THE FORGETTING
WINNER OF THE ALICE MUNRO SHORT STORY CONTEST 2009
Ella pretended to wait patiently for Mrs. Simms to finish vacuuming the section of lobby she needed to pass in order to get
to her mailbox. She then crisscrossed her way through the cozy armchairs on tiptoe mindful of the neat rows the vacuum cleaner
had left in its wake.
“Morning, Ella!” Mrs. Simms called out over the roar of the vacuum.
Ella pretended not to hear. Nosey Parker that Mrs. Simms was. Whoever heard of a caretaker who didn’t care about the
building or its tenants? Simms was only in it for the discounted rent.
Mrs. Simms turned off the vacuum, leaving a phantom ringing in Ella’s ears. Damn that woman. Ever cheerful, Mrs. Simms
repeated her greeting. “Morning, Ella. How are you today?”
Ella sniffed. “Fine, Mrs. Simms,” she said, barely turning around. Blasted Mrs. Simms. Probably going to invite me for an
afternoon coffee again. Just can’t wait to pry into my business.
Sure enough, Mrs. Simms obliged. “Afternoon coffee, Ella? Standing invitation, you know!”
Ella waved in non-commitment, collected her mail, and boarded the waiting elevator, anxious for the doors to close on the
lobby and Mrs. Simms.
Ella Ryder had lived in the seniors building since October of ‘94, one month after she reached the qualifying age of sixty.
Most of the residents were at least ten years older than she was. She didn’t care. As the years wore on, many had died, and
younger ones had taken their place so that now by age, if nothing else, Ella finally fit in.
Rent-geared-to-income; that’s what she had wanted. It had been a challenge to hide her assets. She couldn’t put them in
any one else’s name—who could she trust? Not those snivelling kids of hers, that was for sure. Somehow she managed it; a
nice, clean apartment, furnished in fine taste by Zellers, was her reward. She used her charge card—those points really added
up—and then promptly paid the bill. Ella would die before she’d let anyone make one red penny of interest off of her!
She even found an apartment-size washer and dryer on sale at Sears, a direct violation of her lease, and so for the past thirteen
years, Ella craftily avoided Mrs. Simms.
And everyone else in the building. Oh, she attended the odd Bingo or Social night. She couldn’t play Bridge, although she
had tried once, this past March. She was feeling risqué as of late, trying new things, but she couldn’t get her head around the
confusing rules, so she got up and left, mid-game.
Ella turned up her nose at the circle of drinkers, regulars at any event the Social Committee hosted. They always invited her
to join them in a “nip of gin”. She would decline, gesturing with her travel mug. She seldom left her apartment without it.
Besides, Ella didn’t care for gin. She preferred a nip of whiskey, delicately flavoured with Diet 7-Up.
She could hear Nettie Clark’s nasal voice, clear as a bell. “Oh, Ella, how can you drink so much coffee? It isn’t good for you,
you know.” She knew. That’s why she didn’t have coffee in her coffee mug. Wouldn’t that Nettie Clark just love to know what she
was really drinking? Damn that Nettie Clark, and that silly Audra Billingham. Social Conveners, they called themselves.
Busybodies, in Ella’s book. Always inviting her to go for walks, or sit outside, sip ice tea and nibble Audra’s horrible spiced
apple cake. As if she would dare. The outdoor recreation area lay in front of the building, paved parking behind. How common,
she thought, to flaunt one’s self in the front yard. No privacy at all—why, half the world could see you!
So close to downtown, space was limited. Still, the residents did their best. A curving path of cobblestones wound its way
through the plush green grass. Three round patio tables with umbrellas and four chairs each were scattered across the lawn.
Plants and flowering shrubs defined the yard, and there were flowers galore. Peonies, roses, daisies, impatiens, geraniums,
and Ella’s all-time favourite, marigolds. Ella had been asked to help plant again this year. She made an excuse. She paid her
rent in post-dated cheques. She paid her taxes. There was no way she was treating the government to free labour on top of that.
