moved toward me and sat by my side. He leaned in gently and pressed his lips to mine. They melted beneath his kiss, and for a minute I lost myself in the warmth of his mouth. We held each other for a long time, until we felt a breeze pass above us.

The crow whizzed by and flew right out the door.

“Told ya,” Tom said, winking at me.

We stood and looked into the front yard. The murky night swallowed the bird almost immediately, and it disappeared.

A dog yipped, interrupting the silence.

Great!

“You folks enjoy your company?” Thurman called from across the road.

“DUCK YOU!” Tom and I said in unison before slamming the door.

Thirteen

Saturday

Pizza is called pizza because it's pizza.

In other words, there is distinct meaning in a name.

Many believe God created heaven and earth in six days. That was one heck of an accomplishment. In six days, I'd amassed hundreds of crows on a ten acre plot, I'd racked up two disastrous romantic evenings, and the bruise on my shoulder had evolved into a huge purplish mess resembling the state of Texas. As far as six-day stretches go, God's had worked out pretty nicely. Mine had pretty much sucked.

I had all my eggs in the “Burt's Bat Removal,” basket, and I sat at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, counting the minutes until Burt's anticipated arrival.

I expected my savior to arrive promptly, dressed in armor, on a white stallion.

Instead, Burt was ten minutes late, drove a rusty Dodge truck, and wore soiled jeans, and a Phillies sweatshirt stretched tightly over his enormous belly. Tom was busy shoveling in some Cheerios, so I met Burt out front.

“
You, Mona?” Burt asked, as he strolled up the walk.

“
That's me,” I replied with no enthusiasm.

“
I'm Burt,” he said, making an unpleasant adjustment to his nether region.

“
Awesome,” I grumbled, unimpressed. I hated myself for being impolite, but I was unable to muster anything remotely hospitable.

“
Where's yer bats?” he asked, and I felt my heart sink.

“
They're not actually bats,” Tom said from behind me.

“
What's yer problem, folks?” Burt asked.

“
Crows,” I said.

“
Don't do crows,” Burt replied.

Sonovabitch.

“
Animal Control suggested we call you,” Tom said, avoiding the “I am going to kill you,” glare I had directed at him.

“
Don't do crows,” Burt repeated. “Darryl Pierce does crows, but he just had a hip replacement.”

“
Sorry to hear that,” Tom said, and I threw him another angry glare.

“
Seriously?” I whispered.

“
What do you want me to say?” Tom asked. “The guy had a hip replacement. I feel kinda bad for him.”

“
How about us, Tom? You feel bad for us?” I growled, and Burt took a step back.

“
I'm gonna take off, folks. Here's my card in case you ever have a bat problem,” Burt said, thrusting a business card in my direction. I didn't move, so Tom took it.

“
Sorry I wasted your time,” Tom said to Burt.

“
Good luck, man,” Burt said.

“
Thanks,” Tom replied.

Burt loped laboriously down the walk, as Tom stood in the yard. I stepped inside and slammed the door. I was pretty sure my husband got the message.

“
Mona, I'm sorry,” Tom said, finding me at the kitchen table, chewing my nails.

“
What the hell happened out there?” I asked.

“
Burt doesn't do crows,” Tom said.

“
We've waited all week for him to come. You didn't know he didn't do crows when you called him?”

“
No.”

“
He didn't ask you what your problem was?” I snipped, and Tom winced.

“
He asked if I had an infestation. I said yes,” Tom explained, sounding embarrassed.

“
He didn't ask what your 'infestation' was?”

“
No.”

“
The words 'bat removal,' weren't a clue he might not be able to help us?” I asked, and my husband hung his head.

“
I'm sorry, Mona. What do you want me to do?”

“
I want you to get rid of the birds, Tom. That's what I'd like you to do.”

“
I'm not sure how to do that. Why don't we go to the library, check out a few books, and I'll call Ray and see if he found that CD yet. If he didn't, I'll go on the computer at the library and order one.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, gnawing on my thumb nail.

“Mona, stop!” Tom ordered. I jumped, and nearly gagged on the digit.

“I can't take this, Tom,” I whined.

“Go take a shower, and then we'll go, okay?” I ignored him and stuck my finger back in my mouth. “Mona, go!” Tom yelled and I started to cry.

“Don't yell at me,” I whimpered.

Eventually, I did as told. I stood in the shower for twenty minutes, three minutes longer than the hot water held out. I cried until I was spent, and despite letting freezing cold water run over my face, I emerged from the bathroom looking like I'd come out on the losing end of a boxing match.

Tom was still in the kitchen when I shuffled out of the bathroom. “Here,” he said, handing me a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Tom.”

“Sit down, sweetie.”

I sat at the kitchen table. Tom sat across from me.

“
I'm sorry about Burt,” Tom said.

“
I'm sorry I blamed you.”

“
This thing with the crows, it isn't anyone's fault, Mona. These birds migrate. They show up in certain places, and no one knows why. Eventually, they usually leave.”

“
Who told you that?” I asked.

“
Burt.”

“
I thought he didn't do crows.”

“
He doesn't. He had the same problem last year.”

“
Oh.”

“
He said we should learn as much as we can about them, and from there, we'll keep trying different things until we find something that works.”

“Okay,” I mumbled.

“I thought I had a book on birds. I couldn't find it, but I found this. Do you know what this is?” He lifted the morning paper to reveal a folder I recognized.

I'd used it in high school and had carried it with me through college. Hello Kitty graced the front, along with various Mona Harrison doodles. I opened the folder and my eyes filled with tears.

“My stories,” I whispered.

“Pieces of you,” Tom said, reaching for my hand, and meeting my eyes. I held his gaze, and the notebook, close to my heart. “Why did you stop writing, Mona?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you ever think about it?”

“All the time. Look how much I used to write,” I said, pulling out the yellowed pages.

“I see that,” Tom said gently. “Do you remember Professor Fritts?” Tom asked.

“Bald, glasses, wore his pants up under his arms?”

“That's the guy,” Tom said, and I laughed.

“He was goofy as hell, but a genius. He said being an artist is a beautiful thing, but there's a dark side to it. You can't let the beauty in without letting in some of the darkness, too. You're an artist, Mona. You see the world differently than other people, and I've seen and felt your passion,” he said with a gentle smile. “But, you also get anchored by the hard stuff. I can see you coming back to life, and I don't want to lose you again in this bird disaster. Come to the library with me. We'll learn as much as we can about relocating the crows, and we'll do it together. From now on, we solve problems together.”

“Okay,” I said. I stood and so did Tom. He pulled me to his chest, and I clung to him for a moment. “So, you're the problem solver now?”

He nodded. “Do you know anything about PMS?” I asked and he laughed.

“I know to steer clear of you when it's happening, and to keep you away from sharp objects. I'm afraid you're on your own with that one,” he said, and I finally felt myself relax. It had been a bad morning but I couldn't let it anchor me, no matter how powerful the pull might be.

Committed to teamwork, and on speaking terms again, Tom and I loaded ourselves into the Jeep and headed for the library. I sifted through more of my yellowed stories as he drove.

Tom pulled up in front of the library, a historic structure that was once a church. I followed him inside, clutching my folder as if it were a beloved blanket.

A young woman greeted us from behind the desk. “Good afternoon,” she sang, and despite my improved mood, I felt like choking her.

“Stop, Mona,” I muttered.

“Hon?” Tom asked, looking at me with concern.