by Alena Deerwater
You've heard of the burning bush through which God spoke to stuttering Moses. My bush grew a head and spoke to me. A chocolate brown female head. At the time I was mute – well, that's an exaggeration – I was sixteen, grounded, and refusing to speak to my father (the one of the flesh and blood variety).
It all began in the twilight (zone) of a summer's evening. I was upstairs in Momma's abandoned writing room, finally putting pen to paper….
“You-who! Dog's out!”
Damn. That'd be Ms. Tingle, our next door neighbor, yelling up at our house from her driveway. She calls over here a lot lately.
“Hello? Anybody home? Dog's out, and tomorrow is garbage day.”
Cripes! Do I have to deal with everything? Maybe if I keep on writing she'll just go away. Gammon gives a bark at the side door. The dog must have slipped out when Dad left for work. My father is the head-honcho astronomy professor at the local university.
I sneak to the window and say, “Hush Gammon, I'll be right down. I just want to write a little more.” Gammon looks so cute from up here. A black shadow with a pink tongue sitting on the gray asphalt looking up at me. In the growing darkness I can barely make out the white star on his chest.
Gammon barks again and wiggles his tail like he's winding a spring and about to jump right up to me in this second story window. Right. If dogs could fly.
“Don't go acting like superdog,” I say. “Though I could use a superhero right about now – get me out of this mess. Dad grounded me. Can you believe it?”
“No! Grounded?” Ms. Tingle butts in. “Is that why your Daddy left in such a huff? He didn't even wave.”
Ms. Tingle never said more than two words to me till Momma left and I started working with her at the library. Then she started poking her head through the bushes dividing our driveways almost everyday. Guess I got interesting – part of the Crescent Road neighborhood gossip circuit. I see that other lady, Ms. Whatever-Her-Name-Is Danglefop, pop over to see Ms. Tingle much more often now that Tingle has interesting next door neighbors.
Happy to oblige – right.
The two of them stand in Tingle's driveway and talk in whispered tones – soft brown Afro-curled head leans into long thin blondie-wisps. They peer over at our house, then whisper some more. God, could they be more obvious? Yes. When my boyfriend Jimmy comes up our drive on his bike, they actually giggle. How old are these geezers anyway? Get a life.
I call on down to her this evening, like a good girl, “Hello Ms. Tingle. How were the books today?” I can't see her at first. Her deep earthy voice comes from behind the tall yews that divide our driveways. Then she takes a few steps back and I see her round brown face smiling up at me.
From my window in the fading light, Ms. Tingle looks like her body is a bush, or more like the bush has grown a head just so it can smile and tempt me into conversation. My neighbor transmutes before my very eyes into some quirky goddess whose father is the god of suburban shrubbery and whose mother is an African queen.
The Tingle-Bush laughs and speaks. “Dog's out. Ran to the Bialosky's again, before he came back here. One wouldn't want one's dog getting into one's neighbor's garbage.”
“Thank you, Ms. Tingle.”
I pull my head back in the window like a turtle.
“Your Daddy seemed to be in one mess of a hurry. One would think the stars would still be up in the sky even if one's five minutes late.”
One wonders who taught Ms. Tingle to say one so much. Perhaps it is an ancient form of goddess-speak; the divine Oneness of life – but I thought that was monotheism.
I stick my head back out the window. Can one see the look I'm giving her from up here?
“He barely stopped at the end of the driveway,” Tingle continues. “Thought he was gonna hit me.”
“Dad or the dog?”
The Tingle-Bush chortles. “Your Daddy.”
“Sorry. I sort of riled him up.”
“Not your fault, hon. Don't go apologizing for your parents. It's not your fault he's in a huff. And it's not your fault your Momma ran off either.”
Who said it was?
“It's your job as a teenager to push their buttons . . .”
I know I push Dad's buttons, but do I push Momma's too? Is that why she ran off?
“So don't go taking on your parents troubles,” she continues. “You got your own life to get going on.”
“Uh huh.”
“Live your own life, honey. Live your own life. One should always live one's own life.”
Sometimes I wonder why Ms. Tingle doesn't live her own life and stay the hell out of mine.
“Well, honey….”
Do all goddesses talk so much?
“One should always let the dog in before he's run over by a car.” Once again the Tingle-Bush laughs. She disappears into the yews, slipping through the overgrown cut-through to our driveway. Tingle reappears in her human form and lets Gammon in the side door.
“Thanks,” I force from my throat.
Tingle looks up at me. I could spit on her from here, and would if she were someone else.
“Any news?” she asks. I know she means Momma.
“No.”
“Need some food?”
“No.”
“A rescue?”
Silence.
If she keeps on being so nice I'm gonna cry.
“You're right,” she says. “Probably need to work this trouble out yourself. One should always stay out of one's neighbor's business.”
I finally smile down at her. She probably can't see my grin in the growing darkness, but I hope she can feel it.
“You have a good night. Don't be afraid to give a holler.” Ms. Tingle cuts back through to her own home. She just can't help herself from talking on and on. “I don't like you all alone in that big old house with your Daddy at work till all strange hours of the night and your Momma who knows where. Come midnight a girl should be with her family.” She stops at her back door, looks up at me one more time. “Cinderella's fairy godmother knew a thing or two.”
Suddenly her silhouette is back-lit, emanating light. I blink my eyes and shake the cobwebs out of my heart. If I were still a little kid, I'd wonder who this strange book-lady-neighbor really is. I'm sure the Earth Mother Goddess has more of a hand in my vision than the old patriarchal Father-God. In the illustrated women's mythology book Momma gave me years ago, all the goddesses are surrounded by blazing golden rays just like what I'm looking at now. Whoa. I blink again, take a breath and reality steps in. Her automated outdoor light must of just clicked on right behind her.
“There,” Tingle says. “I've gone and butted in.”
“Well if you see my fairy godmother, tell her I made it home by midnight, but I need some help finding everyone else.”
“Will do.”
I watch Ms. Tingle disappear into her house. Gammon clamors up the backstairs. His big front paws join my elbows on the window sill. We smell the evening together – smoldering barbeques and perhaps the coming of rain. The stars are coming out, peaking through some gathering clouds. The bright one there, just above the horizon is a planet – one of the wanderers.
But I am stuck here. Guarded by a would-be flying dog and a buttinsky bush goddess.
Gammon gives me a lick on the lips.
It's going to be a long night.