"Between the Stars"
by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2011
Everyone knew Effie. Effie was the one who went into the common yard every morning, sitting with her back to the sunrise. Effie was the one who was full after eating half a dozen of the tapioca seeds from her pudding. Effie was the one who lamed her tooth loss on soft bristles, her hair loss on hard bristles, and her loneliness on a bristly daughter-in-law. Effie was also the one who was convinced that if she put butter on her peas, her belly would swell until it burst.
A man’s face in the clouds had told her so.
“You gonna play ping pong tonight, Effie?” Vince liked Effie despite all that. There was a prettiness about her eyes that shone when she was being cantankerous, and a vitality in her voice that came out when she talked about Sherlock Holmes or cats.
“Nope.”
“There’s gonna be prizes!”
“Don’t want a ribbon for beating old folks at a game. Don’t want a book that I don’t have someone to read to me. Don’t want a picture frame. Ain’t got a picture.” Effie’s mouth curled up. “Prizes. Hmmph.”
“Come on, Eff, everyone’s playing. It’s a tournament! It’s gonna be a lotta fun! We’ll all be there, laughing and having a good time.”
She looked at Vince sharply and then looked outside a small window, toward the clouds. When she looked back at him, her expression was more vague. “If I play . . .” Her voice trailed off into an extended pause before she finally said, in a serious but quite matter-of-fact tone, “I will die.”
“Die? What?”
Effie looked back out the window. “He told me.”
“Who did?” Vince was puzzled. He was indulgent of Effie’s quirks, but that did not mean he understood them.
Effie shifted around and adjusted herself, as if pulling herself more cozily under a blanket or shawl, albeit without actually being under a blanket or shawl. After a moment she nodded toward the window. “He did.”
“The face in the clouds?”
“Yes.” Her voice caught in her throat. “He told me.” Her gaze slid back to Vince, though she did not turn her face from the window. “You might die, too.”
Vince huffed and tapped his chest twice. “Good as gold, Effie, you know that. Never had the high pressure, never had the cholesterol, never had the arterio-scoleosis . Whiskey and sea air keeps the heart strong and the blood clean. No ping pong’s gonna take me down.”
Effie shrugged her right shoulder, and looked back out the window. There was the foreshadowing of a smirk on her lips, and a glint in her eyes. “He’s never wrong.”
“Will you at least watch?”
A shadow fell over her. “I would rather not.”
“Come on, Eff, cheer me on, at least.”
“If you wish.”
He did wish, and he gave her hearty thanks for her concession. She took his thanks graciously and then retreated into her room. She closed the blinds and turned out the lights, but left the door open onto the hallway. She then pulled the blankets and sheets off the bed, and arranged them into a nest on the floor. She curled up in the nest – eyes open – staring into the darkness – it was the only way she could not see the man’s face in the clouds.
Effie did not emerge from her room for lunch. Effie did not emerge from her room for afternoon crafts. Effie did not emerge from her room for dinner or desert. When she heard groups of people moving through the hallway, she listened for the end of their shuffling feet, their thumping gates, their loud, insensible chatter. Then, finally, Effie emerged.
“Old folks,” she muttered with distaste.
She oozed through the Z of hallways until she wound up in the multipurpose room. It was a large room that resembled an elementary school gym from 1978. Two ping pong tables were set up. A group of volunteers were opening boxes of ping pong balls and emptying them into a couple of large bowls. They were counting on lots of lost balls, and not many people wanting to scramble around and collect them.
The balls dripped out of their cartons and pik’ed and ping’ed against the other balls in the bowl until they settled into place. It was nearly hypnotic.
One, then another, then another, then another.
Effie's chin dipped with each ball that dropped, rebounded as it settled.
One, then another, then another, then another.
Perfectly white spheres. Hard. Firm. Hollow. Each one the same as the one before it.
One, then another, then another, then –
But there was one that was different. She didn't know why, but Effie was sure –
Then another, then another, then another.
And the ball that seemed different was lost. It hadn't looked different. It hadn't bounced different. Effie could never have said a single thing that was actually different about it. She just knew it was. She turned her head, looking for a window that might look at at the night sky where the clouds were hidden between stars, taking the man's face with them.
There were no surprises in how play began. The volunteers had been right. There were plenty of lost balls, and none of the old folks were inclined to go chasing after ping pong balls. Vince had also been right. The old folks were having a lot of fun. The women were easily embarrassed over their lack of skill. The men were easily frustrated over their loss of former skills. But both the women and the men were laughing and smiling more than anything else.
Ellie pulled her arms and legs in, tucking herself into a metal and plastic chair that had never seen better days. Her face drooped. Her eyes turned down. She just listened. Listened to the pings and pongs of the table tennis balls. Paddle to table. Paddle to table. Paddle to table.
A ball skipped off the surface of the table and skittered across the floor, where no one wanted to fetch it.
Another ball from the bowl. Ping, then pong. Paddle to table. Paddle to table.
Effie wondered if that ball – the different one – if it would sound different. Maybe it would pong before it pinged. Maybe it buzz off the paddle, rattle at it hit the table.
Skid – skitter.
Another ball. Ping, then pong. Paddle, table. Paddle, table.
She knew it was different, but she didn't know how different or why it was different. She was sure she would know it if she saw it. She wondered if she would know it if she heard it. She wondered if it mattered. Different didn't always matter.
Effie wondered.
Skid – skitter.
Effie felt cold.
She looked up. It was Vince playing.
Her heart began to pound. She didn't know why.
Vince reached into the bowl for another ball.
Vince, she wanted to say, but her mouth was too dry to get the words out.
Vince pulled out a new ball. That ball.
Effie half-rose from her seat. She started to take a step, but froze as she saw Vince eying the ball. Perhaps he noticed that it was different. Perhaps he would put put it back. Perhaps –
But no.
Vince lined the ball and paddle carefully up for his serve.
Would it ping? Would it then pong?
Ball in left hand. Paddle in right. A subtle movement. A little arm. A lot of wrist.
The ball burst in a flash of white.
Effie's pupils constricted so rapidly that she couldn't see for several minutes. But she heard. She heard the bustling and panic of old folks.
As the dimness gave way to vision, she saw Vince, lying on the floor. She looked for a window. A window that might have looked out onto the sky, where the man's face would be hidden in the black between stars,
waiting to emerge with the morning clouds.
This story was written as a flash in three sittings. As a flash, I didn't edit it. That's Heather Hansen's rule, and I'm sticking to it. The original conceit which I was kinda sorta dared to right was supposed to be old people playing ping pong on horseback. I forgot that once I started writing. Oops. Maybe I'll have to do another go at the concept sometime.
.Nevets.
This story was written as a flash in three sittings. As a flash, I didn't edit it. That's Heather Hansen's rule, and I'm sticking to it. The original conceit which I was kinda sorta dared to right was supposed to be old people playing ping pong on horseback. I forgot that once I started writing. Oops. Maybe I'll have to do another go at the concept sometime.
.Nevets.
I love it, Nevets. Really love it! But it's not the same without the horses..
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