The doors of the elevator slid open. Ella stepped out, and straight into Edward Stevens. She turned up her nose. Edward
Stevens always smelled. His shirts always bore the same circles of sweat around the neck and under his arms. This morning,
the hair on his legs was matted with grass cuttings. No decent man his age should be going about in shorts! And what on earth
was he doing on the seventh floor? He lived on three. The whole world knew he lived on three.
“Whoa there, Ella! Nearly ran me over, you did,” he chuckled, treating Ella to a warm-hearted smile.
Now what could he possibly have to smile about, smelling the way he did? “Stick to your own floor!” Ella snapped, stepping
widely around him while holding her breath. She whirled around. “And take a bath!” She lifted her chin in triumph. As a rule, she
shied away from confrontation, but with an elevator door about to close on Edward, she felt very brave indeed.
Ella turned her back on Edward to see Mrs. Simms winding up the vacuum cord. She cocked an eyebrow at Ella. Ella
looked round, blinking. Her mouth dropped open. What was she doing in the lobby?
Edward halted the elevator door with his hand. “Get out on the wrong floor, Ella?”
Ella nodded. Gingerly, she stepped back into the elevator.
“You must have forgot to press your floor,” Edward smiled, his long, calloused fingers pressing three on the over-sized
number pad, and then seven, for Ella.
Ella flushed hot with anger. How dare he assume she’d forgotten anything? If only he knew how much she’d had on her
mind. Besides, she’d pressed the button. She must have. The stupid panel must be on the fritz. It wasn’t her fault.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Ella,” Edward said. “Anyone could have a bad day. Happens to the best of us, just part of growin’
old. I get a little forgetful myself, from time to time. Cranky too.”
When Edward left the elevator, Ella watched him saunter down the hallway towards his suite. He walked like a cowboy, she
thought. No wonder he smells. Probably roping cows all morning. Or feeding swill to the pigs. He fancied himself a ladies’
man, with his rough’n’tough swagger, making all the female tenants weak in the knees, holding doors and smiling like a mad
hatter with those big white teeth that he swore were his own. Ella had caught him coming out of Patrice Palmer’s apartment on
more than one occasion. Didn’t even have the decency to wait until nighttime. Middle of the afternoon, with his tool kit in hand
and some silly story or other about hanging curtains and whatnot. Huh! Being nice to everyone. Church every Sunday. Probably
didn’t even know what it meant to be a Christian!
Ella stuck out her tongue at his backside. Edward turned and waved, flashing his pearly whites. Ella retreated behind the
panel.
~
Safe inside her apartment, Ella set her mail on the hall table, put on the kettle for tea, and picked up the remote. The
television flickered to life. A glance at the digital clock; it was almost time for her soap. But where were her glasses? Not on the
coffee table, or the end table. Not on the television stand, or the kitchen counter. She moved about the tiny, crowded apartment,
checking every nook and cranny. Near the telephone? No. Her nightstand? The hamper, next to her folded-over Sunday paper
turned to the crossword? Top of the fridge? Nowhere. Ella sat down on her reclining chair, throwing her arms up in frustration.
Where did those darned glasses get to?
The whistling of the kettle brought Ella to her feet. Still puzzled by the disappearance of her spectacles, she weaved her way
into the kitchen, pulled a mug out of the cupboard, added a no-name teabag from the canister, and poured the water. She let the
bag steep for only a moment, then squeezed the excess water against the rim of the mug with a teaspoon, and set the bag on the
edge of the sink to be used again later. She tugged open the refrigerator door; moving aside five sour cream tubs—each
unopened, with an expiry date within days of the others—and reached for the half litre carton of milk.
Before Ella could settle on the couch and join her friends on Days of Our Lives, there was a knock on the door. Ella tiptoed
to the hall and peeked through the peephole. She didn’t want that smelly Edward Stevens stopping by, hoping to gain access to
her apartment—and her favours—under some pretext of helping her take out the garbage, or unclogging her bathtub drain. He
was always helping Mrs. Simms with odd jobs in the building and tending the grounds, ever since Mr. Simms’ stroke last fall.
