Frank lied in his bed staring up at the ceiling filled with cracks more numerous than those that now line his face. His bed, though made for two, now serves as his fortress of solitude and lonesomeness. He spends his days down at the plant manufacturing parts that make automobiles run, but by the time he gets home he barely has enough energy left to function himself, which usually results in him going to bed right after his microwave dinner that he eats at the table for one dimly lit in the corner of his kitchen. Tonight his choice was a slightly warm dish of chicken breast complemented by corn and potatoes that he picked up in the frozen food section at Wal-Mart for a mere eighty-eight cents. After finishing up the last spoonful of corn, he looked down at his hands, the light shined just enough for him to notice they were marked with grease from the day’s work. Not wanting to dirty the bed that he has kept in a state of cleanliness for so long, he decided to take a quick shower before laying down for a rest.
The water from the showerhead washed away all the worries he had previously in the day, and the towel that he used to dry away the water droplets filled with his boss yelling at him, his wallet sitting almost empty, and his house slowly falling to pieces around him, left him a clean slate for new worries to begin tomorrow. His sleep would serve as his only time to rest in a worry free dream world before life started up again. In the next moment, he brushed his teeth and clothed himself in the same flannel underwear he was wearing that night he declared the bed sheets would remain in a state of normality from then on. Then, he was off to bed.
The ceiling began to grow distant as Frank’s eyes slowly grew weary. Sleep was almost here, but he wasn’t ready for it. The day had drifted by so that he almost forgot another ritual he performs before calling it a night. Not wanting to throw anything off, he slowly rose, half asleep, and walked over to the closet that sits one outfit over maximum occupancy. As he opened the doors, he slowly looked down the line at all his suits that hung side by side. He brushed his finger down the line, delicately touching the grey suits, then the black suits, and finally the blue suits. Then, suddenly, his finger ended on the last outfit on the right side of the closet, an outfit quite contrary to the world of men’s suits, an evening dress the color of red. Taking the dress out he laid it on his bed, placing it on the side that doesn’t get slept on. Then he walked to the old phonograph player that sits in the corner of his room and set up an old Frank Sinatra record. As Old Blue Eyes slowly crooned away, Frank walked back over to the bed and grasped the dress in his mammoth arms.
“Fly me to the moon. Let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars. In other words, hold my hand. In other words, Baby kiss me," Frank sang along with the more famous Frank as he began waltzing around the room in dance formation. His left arm was cast out in front of him with a cupped hand while his right, more to the side, supported a grasped hand as if he were ballroom dancing with a person that only he could see. In one continuing motion, he traced the outline of his bed from one side of the headboard to the other while turning in circles that made the dress flare up as the music sped up. The upbeat song continued as Frank outlined the walls of his room turning faster and faster until the song reached the ending phrase. As the horns picked up for the grand finale Frank quickly hung the dress back up in its proper place among the suits. He made it back to his bed just in time to sing the last line “In other words, I……..love……………you.” Then he lied down and pulled the covers over his head, so his faux dance partner couldn’t see, while tears filled his eyes.
Night after night the same routine was done. Home. Eat. Wash. Dance. Sleep. The only thing that Frank dared change was the song sung by Sinatra. That didn’t matter as much as everything else because that dreary night years ago, there was no time for music. There was no time for dancing. There was no time for singing. However, not a day goes by that he wishes there would have been time, if not perhaps time for one song, at least just one note. Therefore, he made it a goal each night to dance to a tune from Sinatra, her favorite singer, with that red dress that used to be hers. That red dress that he last saw her in. That red dress that he believes still holds her presence.
~~*~~
That night will forever remain vibrant in his memory. They had gone to a holiday dance held annually at the City Hall. The whole town had shown up: the mayor, the butcher, the lawyers, and even the working class plant assembly line men like Frank. It was a time where everyone could enjoy each other’s company for the benefit of company. Race, sex, and social standing were masked for the purpose of having a good time and showcasing what the town had to offer.
Frank and Judy had arrived early that night like always. Frank lived by the words of his boss, Mr. Sampson, in every situation: “To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, to be late is utterly unacceptable.” Entering the City Hall, which was fashioned more like a Governor’s State Mansion that night, Frank looked from table to table searching for faces that he recognized, but no one from the plant came. No one from the plant ever came. Judy, however, picked out Betty, her friend from the town Garden Club, sitting at a table near the back of the room. Betty was married to Joseph Spangler of Spangler, Dunlap, and Johnson, the top law firm in town. She was married to a wealthy man who knew how to save innocent men from losing their freedom and Judy was married to a man who knew how to fasten part A to part B, but somehow that didn’t affect their friendship.
