Choices

            “Today is the day. Get Ready.”

            Get ready for what, for Pete’s sake? Georgia said, yanking the bold printed message from under her windshield wiper. She’d entertained a brief hope that it was a coupon for a massage or a facial at the new Health Spa opening soon in the center. But it could mean anything from a free palm read to some kook saying it’s the end of the world. What a crock!

 Her glance swept over the backseat full of groceries as she inched out of the parking space. Or… it could be a brake job, somewhere. That’d be great; or a coupon for fifty dollars’ worth of groceries. Wouldn’t hurt my feelings any.

            Lugging the bags into the house, she lowered them unto the kitchen table. “Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff,” barked her wall clock, a gift from her jokester daughter. “Ruff ruff, yourself,” Georgia muttered. Six o’clock. She was tired. She thought about the “get ready” message. She’d really wanted it to be a free massage. Oh, to be pampered, at least for an hour.

After all was put away, she poured herself a glass of wine, turned on the news, and began cleaning chicken livers. Soul food. Just what she needed. Dumping the livers into a plastic bag of seasoned flour, she shook it good and sauteed the livers in a little butter and olive oil. Next, she put some grits to boiling and sliced some tomatoes.

When her supper was ready, she served her plate and sat down at the kitchen table. Mid-chew, with eyes glued to the news, she felt a presence at her shoulder. I am going to die. Some lunatic pervert put that note on my car, and is in my house.

A throat cleared. A female throat? Georgia turned around. There stood a very large woman with gray hair in a bun. (Picture Jonathon Winters’ character, Maudie.) She wore a house dress and black, thick soled shoes. And a big, cheesy grin. “Howdy,” she said. “Mind if I have some of that?”

Georgia’s open mouth snapped shut. “What are you doing in my house? And how did you get in? You scared me to death!”

“Name’s Bertha Mae. I’m a figment. Mind if I sit down?” she said, pulling out a chair. “All this appearin’and disappearin’ wears me to a frazzle.  How you doin’?”

“You’re a what?”

“I’d sure like some of that if you don’t mind.”

Georgia started to get up. “Wait a minute! What are… I mean you don’t exactly look dangerous, but…”

“Sugar, listen to me. I got your attention with the note on your car, and …”

“You? You put that on my car? Why?”

“I’m tryin’ to tell you. I’m here to change your life—make it better—dependin’ on how you do. That is, if you ever get me somethin’ to eat before I wither away.”

“How I do? Who are you, anyway, and…”

“You can call me Bertie. Bertha Mae’s a mouthful, I always thought.”

Shaking her head, Georgia got up and fixed the woman? figment? a plate of grits and chicken livers. When she turned around, Bertie had one granny shoe off, rubbing her foot.

“I’m getting too old for this. Got corns and bunions like you wouldn’t believe. And a hammer toe. Lovely thing. But good cookin’ always helps… oh, thanks, honey, that looks mighty good.  Now, where was I? Oh, yes. I will grant you a wish…uummm, um! But I’ve learned through the years it’s better if I provide a list of wishes for folks to choose from. Simplifies things and you get better choices. You would not believe the wishes some people make—stupid, impossible wishes no way I could grant. So…” she reached down in her voluminous bosom and produced a folded sheet that smelled of Johnson’s baby powder.

Georgia read down the short list:

1.      Do something you’ve always wanted to do

2.      Win a new car

3.      Create something with your hands

4.      Write a song

5.      Fall in love and have your love returned

Georgia looked at Bertie. “But these aren’t what I’d wish for.  I mean, some, maybe, but…”

Bertie lowered her foot and with hands on knees, looked Georgia in the eye. “This list was made just for you.  These are all good things; things that require a little effort. Makes them more meaningful, don’t you think? What is it you’d rather have? More money?”

“No…well, sure, more money would be great, but what I’d really like is… I wish it were possible to… go back thirty years and live my life differently.”

“Whoa, now! That’s a mighty tough wish. Don’tcha know there’d be a rush on that wish if it were possible?” Bertie took off her other shoe and rubbed that foot. “Oooo, you don’t have any Epsom Salts do you?” Georgia shook her head. Bertie shook her head, too. “But I can’t grant that one. I’m not powerful enough. You sure you don’t want to create somethin’?”

“I wrote a book.”

“Well, good for you.  I mean it. That’s terrific, but it says ‘with your hands.’”

“Didn’t write it with my feet.”

Bertie grinned and licked her index finger, chalking up an imaginary point for Georgia. “Wouldn’t it be neat though, to mold something or paint something; and I don’t mean your walls.” Bertie chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to be an artist?”

Georgia’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to be able to illustrate the children’s stories I write.”

“Well, there you go, “Bertie said, with a satisfied smile. “Wish decision made.” She forked a last bite of chicken liver and smacked her lips in appreciation. “Mighty tasty, darlin’. Thank you, kindly. Now, make your wish and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Georgia looked alarmed. “Wait a minute! Wait! That’s not my wish. I haven’t given this enough thought.”

Bertie sighed. “O-o-kay. Well, let’s see. What about writing a song? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I just wrote a country western song.”

“No kiddin’? Let’s hear it.”

Georgia grinned in spite of herself. “Well, actually, I just wrote the lyrics.

“Okay. Lemme hear the lyrics.”

“Now? You want to hear them now?”