Seeing who it was, Ella rested her hand on the lock, hesitating. She wasn’t sure whether to be bothered or relieved. Audra and
Nettie, the ‘social conveners’, were bobbing and peering on the other side of her peephole. Looking for money? She hoped
not. They often went door-to-door, selling raffle tickets, collecting canned goods for the local food bank, or peddling Avon
brochures. Ella would never take one, for if she did, they’d be back in no time, looking for an order. Money-hungry busybodies!
“Ella, is everything all right?” It was Nettie, with her nasally voice.
A few silent seconds passed, followed by Audra in her stuck-up British accent. “Ella? It’s Nettie and Audra. You know, from
the Social Committee?” As if Ella wouldn’t know. “We know you’re there, Ella. Your shadow is blocking the peephole. Is
everything all right? Do you need help?”
“Would you like us to call Mrs. Simms?” Nettie offered.
Good God, no, thought Ella. She turned the knob on the deadbolt and tried to swing the door open. She turned the knob the
wrong way. Had she forgotten to lock the door? That wasn’t like her. It was that damned Edward Stevens’ fault, overwhelming
her senses with the sharp sting of pesticides and God only knew what else. His fault for making her angry, making her
embarrass herself. She fumbled for a minute, turning the knob this way and that, to a chorus of Nettie and Audra asking over and
over again if she needed help. Who did they think she was? A helpless child?
Breathless and flustered, Ella pulled the door open. Audra and Nettie let out satisfied sighs of relief. Ella brushed a few
stray hairs off her damp brow. “Yes?”
Audra and Nettie looked at each other, then at her. Ella felt the tension. She crossed her arms against her chest. “Well?
What is it?”
“Er, do you think we might come in, Ella?” Audra paused and looked at Nettie, who gave an encouraging nod. “Um, this
might not be the kind of thing you would want us discussing in the corridor.”
Ella pulled the door tight against her hip, steely blocking the view to her apartment. She couldn’t let them see the stackable
washer and dryer unit in her kitchen.
Nettie took a step forward; Ella held her ground. Nettie stepped back. “Well, it’s up to you, of course.”
“Of course,” came Ella’s terse reply.
Audra took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said. “We’re here about the day trip this weekend.”
Ella looked at Audra, uncomprehending.
“Saturday’s field trip,” Nettie urged. She tilted her head, her eyes wide, and emphasized the next word. “Tomorrow.”
Still uncertain what they meant, Ella shook her head.
“The bus trip to the McPhillips Street Station,” Nettie explained. “For lunch and a little gambling.”
“I don’t gamble.”
“Er, yes, well,” Audra resumed charge of the conversation. “Ella, you know you’re welcome to join any outing we arrange.”
“Yes,” Nettie chimed in. “Always welcome!”
Audra nodded. “It’s just that, well, we go to a lot of trouble, what with finding proper venues and activities that are interesting
and entertaining for all the residents. There’s always transportation to arrange, not to mention fund-raising.”
“Not that we’re complaining. We enjoy it,” Nettie added on tiptoe, trying to peek over Ella’s shoulder. Ella stood straighter.
Audra drew her shoulders back, and got down to business. “Ella, you’re always welcome to join us. But we’re often limited to
how many residents can come on a trip. For safety, for simplicity, for bus seats. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
Again Ella shook her head. She most certainly did not see what Audra and Nettie meant. What could a bus trip to the
casino have to do with selling Avon?
Audra’s voice sharpened. “Ella, our point is this. When you sign up for an event, you make a commitment to come along.
When you don’t show up, we have an empty seat on the bus, and a ticket that’s not being used.”