As Franklin and Judith, the classier names they preferred to be called at the annual ball, slowly walked towards that table Betty yelled, “Judith! Darling! Oh, please do sit with Joe and me. We must catch up; we most certainly catch up!”
“Betty dear, it has certainly been a long time. Frank and I drove by your place the other day. Your daffodils look quite extravagant, and those hanging plants on your porch, they must have cost a fortune,” Judith said with a nervous voice. She loved Betty as a sister, but knew that her social standing as a lawyer’s wife left them with little to talk about save for flowers. And, oh, the flowers that Betty Spangler did have. Judy envied Betty’s carefully squared out, large gardens at her home on Main Street. She knew that no matter how hard Frank worked at the factory, she would never be able to afford as many beautiful plants as Betty, but she could dream.
During the day when Frank was at work, Judy would thumb through the newest copy of Better Homes and Gardens looking for the next exotic plant that she could add to her collection of flowers that sat in the backyard of her ranch house in their pots. She knew that they would look much prettier in the ground and in the front yard, but in the backyard they were hidden from the rest of the neighborhood, and by staying in their pots she could move them around and even bring them inside to her bedroom where they would sit by her bedside as she dreamt of new ones to purchase. Frank had a deal that he would buy her a new plant every two weeks when he got a paycheck, yet still she knew that her garden would never amount to that of Betty’s. Judy did, however, know that she had one of the most loyal husbands in town, and that was what she cared most about. Frank was the flower that she was always searching for in the pages of magazines and in the yards of Main Street, but she knew the searching was just for show, for Frank was already hers. Frank was amongst the flowers in her backyard, safe from the picking of any of the other ladies in the neighborhood.
“Why thank you Judy,” Betty said as Frank and his wife sat down at the table, “the hanging plants were a gift from Joe. He won the McPeterson case he has been working on for the last year, and he thought I deserved a little gift for being such a loving wife. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?”
“Quite sweet," Judy said while looking towards Joe. “So Joe, you finally got Mr. McPeterson the justice he deserved? Good for you. Al is an honest man; he never deserved to be caught up in that mess.”
“It’s all in a day’s work,” Joe said boastfully. “Why Frank, how’s your ol’ job up at the plant treatin’ ya? How long you been working there now?”
“Twenty-eight loyal years,” Frank said quickly for this statement was his own way of bragging. “I’ve worked that same position all those years, and I wouldn’t give it up for all the money in the world. There’s something about putting in a hard day’s work that brings new life to a soul, you know Joe?”
Joe nodded for he had nothing else to say to Frank. He only asked the question to be polite. He didn’t want to hear his life story or about the inside workings of the plant, he just didn’t want to be the person that wouldn’t socialize with men of Frank’s caliber although, in fact, he was very much that person.
The night went on much like that with Judy and Betty talking about flowers and other likes of the female persuasion while Frank sat off to the side adding to the conversation only when Judy asked his opinion on something. He wished that just once one of the plant men would show up so he would have someone to talk to, but he didn’t mind much sitting there with Judy because he knew she was enjoying herself and that made him happy.
The night went on much like that with Judy and Betty talking about flowers and other likes of the female persuasion while Frank sat off to the side adding to the conversation only when Judy asked his opinion on something. He wished that just once one of the plant men would show up so he would have someone to talk to, but he didn’t mind much sitting there with Judy because he knew she was enjoying herself and that made him happy.
While Judy and Betty started talking about the new living room sets down at Dunbar’s Furniture, Frank decided he would get everyone some punch. “I’m going up to get a drink, would anyone care for one?”
“Sure,” was the unanimous yell that came from the table, some more excited than others.
Up at the punch table, Frank thought to himself that Joe was such a snob. He couldn’t stand that a man whose job description was to truly care about the well being of others was such a jerk. Therefore, he decided to add a pinch of salt and pepper to Joe’s drink. He thought that would be just the right amount of spice to spark up a conversation with the man he despised the most at the party. While he was adding the grains, he pretended that it was actually rat poison and that after one drink he would never have to see Joe talk about his money again, but he knew that he was just too nice to do that to another human being although Joe had no problem socially murdering him throughout the ball.
While walking back to the table, hands full of glasses, Frank tripped over a chord that had been spread across the room to plug in the stereo. Punch went all over him and the people around him. He sat there on the floor for a few seconds after it happened thinking the punch to be blood on his outfit, because at that moment he just wished he was dead. Everyone in the room, the whole town, was staring at him. Some were pointing, and all were laughing. Well, that is everyone but Judy, who came running to his rescue.
© 2011, Austin A. Searfoss
