Lou Milner - The Awakening

The Awakening

by Lou Milner

Agatha awoke one morning to find a lump inside her bed. Upon close inspection, the lump turned out to be her own pink, fleshy self, whom she had deposited there the previous night. It was a disturbing realization, and all the more so when she discovered no one was going to fetch coffee and a newspaper and perhaps a roll with fresh peach preserves. This led to enormous speculation: Who was responsible for Agatha's lumpishness? Agatha immediately got on her cell and contacted Bartholemew Beanomore, who had his own idea about the lump.

"If you ask me - by the way, are you still in bed?" asked Barth.

"Yes," responded Ag.

"Well, there's your answer."

"Damn! Why didn't I think of that?" demanded Ag.

"Right. Time to rise and shine. Greet the day. Meet me at Chow's for a chimichanga on the corner of Cowagowa and Spleen in arf an owa," said Barth authoritatively.

Arf an owa later, Aggie, with matted hair and holey stretch pants topped by a pilled puce fleece vest over a desert-brown sweatshirt, appeared at Cowagowa. Barty was already there dressed nattily in a new blue T, matching track suit, and the kind of shoes that say watch me run, watch me walk, watch me swing, jump and cross-train.

"You look smashing," lied Barth.

"Do I really?" asked Ag as she reached for a chimichanga.

"No, you look like someone who just fell out of bed and pulled on the rags that were strewn upon the floor last night. Butter?"

"Do you think it's real? Because, you know Barth, only butter tastes like butter."

"It's been said before, many times, many ways, but I believe you're right."

Ag chewed this over and tried to digest the weight of Barth's insight into her character and dress habits. How amazing, thought she. Barth and I have been friends for two years. Obviously he likes me the way I am or he wouldn't keep hanging with me. Instead, he'd change his phone number and start dining at Werawoffa's on Fourth.

The two sat in silence for the longest time, each pondering God knows what.

Agatha spent quite a few minutes thinking nothing but eventually she looked directly at Barth and thought nicely turned out, but so very dull. Bartholomew, not surprisingly, stared back at Agatha thinking his own demonic thoughts, when slowly, he smiled and spake: "Let's get married." Well, you could have knocked Aggie over with a toothbrush. She was floored and naturally flattered.

"All right." She responded much too quickly.

"Just kidding," he said.

"That's a relief," she said.

While neither of them could seriously see themselves together in wedded bliss, the mere mention of marriage got the adrenalin flowing. "Let's go look at dresses," said Barth.

"Huh?" said Ag.

"But first, we must stop at your place so you can shower, shampoo, powder, and press."

"Huh?"

"Well, you can't try on wedding dresses looking like that," said Bartholomew.

"I thought we weren't getting married," said Agatha.

"We're not getting married. We're just going to try on dresses for something to do." "Oh. And I have to get cleaned up for that?"

"Of course. You don't suppose the clerks would allow you to soil one of their pricey gowns do you? Besides, if you look good already, they'll drool attention all over you."

"Okay," said Agatha, who had not been drooled over in ages, and yet still resented the trouble she would have to go to just to keep Barth amused on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Two hours later, Barth and Ag entered the grand arena of Gowns R Us. A seamlessly dressed attendant, whose pricey name tag read "Idette," rushed to greet them. "Welcome, welcome. May I direct you to a particular part of the store? Socks, perhaps?" said the seamless but mentally-deficient clerk.

"Socks. Socks would be good," said Ag, rolling her eyes.

For some reason, the notion that these two women would never be friends made Barth sad, and he tried to rescue the situation. "Hoh, hoh, hoh, my fiancée has a wonderful sense of humor. We would not like to try on socks, we would like to try on gowns. Wedding gowns.

"Both of you?" asked Idette.

"No, just him," said Agatha.

"You, sir, would like to try on gowns?" queried Idette.

"It is just he who would like me to try on gowns," explained Agatha.

"Right this way, please. Did you have something specific in mind?"

"Yes," said Bartholomew again taking charge. We'd like to see some classic taffeta ballgowns in eggshell white. Money is no object. And I'm thinking satin."

"But I thought you said taffeta, and I think you mean ivory, not eggshell" said the suddenly know-it-all Idette.

"Changed my mind. What do you think, Pumpkin?" said Barth deferring to Ag.

"Well, I, uh, like the idea of satin, but perhaps a ball gown would not be the most flattering for my pumpkin hips."

"No? Perhaps you're right," said Barth, before turning to the clerk Idette, "Do you have something especially flattering to pumpkins?"