Nettie nodded her agreement, throwing in a yip and a yap here and there, like a faithful Pomeranian, while Audra soldiered
on. “We could have filled the seat with someone who truly wanted to attend. There’s always disappointment when an event is
full. And then you don’t show up. If you had let us know you couldn’t make it ahead of time…”
“Someone on the waiting list could have come after all,” Nettie finished.
Ella narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All we’re trying to say is, if you have to cancel, that’s fine. Just let us know a little bit in advance. That way the seat’s not
wasted. The trip is tomorrow. We’re leaving at ten sharp. If you can make it, great! We’d love to have you. But if you can’t…”
Ella burned with rage. She stepped forward, forcing Nettie and Audra to step back into the hall. “How dare you?” she spat. “I’ve
never signed up for one of your silly trips in my life!”
“Yes, you have,” Audra’s tone turned sharp, making Ella wince. “Many times. And you never show up. If it only happened
once or twice, we wouldn’t have said anything. As it is, you do it all the time. Any time there’s a poster in the lobby, you sign your
name!”
Audra’s spark set Nettie on fire. “And not just for trips, either! Garden Circle, Book Club, you quit coming to Bridge without
saying a word.”
Audra laid a hand over Nettie’s counting fingers, her voice calm once more. “Nettie, let’s not get carried away.” She turned
back to Ella. “We don’t mean to offend you Dear, but this has to stop. It isn’t fair to the other residents.”
Audra’s return to calm control gave Ella courage. What she saw as weakness gave her an advantage, and she pounced.
“Not fair!” Ella hollered. “Not fair? How dare you come here and accuse me? Who do you think you are? Don’t you think I’d
remember if I’d signed up for some stupid day trips? I…. I don’t even play Bridge!”
Audra fixed Ella with a steely look. “So I take it you won’t be coming?”
“No, I won’t be coming. Not tomorrow! Not ever!” Ella screamed. Her body trembled, her lips quivered. She lifted her
fingers, touching the spittle at the corner of her mouth.
Audra’s words were short and clipped. “Very well then.”
Ella watched in disbelief as Nettie and Audra turned and walked away. Still shaking, she slammed the door. Her hands
were clenched in tight fists, her knuckles white. Was there even a word for how she was feeling? Shocked? Embarrassed?
She stormed through her apartment, a river of emotions rushing through her. Then she stopped, considered. Furious? Yes.
Most definitely.
She paced back and forth in her living room, while the theme music to her daily soap resounded in her ears. She snapped
off the television set. Her head and heart pounded. She couldn’t just stay in her apartment, doing nothing more than wear a hole
in the carpet! Her feet stamped while her fists pummelled the air. Arms and legs flew, knocking the coffee table, spilling her
tea. Ella ran to the kitchen to fetch a cloth. Now there was something to do, somewhere to focus her energy. As she sopped up
the tea, it came to her. She would find that list, and wipe her name right out.
Ella abandoned the task and made her way back to the kitchen, rummaged through the drawers, and found a black marker.
And her glasses! What a stroke of luck!
Encouraged by her find, Ella marched to the elevator, wielding the marker like a sword. She punched “L” for lobby. Just let
someone accuse her of forgetting to do that!
Ella stepped off the elevator and found the posted sign-up sheet. Florescent green and trashy; yes, Nettie would pick
something like that. Ella scanned the list and found her name. Someone was playing tricks. The writing was just like hers.
Audra and Nettie had beaten her to the punch. A thin, careful line had been drawn through her name. No matter. Ella uncapped
her marker and pressed hard, obliterating her name with such force she tore a hole in the paper. That would teach them.
She stepped back to admire her handiwork then boarded the elevator. Swimming with self-satisfaction, it seemed like no
time had passed at all when the door slid open. She had to angle around that Nosey Parker Mrs. Simms, who was waiting to
board. What was she doing on Ella’s floor? Trying to sneak a peek into her apartment? It didn’t matter. Ella felt great. Ella felt
more than great.
“Good morning, Mrs. Simms,” she sang as she strode away from the elevator, and into the lobby once more.
