Stubborn Spell (Working Item)

Thirty-five minutes alone on a state highway has finally flustered Morgan Thompson. Not a pair of headlights in sight for over 20 miles, with the exception of a few lemons with hoods open on the side of the road. The thermometer in her charcoal gray sedan displayed 94 degrees. She could see the heat waves on the pavement; the air-conditioning was at full power. Finding her Aunt Martha’s home was not the most exciting item on the agenda, but with a free Saturday, Morgan took a chance for something she needed. Her parents visited there during the summers ever since she was in elementary school, and Aunt Martha’s catfish dinners were signature and divine. She always used an old deep fryer and added her “special seasoning” to give it the most unique southern flavor. The finishing touches included baked macaroni and cheese with broccoli on the side. If only Morgan could get her hands on that seasoning recipe, she could cook for her fiancé Nolan to prove to her mother that she is somewhat semi-domestic.

An exit sign to Fox Street gave Morgan a chance to find directions. She never knew the address to Aunt Martha’s house and felt that the navigation system was unnecessary, but her memory was quite rusty. At 10:00 a.m., the convenience store off the freeway ramp was closed, oddly. Morgan stopped the car and leaned over to see through her passenger side window. The sign on the glass door read “Funeral.” For the small town of Comet, this was typical as most local businesses were a one-man show. The city-girl from Capitol became irritated at the inconvenience. She adjusted the straps on her floral print maxi-dress and put her sunglasses back on.

Morgan took a left turn to Boxtown Street. An older man stood in his yard, looking down at his grass with a water hose in his hand. She noticed that his gray jumpsuit was tattered and worn. Morgan pressed the passenger window button down.

“Excuse me, sir?” asked Morgan. The man quickly turned to her car.

“Can you wait a damn minute?!” the man yelled. He kneeled down closer to a hole in the yard and began to scratch his salt and pepper curly hair.

Not having the time or patience for imprudence, Morgan began to press the passenger window button up, but the man rose and walked toward her car.

“These gophers think they’ve met a fool!” said the man. “But don’t worry, I’m watching these suckas.”

“Okay,” Morgan said, while raising a well-arched eyebrow. “I was looking for Mint Street. I may have gone too far, could you help me out?”

“Mint Street is two blocks down that way,” the man said, pointing north. “Who are you looking for?”

“Just trying to find my aunt’s house, thank you for your help!” Morgan said. “I really thought I had gone too far.”

The man kicked her passenger side front tire. Morgan grabbed her cell phone as a sign of defense.

“What you need to do find is some air for this tire.” the man said. “Getting low, come on, I’ve got a pump.” He opened her car door. Morgan gripped her seat belt.

“Little girl, I’m not going to hurt you!” shouted the man. “You don’t want a blowout do you?” Morgan nodded and slowly exited her car, cell phone still gripped tightly in her right hand. She walked around to check the tire.

“Oh my, it is getting pretty low,” she said, already wiping the sweat from her forehead. “What would I owe you for this?”

“Just go inside and cool off, I’ll take care of this tire so you can be on your way.” He pointed towards the front screen door.

“Thank you, Mr.?” Morgan asked.

“Aw hell, I didn’t tell you my name, huh?” said the man. “Joseph Trent. But you can call me Joe T.”

“Nice to meet you Joe T., I’m Morgan Thompson,” Morgan said.

“Shoot, you sound and look like a news lady with your hair done and those clean nails.”

Morgan looked down at her manicured hands and smiled. “No, I’m not in the news, I’m a business owner, I run a women’s shoe store in Capitol.”

“Capitol? Whoowee, a city girl!” said Joe T. “You’re a pretty young thing too, how old are you?”

“I’m 27,” Morgan said. Her armpits were soaked. “Do you mind if I go inside now?”

“Yeah go on ahead there,” said Joe T., and pointed at the screen door.

Morgan entered Joe T.’s clutter-filled home, the television was playing an old western at a high volume and she could smell burned toast coming from the kitchen. The odd number of socks and shirts all over the couch and coffee table in the living room proved her assumption that there was not a lady of the house. She sat down on the sofa and felt a desk fan on the side table blowing warm air. That is all she felt, she was still hot. Tying her hair into a ponytail, she got up and peeked around to the other rooms and noticed a window air-conditioning unit placed in the back of the kitchen. It was covered in dust and a few knobs were missing. She returned to the couch, she could hear Joe T.’s footsteps on the porch.

“Mowgan, you alright in there?” he asked. “That fan’s plenty cool, huh?”

“It’s blowing hot air, Joe T.,” Morgan said. “What’s wrong with your air-conditioner?”

“My son bought me that raggedy thing last year,” he answered. “Once it broke I paid it no nevermind. I don’t need that anyhow.”

“But it’s gonna be 101 degrees by this afternoon,” Morgan said. “A man your age needs to keep cool.”

