Duck, duck, choose

$erena the Waitress ponders her future

by Sally Cragin

Illustration by Lennie Peterson

Hollis the Mountain Man likes nothing better at the close of a long day of errands and minor repairs than to sit on his front porch and gaze at Picture Pond. For the last several springs, two pairs of mated geese have raised their families at the edge of the pond, and by the end of summer continue on their way. Every year, he watches the goslings emerge, first as cute and fluffy chicks, later as arrogant adolescent geese with gray chinstraps. More impressive is their toward human contact that never fails to impress Hollis, who can't imagine ever being so social.

This year, a wood duck joins the crew. Hollis expects the smaller bird to be shunted out of the pack and driven off the pond as he's seen the geese do to others of their own kind, but the duck is tolerated. He muses about the unlikely duck/geese alliance when he hears about $erena the Waitress's imminent graduation from the Deloverly School of Esthetology. (On Valentine's Day, she'd reached the end of her tether with longtime boyfriend Hasky Tarbox and fled to Providence to seek her fortune in perm solutions and blowdryers and silk wraps.)

In a way, her departure was inevitable, Delia Ellis Bell the Partial Yankee points out. Her aunts are the hair cutters Theresa and Theresa (of the T 'n` T Beauty Salon), so $erena is only following family tradition. "What's unusual," says Delia, "was that she went so far away to get her license."

"Guess the rubber band connecting her to Tritown is a lot thinner and stretchier than most," adds Hollis. He and Delia miss $erena at Happy's because she used to refill their coffee without asking and encouraged her father to make seasonal doughnuts (the egg-shaped Easter doughnuts were particularly popular). Of all the people Hollis knows in Tritown, $erena is the most likely to adapt elsewhere.

Down at the pond, the geese are busy clipping the grass to stubs, while the duck swims in small circles. Hollis wonders how $erena is faring away from home. He's heard reports from Delia, but Hasky Tarbox hasn't much to say. "He just thinks she'll come back, and they'll go back to the way they were," explains Delia.

"He's not as confident as you may think," replies Hollis, who's exchanged barely a half-dozen words with Hasky but who has witnessed Hasky's diminished manner since $erena's departure.

The next morning, Hollis is awakened by a vigorous pounding on his door. Hasky has roared down the lane in Judge Cronin's black Cadillac (in the shop again for a belt change, but who will notice a few extra miles?). He wants to borrow a tie from Hollis, or rather from Hollis's deceased great-uncle Wilton (who perished mysteriously in an historical re-enactment on the Bicentennial). Hasky remembers the old man in a seersucker suit and yearns for the flaming red bowtie that goes with it.

Hollis groggily opens the door to Hasky, who looks red-faced and uncomfortable in a gray wool suit. "I'm going to the graduation," he says proudly.

Hollis hands over the newly dry-cleaned red tie. "Looks to be a scorcher," he says. "You're gonna be hot in that suit."

Hasky whips the tie around his neck and knots it crisply. "$erena gave me the suit," he says. "Never had occasion to wear it before."

Hollis nods and offers him coffee, but Hasky has to run. He wants to get a big bouquet from Tritown Blooms 4 Ever, and though it's a risk that the flowers will wilt in the car, he doesn't think he can get white roses in Providence.

"Gotta run," he says. "This is my chance to get her back to Tritown, and I'm not missing it."

ALTHOUGH HASKY HAS written $erena nothing more personal than signing his name on a mass-market "Thinking of You" card, he has called her several times and thinks of her constantly while she is away.

"When he wasn't banging out quarter-panels or fishing on the pond or drinking at the Rod `n' Reel," Delia huffs, but she doesn't share these theories in the weekly postcards she sends to $erena. As for the prospective graduate, she's found that four months away from Tritown has sharpened her focus and has kept her more confused than ever about her long-term love affair.

Naturally, she was thrilled when Hasky visited her during the first week of classes, presenting a little diamond ring (he couldn't quite call it an engagement ring, but, by God, $erena stuck it on the relevant finger).

Classes have kept her busy, and there were so many tests and different things to learn in the interim. And when she had a free moment, she ventured out with a few classmates.

There isn't much for young people to do in Tritown, and for $erena a city that caters to youth is a welcome novelty. She's gone to rock clubs and an art gallery, drunk espresso in a cafe where lank-haired poets declaims streams of nonsense from crumpled bits of paper, and seen movies with subtitles. And when her friend Christine had decided she couldn't live another day without a dolphin tattoo capering up her calf, she'd accompanied her to the tattoo artist.

$erena wants to tell Hasky about some of these adventures, but can't quite find the words.

The night before graduation, she and Christine stay up and frost each other's hair in a tribute to the skills they've learned. "I can't believe it's over," $erena says, pulling strands of Christine's hair through the cap. "Seems like I've been here forever."

"I know the feeling," Christine replies, lighting a cigarette, which $erena makes her extinguish. "Quit moving your head," she says. "Ya want to be lopsided?"

Christine smirks at her in the mirror (at least the dorm rooms come with large, lighted mirrors). "You going to ask a client that?" she asks in the mock-severe tones of their least favorite instructor.

$erena whacks her shoulder. "Every time," she says. "Every one."

They work in silence for a while, and then Christine asks her friend what she's planning to do next.

"Dunno. Go back to Tritown, I guess," $erena replies. She holds out her hand to look at her ring. "Be with Hasky."

Christine turns in her chair. "Well, now's as good a time to ask you as any," she begins.

"Ask me what?" $erena interupts.

"Ask you if you want to go in with me for a business. My sister and I got a loan from the Small Business Administration, so you wouldn't have to put any money up front. Here in Providence."

$erena has grown up with a small business. She comes from a family that specializes in small business, and knows that having one meant long hours, uncertain wages, and plenty of paperwork. She is destined to continue the tradition, but where? In Providence, a place where there are places to go and people to see after work? Living in a city, however briefly, has broadened her horizons in many regards. A latte had nothing to do with being tardy, and there is a cute bartender at Lupo's who's asked her out twice. Tritown is so, so . . .

$erena struggles to find the words. "So Tritown," she concludes out loud.

Christine looks up, causing $erena to miss a strand. "So that means you'll think about it?" she asks.

$erena gazes at her reflection in the mirror and nods.

BACK IN TRITOWN, Hollis debates putting out bread crumbs for the geese. The problem if you do that is they start feeling entitled. But if you don't, it goes to waste or the squirrels get it. The wood duck is keeping a distance from his thuggish companions today, and Hollis wonders how long this unlikely team will stick together. Both species need the pond and are willing to put up with unusual company to enjoy it. Another pair of geese have arrived and aren't giving in to the bullying. Yet if more come, they will foul the water.

"Go down to the golf course," Hollis yells from his porch. "Be with your own kind. There's more for everyone down there."

to be continued . . .

Sally Cragin is teaching a writing workshop at Lunenburg's Ritter Library.

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