WINNER OF THE ALICE MUNRO SHORT STORY CONTEST 2009
Ella pretended to wait patiently for Mrs. Simms to finish vacuuming the section of lobby she needed to pass in order to get
to her mailbox. She then crisscrossed her way through the cozy armchairs on tiptoe mindful of the neat rows the vacuum cleaner
had left in its wake.
“Morning, Ella!” Mrs. Simms called out over the roar of the vacuum.
Ella pretended not to hear. Nosey Parker that Mrs. Simms was. Whoever heard of a caretaker who didn’t care about the
building or its tenants? Simms was only in it for the discounted rent.
Mrs. Simms turned off the vacuum, leaving a phantom ringing in Ella’s ears. Damn that woman. Ever cheerful, Mrs. Simms
repeated her greeting. “Morning, Ella. How are you today?”
Ella sniffed. “Fine, Mrs. Simms,” she said, barely turning around. Blasted Mrs. Simms. Probably going to invite me for an
afternoon coffee again. Just can’t wait to pry into my business.
Sure enough, Mrs. Simms obliged. “Afternoon coffee, Ella? Standing invitation, you know!”
Ella waved in non-commitment, collected her mail, and boarded the waiting elevator, anxious for the doors to close on the
lobby and Mrs. Simms.
Ella Ryder had lived in the seniors building since October of ‘94, one month after she reached the qualifying age of sixty.
Most of the residents were at least ten years older than she was. She didn’t care. As the years wore on, many had died, and
younger ones had taken their place so that now by age, if nothing else, Ella finally fit in.
Rent-geared-to-income; that’s what she had wanted. It had been a challenge to hide her assets. She couldn’t put them in
any one else’s name—who could she trust? Not those snivelling kids of hers, that was for sure. Somehow she managed it; a
nice, clean apartment, furnished in fine taste by Zellers, was her reward. She used her charge card—those points really added
up—and then promptly paid the bill. Ella would die before she’d let anyone make one red penny of interest off of her!
She even found an apartment-size washer and dryer on sale at Sears, a direct violation of her lease, and so for the past thirteen
years, Ella craftily avoided Mrs. Simms.
And everyone else in the building. Oh, she attended the odd Bingo or Social night. She couldn’t play Bridge, although she
had tried once, this past March. She was feeling risqué as of late, trying new things, but she couldn’t get her head around the
confusing rules, so she got up and left, mid-game.
Ella turned up her nose at the circle of drinkers, regulars at any event the Social Committee hosted. They always invited her
to join them in a “nip of gin”. She would decline, gesturing with her travel mug. She seldom left her apartment without it.
Besides, Ella didn’t care for gin. She preferred a nip of whiskey, delicately flavoured with Diet 7-Up.
She could hear Nettie Clark’s nasal voice, clear as a bell. “Oh, Ella, how can you drink so much coffee? It isn’t good for you,
you know.” She knew. That’s why she didn’t have coffee in her coffee mug. Wouldn’t that Nettie Clark just love to know what she
was really drinking? Damn that Nettie Clark, and that silly Audra Billingham. Social Conveners, they called themselves.
Busybodies, in Ella’s book. Always inviting her to go for walks, or sit outside, sip ice tea and nibble Audra’s horrible spiced
apple cake. As if she would dare. The outdoor recreation area lay in front of the building, paved parking behind. How common,
she thought, to flaunt one’s self in the front yard. No privacy at all—why, half the world could see you!
So close to downtown, space was limited. Still, the residents did their best. A curving path of cobblestones wound its way
through the plush green grass. Three round patio tables with umbrellas and four chairs each were scattered across the lawn.
Plants and flowering shrubs defined the yard, and there were flowers galore. Peonies, roses, daisies, impatiens, geraniums,
and Ella’s all-time favourite, marigolds. Ella had been asked to help plant again this year. She made an excuse. She paid her
rent in post-dated cheques. She paid her taxes. There was no way she was treating the government to free labour on top of that.