“I’m 72 years old!” Joe T. retorted. “It feels pleasant to me. Keep the window open at night, I do just fine. Plus, I can’t afford for my light bill to be sky-high. I’m on a fixed income, ya hear me?”

Joe T. proceeded to sit on a stool and stared at the floor for a few seconds and never looked up. He picked off small pieces of grass from his knees.

“Well, your tire’s got air now,” he said. He got up and walked outside.

Morgan melted inside. It was too hot for her, but not sure of what to do for him. She knew there was no swaying the stubborn old man, wondering how much extra his “light bill” will be if he had a working cooling unit. After two minutes of tapping her feet, she reached in her tote bag and retrieved $50 from her wallet and placed it under an old ashtray next to the remote control on the coffee table. She arose from the sticky couch, looked back at Joe T.’s living room, took a deep breath and walked back outside. Joe T. stood in the driveway wringing his hands.

“Yeah, I’ve lost my breath a few times at night,” Joe T. explained. “But I was just sleeping good. Don’t think it was the heat at all.”

Morgan held on to Joe T.’s elbow. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know,” she said. “Are you sure I don’t owe you anything?”

“How old is your aunt?” he asked.

“She’s around 50-ish,” Morgan answered.

“Yeah, I like them young,” he said. “Is she alone?”

“Yes,” Morgan said, smiling. She quickly pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and jotted down her cell phone number and placed it in Joe T.’s hand. “Here’s my phone number. I’ll put in a good word for you, how about that?”

Joe T. produced his first ear-to-ear grin. “Alright,” he said.

Morgan returned to her car and headed north to Aunt Martha’s house. She smiled to herself about how cute Joe T.’s face lit up like a full moon just then. She was not sure about his past but his mannerisms showed that he seemed in need of companionship.

The sun was high in the sky upon Morgan’s arrival at her aunt’s home. Her yard was perfectly trimmed and she could smell the fresh fertilizer from the immaculate flowerbed that was adorned with annuals fitting to the colors of the rainbow. Morgan rang the doorbell that sang happy melodies. The pink door finally opened.

“Well, hey there!” shouted Martha Thompson. “What in the world brings you all the way out here?”

“Hey auntie, how are you?” Morgan asked. She entered Aunt Martha’s living room that smelled of peaches and strawberries. Plastic covered the furniture and the room was all windows.

“I’m doing okay, you hungry? Martha asked.

Morgan smelled something from the kitchen. She walked towards the dining room table and peaked at the apple-covered wallpaper. Her skin appreciated the air conditioning.

“Sure, watcha got?” Morgan asked, as if she were a kid again. She sat in the chair on one leg, she was a kid again.

“Got some tomato soup and garlic bread going for lunch, it should be ready in just a few minutes,” Martha said. She took off her apple-themed apron and teased her short pixie cut with her fingers. “You never answered my question chile, what’s brings you out here?”
“Oh,” Morgan said. “So, you know how much I love your catfish, right? I was hoping you could share that with me so I can make it for Nolan at home.”

“Does your mama know about this?” Martha laughed. Her hand scratched the back of her head.

“She will be okay,” Morgan said. “I think the shock of her even knowing that I’m asking you this will send her into cardiac arrest.” They both laughed. The timer on the stove grew louder and louder. Martha jumped up to get the soup ready. She returned with two white bowls full of her homemade tomato soup.

“Whoo, well okay, you are my favorite niece,” Martha chuckled. “Gotta keep that man happy. I may even have some more recipes to give to you.”

“Awesome auntie, thank you so much!” Morgan exclaimed.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Martha said, while sipping her soup. “So, what do you have planned for the rest of today?”

Morgan patted her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Well, I plan on meeting up with a potential caterer this evening to do a food and wine tasting for the reception. We’ve interviewed three other vendors so we hope to like this one.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to dress fancy for this wedding girl,” Martha said. “I’ve only got this nice dress and I mostly wear that to funerals.”
“You can wear what you want auntie,” Morgan laughed. “It will be a great celebration. I’m not going to care what people are wearing.” Morgan’s spoon began to clank the bottom of the soup bowl.

“You want some more?” Martha asked.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Morgan answered. “This was too good auntie, thank you! Could I use your bathroom?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Martha answered. She took the empty bowls and glasses back to her kitchen.

Morgan checked her reflection in the mirror in the bathroom. Ringlets of hair hung from her ponytail and there were sweat stains on her dress from her soppy armpits. She returned to the living room.

“Auntie, how come you didn’t tell me I looked a shame?” Morgan asked.

“Girl, you look fine,” Martha said. “But it does look like you’ve been in the field!”

“A man helped me put air in my tire this morning and I sat in his very, very hot house,” Morgan said. “He wouldn’t buy an air conditioner, or even buy a cooling system. What a tenacious old man he was.”

“You went into a stranger’s house girl?” Martha shouted. “He could’ve hurt you!”

“He was harmless auntie,” Morgan said. “He turned out to be an okay gentleman.”