"Soup, pie, puree?" quipped Idette.

"All right, all right, let's cut the crap. Bring out a few dresses, and we'll see how they look."

"Would you like to come with me, Pumpkin?" said Idette leading the way to a dressing room - not a stall, but an actual room. A room larger than Agatha's living room, and not nearly as messy. Agatha was understandably impressed and uncomfortable.

Bartholomew pulled up a love seat in the viewing salon and began scanning Bridal magazines. Soon his scanning was interrupted, however, by the appearance of an actual bride-to-be and her maid apparent.

"What do you think?" said the bride to her maid while modelling. "Stunning! Amazing!" exclaimed Barth who could not contain himself. "Pardon me for interrupting, but are these not hand-blown glass beads adorning the bodice?" continued Barth who was now standing entirely too close to the soon-to-be-wed woman.

"I don't know," gulped the woman.

"Yes, they are," enthused Idette, who just happened to be within earshot. "And do you recognize the material?"

"I'm thinking crepe de chine," said Barth whilst fondling the folds of the fabric.

"That's amazing. Are you in the business?" asked Idette.

"Groceries. I sell eggs at the market Monday to Friday," but I'm looking to pick up a new line.

"How would you like to work for me?" said Idette, who was quite obviously more than a simple clerk.

"You own this place?" asked Barth.

"No, but I need someone to clean my apartment."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed. You never know where it might lead," said Idette. "That's how I started, and look at me now."

Barth looked at Idette, and was suddenly struck by her candor, grace and poise.

"Can someone help me in here," came a cry from the dressing room where Agatha had been abandoned.

"Excuse me," said Idette, excusing herself.

Barth followed Idette with eyes only, leaving the rest of his body free to bump about the room. The woman with the hand-blown glass beads, and her companion, had by now retreated, and Barth was left alone to finger the pages of pricey periodicals. When Agatha appeared, moments later, in Italian satin and chantilly lace, Barth was speechless. Never had he seen Agatha looking so excellent. And it wasn't just the two-tier waist-length veil that covered her face and torso, no, it was more than that. It was something about the way she moved. Agatha, herself, could feel it. She was cinched-in so tight, there was only one appropriate posture. Straight up. Simply holding her tummy in and standing erect made her appear 10 kilos lighter. "Have you lost weight?" blurted Barth.

"I don't think so," said Agatha, sincerely.

Barth stepped slowly forward and lifted the veil from Agatha's head. "You look like a queen," said Barth. "A tiara would be more suitable," he said, tossing the veil aside.

Idette, observing the action, was astounded by Barth's seemingly natural appreciation for wedding apparel. She immediately brought Agatha a magnificent cardboard circlet coated with tawny fake pearls and glittery accents. Jewel in the crown, mused Barth to himself. The old saw that all women are beautiful on their wedding day is apparently true. He sighed. Which caused Agatha to sigh. And even Idette was slightly moved.

"Cash or charge?" asked Idette not wanting to waste the moment.

"Oh, we'll have to think about it," said Barth, shaking out of his trance. "Come on Ag, get changed, we'll be late for dinner."

Over huevos rancheros at Los Burrito El Mariachi, Barth could not stop talking. His whole life, he confided to Agatha, he'd been waiting for the iron to hiss, or the light to go on, or the furnace to ignite, or whatever the expression was. Anyway, today's events had been the catalyst for something miraculous. Out with the old, in with the new, Bartholomew Beanomore was embarking on a dream career - wedding plotter.

Not quite what Agatha had expected to hear, but as decorum demanded, she good-naturedly toasted the new Barth and his future brides. However, in her heart she was a little saddened and somewhat envious. Barth had found his calling. She knew it was only a matter of time before she would be left for another(s). And she was right.

Within months, Barth had become so adept at detailing the necessities of the perfect wedding, the perfect dress, the perfect accessories, and so on, that he was much in demand. His new-found adroitness had such appeal to women that he was inundated with marriage proposals from potential brides and maids alike. His new business, Wedding Wares, took off to such an extent that Idette from Gowns R Us was back cleaning apartments - Barth's and several of his neighbors.

Agatha was not so fortunate. She failed to recognize an opportunity when she foresaw one and remained idle and boring, with very little to converse about.

Barth, as foretold by Agatha who has startling but unrecognised psychic powers, now dines at Werawoffa's. Agatha has breakfast in bed with her cats Reddy and Wading, who have even less to talk about and no psychic powers whatsoever. But the three of them are comfortable and kind to one another, which, if you can't be engaging and interesting, is not a bad second choice.