The doors of the elevator slid open. Ella stepped out, and straight into Edward Stevens. She turned up her nose. Edward
Stevens always smelled. His shirts always bore the same circles of sweat around the neck and under his arms. This morning,
the hair on his legs was matted with grass cuttings. No decent man his age should be going about in shorts! And what on earth
was he doing on the seventh floor? He lived on three. The whole world knew he lived on three.
“Whoa there, Ella! Nearly ran me over, you did,” he chuckled, treating Ella to a warm-hearted smile.
Now what could he possibly have to smile about, smelling the way he did? “Stick to your own floor!” Ella snapped, stepping
widely around him while holding her breath. She whirled around. “And take a bath!” She lifted her chin in triumph. As a rule, she
shied away from confrontation, but with an elevator door about to close on Edward, she felt very brave indeed.
Ella turned her back on Edward to see Mrs. Simms winding up the vacuum cord. She cocked an eyebrow at Ella. Ella
looked round, blinking. Her mouth dropped open. What was she doing in the lobby?
Edward halted the elevator door with his hand. “Get out on the wrong floor, Ella?”
Ella nodded. Gingerly, she stepped back into the elevator.
“You must have forgot to press your floor,” Edward smiled, his long, calloused fingers pressing three on the over-sized
number pad, and then seven, for Ella.
Ella flushed hot with anger. How dare he assume she’d forgotten anything? If only he knew how much she’d had on her
mind. Besides, she’d pressed the button. She must have. The stupid panel must be on the fritz. It wasn’t her fault.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Ella,” Edward said. “Anyone could have a bad day. Happens to the best of us, just part of growin’
old. I get a little forgetful myself, from time to time. Cranky too.”
When Edward left the elevator, Ella watched him saunter down the hallway towards his suite. He walked like a cowboy, she
thought. No wonder he smells. Probably roping cows all morning. Or feeding swill to the pigs. He fancied himself a ladies’
man, with his rough’n’tough swagger, making all the female tenants weak in the knees, holding doors and smiling like a mad
hatter with those big white teeth that he swore were his own. Ella had caught him coming out of Patrice Palmer’s apartment on
more than one occasion. Didn’t even have the decency to wait until nighttime. Middle of the afternoon, with his tool kit in hand
and some silly story or other about hanging curtains and whatnot. Huh! Being nice to everyone. Church every Sunday. Probably
didn’t even know what it meant to be a Christian!
Ella stuck out her tongue at his backside. Edward turned and waved, flashing his pearly whites. Ella retreated behind the
panel.
~
Safe inside her apartment, Ella set her mail on the hall table, put on the kettle for tea, and picked up the remote. The
television flickered to life. A glance at the digital clock; it was almost time for her soap. But where were her glasses? Not on the
coffee table, or the end table. Not on the television stand, or the kitchen counter. She moved about the tiny, crowded apartment,
checking every nook and cranny. Near the telephone? No. Her nightstand? The hamper, next to her folded-over Sunday paper
turned to the crossword? Top of the fridge? Nowhere. Ella sat down on her reclining chair, throwing her arms up in frustration.
Where did those darned glasses get to?
The whistling of the kettle brought Ella to her feet. Still puzzled by the disappearance of her spectacles, she weaved her way
into the kitchen, pulled a mug out of the cupboard, added a no-name teabag from the canister, and poured the water. She let the
bag steep for only a moment, then squeezed the excess water against the rim of the mug with a teaspoon, and set the bag on the
edge of the sink to be used again later. She tugged open the refrigerator door; moving aside five sour cream tubs—each
unopened, with an expiry date within days of the others—and reached for the half litre carton of milk.
Before Ella could settle on the couch and join her friends on Days of Our Lives, there was a knock on the door. Ella tiptoed
to the hall and peeked through the peephole. She didn’t want that smelly Edward Stevens stopping by, hoping to gain access to
her apartment—and her favours—under some pretext of helping her take out the garbage, or unclogging her bathtub drain. He
was always helping Mrs. Simms with odd jobs in the building and tending the grounds, ever since Mr. Simms’ stroke last fall.