“Sure. Why not? You got somethin’ better to do?”

“I was getting ready to do the wash…”

Bertie chuckled. “Sounds exciting.”

Georgia looked doubtful, then abruptly changed her mind. “Just a minute.” Coming back with a sheet of paper, she handed it to Bertie, who began reading aloud:

LYING

Lying seems to be in fashion

Lying seems to be in style;

You just told me, darlin’,

You’ve been lying all the while.

Must admit that I don’t get it,

Why pretend right from the start?

Did you win a bet or something?

Was it fun to break my heart?

What made you decide to tell me?

What has changed since yesterday?

Could it be that feeling guilty

Started getting in the way?

                  Refrain

Think I understand it now, you were using me;

Just to make somebody jealous, you were using me.

Now you say you’re sorry and you want to be my friend,

Well, I don’t compromise,

Don’t appreciate your lies,

And long ago I gave up let’s pretend.

Bertie slapped her knee. “That there’s a winner! I could almost hear a tune. You oughta put some music to it.”

Georgia grinned. “Really? You think so?”

Bertie clicked her tongue. “Yes, ma’am, I do. You know how to write music?”

“No, that’s the problem. I need a collaborator.”

“Ha!” Bertie snorted. “Is that your wish, now?”

‘NO! no, not that. I…” Georgia got up and went to the fridge. “You still hungry? Want some ice cream?”

“Does a duck quack?”

Georgia laughed and brought the whole carton over to the table with two spoons.

“Now you’re talkin’” Bertie said, digging right in.

Georgia shook her head “You sure eat a lot for a figment.”

“Never pass up an opportunity,” Bertie mumbled, mouth full. Swallowing, she said, abruptly, “Why do you want to live your life over? You got any kids?”

“A daughter; why?”

“Because you wouldn’t have her if you lived your life over.  Does she love you?”

Georgia was taken aback and beginning to feel offended. “Of course, she loves me. I’m her mother. It’s just that…”

Bertie sighed. “That?”

“Well, that’s why I want to relive those years! I made a lot of mistakes with her and I want to… not make them.”

“You know anybody who didn’t?”

 Georgia got up from the table and paced back and forth across the kitchen trying to calm down. Stopping in front of Bertie, she looked pleadingly at the large woman. “You said I could have a wish. That’s what I wish.”

Bertie shook her head. “Sorry, darlin’. That’s too big a wish. Couldn’t do that even in my younger days. Tell you what. Think about your list and when you decide on somethin’, holler and I’ll come runnin’. Well, not runnin’, more like limpin’.

And she was gone.

Georgia picked up the list of choices.

She knew it was up to her to get along better with her daughter, and she would. Patience and more understanding and… she loved her to pieces, so she’d make it work.

Reading over her choices she kept coming back to the love interest. She dropped it on the table. “Pooh bah!” she said aloud. “It’s too late for that.”

The next afternoon, fixing some chicken marsala for her supper, she got the creepy feeling again that someone was…

“Whoo-eee! That smells good!” said guess who.

Georgia turned around. “Perfect timing. Am I your only meal ticket? Aren’t you helping anybody else at the moment?”

“Well, I’ve got my eye on this guy…”

“Oh ho! A love interest.  My, my.”

“No, darlin’, I’m checkin’ him out for you.”

Georgia flinched. “Me! You mean I don’t get to pick my own friend? He has to pass your inspection?”

Bertie grinned. “So that’s going to be your wish.  Thought so; that’s why I’ve been checkin’ ‘em out. Pickin’s are slim, though, I have to tell you. They’re all goin’ out with babies, these days.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oh. Well, they seem to like…”

Georgia laughed. “No. I mean, I agree.”

Bertie looked perplexed. “Tell me about it means you agree? I’m getting’ too old to talk to humans any more. And kids are worse.”

“They always are,” Georgia agreed. I have no idea what they mean half the time.”

Bertie wiped her mouth. “Okay, Missy, time to make your wish. Time’s a’fleetin’ and you’re not getting’ any younger, ya know.”

“Oh! I have to say now? Well, there are two, and …I’m… trying to decide which one.”

Bertie leaned down to retie an orthopedic shoe. “Successful music career or boyfriend. That it? Hard decision.”

Georgia nodded. “I won’t ask you how you knew.”

“’Course, if it were me,” Bertie said, “I’d be thinkin’ would I rather spend my nights up on one stage after another, night after night, town after town, or clinkin’ wine glasses with a handsome dude over a lobster dinner—but that’s just me, you understand.”

Georgia got up and started pacing. “You must’ve been a lawyer in your former figment years. You’re very convincing.”

            “Nope, just practical. I like to look down the road, so to speak. And I hate to tell you, Missy, but you haven’t got all that much road left.”

            “Bertie! Do you mean…do you know when I’m…”

            “No, darlin’. ‘Course not. I’m just sayin’… she raised an eyebrow.

Georgia plopped down in the chair. “You’re right. So, I guess, in the long run… Oh, hell, Bertie! Screw the career! Gimme a good lookin’ man who’ll love me!” Then, suddenly, she popped up, eyes dancing. “Wait, wait, wait! Could you… please also let him be funny, and smart, and a song writer? We could write music together…and our songs would be hits…and we’ll have a house on a lake in North Carolina! Oh, is that too much?”

Bertie laughed and snapped her fingers.