https://www.angelfire.com/art/barrington/
outsiderartist@excite.com
Marsha is 47, has seven children, and was homeless when I met her.
Last year I worked at the shelter. My duties were answering the phones (mostly to give directions as to where we were located) and handing out cups of coffee, juice for the children, and various sandwich spread sandwiches. I would return the next morning to help with the laundry. I still haven’t figured out why so many of the sheets had pee on them. My guess is that the people didn’t want to get up in the night and leave their stuff while they went to the bathroom. Thief does happen in shelters. Actually it was more prevalent than I imagined.
When you work with people some of them open up and like to tell you their stories. Marsha was like that. She had a big brood, seven children sired by two boyfriends and two husbands. Her last boyfriend, Ely, was divorced with four children. Ely owned his own business and worked as a rock hauler on the side. His wife was described as a troublemaking crazy person, but I think all ex-wives are called that.
Marsha thought she had found the perfect man, for her. A man not only with a job but a business. She overlooked the fact that he spent two hours every night in the bar before coming home. They ate at six and were in bed by eight. She worked as a part-time dog groomer while the children (Mick and Britnee) and Ely’s (Kirna and LeeAnn) were in school. She said she was done selling cocaine.
Everything had gone reasonably well until early December. Ely was laid off his rock-hauling job and his gypo construction business was dead slow during the winter months. He couldn’t afford his Zoloft and he raged and had so much anxiety there was no peace in the house.
Marsha talked lovingly, not of her children, but of her pets. She was also subject to mysterious illnesses.
Two weeks ago I was surprised to see her in the local grocery store. Last I heard she had moved to Indiana.
She walked up and was all happy and told me she had rented a beautiful house in Wellsburg and asked if I would please please please come to a party she was giving on Saturday, 4 o’clock. Bring a friend. I didn’t dare say no. I only had some errands to run in the morning and a Mexican cake to pick up from Lee for a brunch at Sam and Adyta’s on Sunday. Fahrenheit 9/11 could wait.
The drive over was perfect, a sunny not-too-hot, not-too-cold day, with my pal Michael riding next to me in the passenger seat. I spied Marsha’s blue Honda Accord in a u-shaped driveway that lead up to a huge Victorian house, the biggest place on a block of small ranches.
Even though it was almost 5, (I was running a bit late because the cake hadn’t been frosted.) there were no other cars.
The house was beautiful. An original section from the early 1900s was made of red brick, then over the years other additions had been added but in a way that blended with the original architecture.
I walked up to the porch and a huge oak sprung out of the center, nice touch! This was a house that had seen a lot of living, some gracious, some scrapbag. Marsha and two yippy black and white longhair Chihuahuas met us at the door. The dogs had a lot of bark for being so tiny. I wasn’t even afraid.
Marsha was glad we were late. She had to rush one of her dogs to the vet to get a thorn removed from it’s foot, and drop off her children to their father’s for Christmas in July.
The huge wood-floored living room was airy and delightful. To the left was an oak dining set with a little aquarium on the table, inside was a naked fledgling, a conure, pronounced c-o-n-y-o-r by Marsha. He was sleeping under the warming light, head tucked inward.
Two huge birds, a pure white cockatiel and a brightly-colored macaw, fluttered around in a large floor-standing cage.
A tall dark-haired man entered from another room. Marsha introduced us to Ely. Following him was a gray toy poodle sporting a crazy Mohawk. This is Chump.
We all sat on the couches next to the open windows. The dogs, little Roxanne and Monster, the Chihuahuas, and Chump bounced up and down and on us and did it all again and again all while being disciplined by both Ely and Marsha.
I had a plate full of shrimp tails and leftover crudités’, mostly celery. Marsha said the dogs would eat the tails, but when I gave them some, they licked and spit them out.
Ely talked about Zoloft and how it made him better, but he disliked taking it. It left him limp. On my way out to the porch to get a soda out of the cooler we brought, I spied an herb garden. Upon closer inspection I noticed the herbs were old large plants, most in flower, an impressive collection. I snapped off a few lavender stems and sucked in the aroma. Indoors I suggested to Ely that he gather a bunch of lavender and sniff it, aromatherapy, instantly relaxing, take some to bed with you to sleep more restfully. He smirked and said he would rather sniff at a pair of Marsha’s panties. Touché’
We ate dinner at the dining room table. The baby bird right next to me. No light other than one candle. The grilled filets were tasty and the pasta al fredo was creamy, although the pet store smell kind of made it a little unusual. Dinner at Petland.
In the kitchen were two more caged dogs and a loose mastiff as big as a Shetland pony. Her name’s Belle. She was drooling. Not just a little spittle. I am talking 1” wide rivers of drool puddling onto the floor in front of the stove where we made up our plates. Marsha said Mastiffs were bred for killing lions and people. Good to know.
After dinner Ely made a fire outside. The men went there while Marsha showed me the glass side porch. Here was a full-grown iguana, a baby iggy, a box turtle, an albino catfish in an enormous aquarium (which needed to be moved into the living space, according to Marsha.) and two snakes.
Marsha filled the dishwasher, a full-size rainbow-colored conure squawking on her shoulder, while she told me of her new-found happiness with Ely. She placed the cookpot of pasta on the floor and Belle was sucking up the leftovers. Yikes! Almost made me puke. She also reviewed all of her illnesses. Most of which I have never heard of…a herniated vagina? She said her father was a hypochondriac, but she would never be. Her wish is to use the settlement money from a car accident to buy this house so she would never have to move again.
We made up plates of coconut cream pie and took them out to the men. Hypnotic fires in pure blackness bring out strange stories. Ely told us about flashes of unexplained light and his siting of glowing orange orbs in the sky. His priest told him they were either aliens or ghosts.
Marsha is really trying. I hope she gets her happiness. Right now she’s working on getting back her other seven birds from a woman who kept them while she was homeless. I hear a scarlet is quite a priceless bird.