Seeing who it was, Ella rested her hand on the lock, hesitating. She wasn’t sure whether to be bothered or relieved. Audra and
Nettie, the ‘social conveners’, were bobbing and peering on the other side of her peephole. Looking for money? She hoped
not. They often went door-to-door, selling raffle tickets, collecting canned goods for the local food bank, or peddling Avon
brochures. Ella would never take one, for if she did, they’d be back in no time, looking for an order. Money-hungry busybodies!
“Ella, is everything all right?” It was Nettie, with her nasally voice.
A few silent seconds passed, followed by Audra in her stuck-up British accent. “Ella? It’s Nettie and Audra. You know, from
the Social Committee?” As if Ella wouldn’t know. “We know you’re there, Ella. Your shadow is blocking the peephole. Is
everything all right? Do you need help?”
“Would you like us to call Mrs. Simms?” Nettie offered.
Good God, no, thought Ella. She turned the knob on the deadbolt and tried to swing the door open. She turned the knob the
wrong way. Had she forgotten to lock the door? That wasn’t like her. It was that damned Edward Stevens’ fault, overwhelming
her senses with the sharp sting of pesticides and God only knew what else. His fault for making her angry, making her
embarrass herself. She fumbled for a minute, turning the knob this way and that, to a chorus of Nettie and Audra asking over and
over again if she needed help. Who did they think she was? A helpless child?
Breathless and flustered, Ella pulled the door open. Audra and Nettie let out satisfied sighs of relief. Ella brushed a few
stray hairs off her damp brow. “Yes?”
Audra and Nettie looked at each other, then at her. Ella felt the tension. She crossed her arms against her chest. “Well?
What is it?”
“Er, do you think we might come in, Ella?” Audra paused and looked at Nettie, who gave an encouraging nod. “Um, this
might not be the kind of thing you would want us discussing in the corridor.”
Ella pulled the door tight against her hip, steely blocking the view to her apartment. She couldn’t let them see the stackable
washer and dryer unit in her kitchen.
Nettie took a step forward; Ella held her ground. Nettie stepped back. “Well, it’s up to you, of course.”
“Of course,” came Ella’s terse reply.
Audra took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said. “We’re here about the day trip this weekend.”
Ella looked at Audra, uncomprehending.
“Saturday’s field trip,” Nettie urged. She tilted her head, her eyes wide, and emphasized the next word. “Tomorrow.”
Still uncertain what they meant, Ella shook her head.
“The bus trip to the McPhillips Street Station,” Nettie explained. “For lunch and a little gambling.”
“I don’t gamble.”
“Er, yes, well,” Audra resumed charge of the conversation. “Ella, you know you’re welcome to join any outing we arrange.”
“Yes,” Nettie chimed in. “Always welcome!”
Audra nodded. “It’s just that, well, we go to a lot of trouble, what with finding proper venues and activities that are interesting
and entertaining for all the residents. There’s always transportation to arrange, not to mention fund-raising.”
“Not that we’re complaining. We enjoy it,” Nettie added on tiptoe, trying to peek over Ella’s shoulder. Ella stood straighter.
Audra drew her shoulders back, and got down to business. “Ella, you’re always welcome to join us. But we’re often limited to
how many residents can come on a trip. For safety, for simplicity, for bus seats. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
Again Ella shook her head. She most certainly did not see what Audra and Nettie meant. What could a bus trip to the
casino have to do with selling Avon?
Audra’s voice sharpened. “Ella, our point is this. When you sign up for an event, you make a commitment to come along.
When you don’t show up, we have an empty seat on the bus, and a ticket that’s not being used.”