Martha put her apron back on and started cleaning the kitchen. Morgan sat on the couch reading a women’s magazine and turned on the television. The television ended up watching her eventually. Morgan fell asleep on the plastic-covered sofa.

The sun started to move west as Morgan woke up from her nap. She lifted her body with one arm still clenched to the paisley sofa pillow. Martha brought her a glass of water in a pink cup.

“You were sweating up a storm, take this water,” Martha said.

“Thanks, auntie,” Morgan said. She inhaled that water and licked the excess that dripped down off of her lips. “It’s really time for me to head back.”

Morgan grabbed her purse and put her sandals back on and folded up her Martha’s hand stitched quilt and placed it on the arm of the sofa. Her cell phone rang. It was an unknown phone number.

“Hello?” Morgan asked.

“Mowgan?” said the voice that sounded like Joe. T.’s, but more muffled and breathless.

“Joe. T. is this you?” Morgan asked. “Are you okay?”

“Can’t see through this smoke,” Joe T. whispered. He then started coughing and panting.

“I’m headed back over there!” Morgan shouted. There was no response on the other end of the phone line.

“What’s going on?” Martha asked.

“I’m headed back to the see that man who fixed my tire this morning, sounds like he’s in some trouble. You wanna come with me?”

“Uh, no, he sounds like a messy old man. You be careful, hear?” Martha said.

“Yes ma’am,” Morgan responded. She gave her aunt a hug and headed down the road again.

Morgan was relieved to not see flames coming from Joe T.’s house when she pulled up in the driveway. She exited her car swiftly and walked through the front door. She smelled smoke in the living room and heard pans rattling from the kitchen and a breathless Joe T struggling to talk. She ran into the kitchen and found him lying on the floor on his side, hostile to try standing up. There were small sparks and lots of smoke coming from the air conditioning unit. Morgan wrapped her arms around his back and across his chest to support him. Her goal was to at least get him out of the kitchen.

“Let me help you up,” Morgan said. “Did you try to turn on the air?”

“Yeah…” Joe T. whispered. “It works fine though, just hadn’t used it in a while.”

Morgan rolled her eyes, and then heard louder noises coming from the unit and more sparks. She was able to at least get Joe T. to sit in a dining room chair. He sat with his head down. She called emergency services.

“They’re on their way, let’s go outside,” Morgan said. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I can get up,” Joe T. answered lucidly. “Just need a ‘lil jumpstart, that’s all.”

Upon entering the front porch, they noticed that there was a response unit on their way inside, along with the fire department. Another man walked in the grass towards Joe T. and shook his head.

“Man, I saw that smoke from my back window,” said the stranger. “You alright old man?”

“The hell are you?” Joe T. asked.

“I’m your neighbor, I live in the house behind you,” the man answered. “I called the ambulance for you.”

“Well go on back home, I’m fine,” Joe T. answered. The man looked at Morgan, shrugged his shoulder and shook his head, then walked back home.

Two firemen walked out of the house, dripped with sweat, holding the air-conditioning unit. One of the first responders walked up to Joe T.

“Sir, let’s check you out to make sure your vitals are normal,” said the public servant.

“That’s okay, because I don’t even take vitamins,” Joe T. answered. Morgan hung her head down with her hand over her mouth.

“Joe T., let him check you out to make sure you are okay,” Morgan said.

“I’m sick of y’all!” Joe T. shouted. “Hurry up!”

Joe T. sat on the back of the ambulance truck while the responders took his blood pressure and asked him a few questions. Morgan took this opportunity to reset her ponytail.

“All good, sir,” the responder said. “You have a nice day.”

“Uh, huh,” Joe T. retorted. One of the firemen approached.

“Sir, this unit was in a hazardous condition,” said the fireman. “I strongly suggest a replacement unit right away.”

“You gonna pay for it?” Joe T. asked. He folded his arms, then placed them in his pocket, then folded them again.

“We’ll take care of it,” Morgan said. “Thank you all for your help.”

The fire truck and ambulance drove away.

“Do you want to call your son to see if he can get you a new unit?” Morgan asked.

“Damn right I am,” he responded. “He’s up in fancy Capitol too and I’m about to ring him up right now. I’m not putting wood on that open window back there. Mosquitoes will tear me up. I’m gonna have to pay him this $50 to even come out here!”
Morgan laughed.

“Well good, I’m going to head home; it’s almost 6:00 p.m.”

They headed into the house again; Morgan grabbed her belongings from the kitchen. She noticed the scrap piece of paper she wrote her number on the table. She picked it up.

“Naw Mowgan, leave it there,” Joe T. said. “I’m gonna probably need it again.”

Morgan hugged Joe T. once again and allowed him privacy to call his son. She shut the screen door behind her. When she returned to her car, she kicked all the tires. She looked at Aunt Martha’s catfish recipe on the passenger seat. She drove away from Joe T.’s home. The sun was setting dreamily on the horizon. A quick phone call to her caterer to reschedule the tasting was completed. She was more than ready to just go home and cook for Nolan.