Nettie nodded her agreement, throwing in a yip and a yap here and there, like a faithful Pomeranian, while Audra soldiered
on. “We could have filled the seat with someone who truly wanted to attend. There’s always disappointment when an event is
full. And then you don’t show up. If you had let us know you couldn’t make it ahead of time…”
“Someone on the waiting list could have come after all,” Nettie finished.
Ella narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All we’re trying to say is, if you have to cancel, that’s fine. Just let us know a little bit in advance. That way the seat’s not
wasted. The trip is tomorrow. We’re leaving at ten sharp. If you can make it, great! We’d love to have you. But if you can’t…”
Ella burned with rage. She stepped forward, forcing Nettie and Audra to step back into the hall. “How dare you?” she spat. “I’ve
never signed up for one of your silly trips in my life!”
“Yes, you have,” Audra’s tone turned sharp, making Ella wince. “Many times. And you never show up. If it only happened
once or twice, we wouldn’t have said anything. As it is, you do it all the time. Any time there’s a poster in the lobby, you sign your
name!”
Audra’s spark set Nettie on fire. “And not just for trips, either! Garden Circle, Book Club, you quit coming to Bridge without
saying a word.”
Audra laid a hand over Nettie’s counting fingers, her voice calm once more. “Nettie, let’s not get carried away.” She turned
back to Ella. “We don’t mean to offend you Dear, but this has to stop. It isn’t fair to the other residents.”
Audra’s return to calm control gave Ella courage. What she saw as weakness gave her an advantage, and she pounced.
“Not fair!” Ella hollered. “Not fair? How dare you come here and accuse me? Who do you think you are? Don’t you think I’d
remember if I’d signed up for some stupid day trips? I…. I don’t even play Bridge!”
Audra fixed Ella with a steely look. “So I take it you won’t be coming?”
“No, I won’t be coming. Not tomorrow! Not ever!” Ella screamed. Her body trembled, her lips quivered. She lifted her
fingers, touching the spittle at the corner of her mouth.
Audra’s words were short and clipped. “Very well then.”
Ella watched in disbelief as Nettie and Audra turned and walked away. Still shaking, she slammed the door. Her hands
were clenched in tight fists, her knuckles white. Was there even a word for how she was feeling? Shocked? Embarrassed?
She stormed through her apartment, a river of emotions rushing through her. Then she stopped, considered. Furious? Yes.
Most definitely.
She paced back and forth in her living room, while the theme music to her daily soap resounded in her ears. She snapped
off the television set. Her head and heart pounded. She couldn’t just stay in her apartment, doing nothing more than wear a hole
in the carpet! Her feet stamped while her fists pummelled the air. Arms and legs flew, knocking the coffee table, spilling her
tea. Ella ran to the kitchen to fetch a cloth. Now there was something to do, somewhere to focus her energy. As she sopped up
the tea, it came to her. She would find that list, and wipe her name right out.
Ella abandoned the task and made her way back to the kitchen, rummaged through the drawers, and found a black marker.
And her glasses! What a stroke of luck!
Encouraged by her find, Ella marched to the elevator, wielding the marker like a sword. She punched “L” for lobby. Just let
someone accuse her of forgetting to do that!
Ella stepped off the elevator and found the posted sign-up sheet. Florescent green and trashy; yes, Nettie would pick
something like that. Ella scanned the list and found her name. Someone was playing tricks. The writing was just like hers.
Audra and Nettie had beaten her to the punch. A thin, careful line had been drawn through her name. No matter. Ella uncapped
her marker and pressed hard, obliterating her name with such force she tore a hole in the paper. That would teach them.
She stepped back to admire her handiwork then boarded the elevator. Swimming with self-satisfaction, it seemed like no
time had passed at all when the door slid open. She had to angle around that Nosey Parker Mrs. Simms, who was waiting to
board. What was she doing on Ella’s floor? Trying to sneak a peek into her apartment? It didn’t matter. Ella felt great. Ella felt
more than great.
“Good morning, Mrs. Simms,” she sang as she strode away from the elevator, and into the lobby once more.
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