Come take a brief walk down a Sunday dusty road in Chisholm County with Maxine. Bring a hankie.
It is spring in Chisholm County, and the drone of the cicadas is as irritating as a rusty hacksaw. Maxine sneezed probably two dozen times as she walked down the dusty road this late Sunday morning. The wild mustard was blooming in the ditches, breathing out pollen on both sides of the narrow lane, and the oaks in the fields were shaking their tassels, permeating the air, covering the landscape with a fine yellow powder.
She knocked on the shabby front door, eyes itching, nose dripping like a faulty hose bib. “Come in, come in,” said Frances. “Jeeze, Maxine, you look bad.”
“I know it. These damn allergies, Frances.” She felt another sneeze coming on and fumbled for the hankie she had tucked up her sleeve. “It’s all this pollen,” she snuffled, “it happens every year about this time and seems to be getting worse as I get older.”
“Everything gets worse as we get older, Maxine. Let’s go into the kitchen, and I’ll make us some hot tea with lemon and honey. I’ll shoot a little brandy into the pot too – and that ought to help. Just don’t tell anyone. People around these parts would be shocked to know that sometimes drinking begins before noon at Frances Cameron’s house.”
They sat at the table, Frances adding the medicinal ingredients to the steaming teapot, Maxine dabbing at her nose. “You know as well as I do, Frances, brandy in tea is not a cure for swollen sinuses and weepy eyes.”
“Ah, Maxine, my friend, how little you know. Alcohol is a widely underrated medication for life’s little infelicities. At our age, we have to look for relief wherever we can find it. Life is short .. and so complicated.” She pulled a small pan of warm apple crisp from the oven and set it on a fat crocheted doily on the table with two large soup spoons. “Have some of this, too. Might help.” She handed Maxine a spoon. “I am your best friend? Would I steer you wrong?” They ate the sweet, gooey stuff right out of the pan.
“Frances, we’ve been friends for so long, I can’t remember which one of us is the bad influence any more, but I suspect it is you.”
“Yeah …. probably. That is why you like me, and you know it. It’s never been my aim to solve your problems, Maxine, but I can distract you, can’t I? Cheer you up? That is what best friends do.”
“Right you are,” she wheezed, scraping the crumbs out of the pan, licking the spoon.
After two full cups of Frances’ allergy cure, Maxine washed up the cups and pie pan to hide the evidence of their shameless lack of self-restraint. They went into the living room, Frances to the arm chair, Maxine to the couch. The combination of carbohydrates and alcohol did their magic, and side by side both fell into a short, contented sleep.
When your neighbor comes over to your house for a visit, and you both just decide to take a nap — that’s true friendship if you ask me.
So much friendship in so few words. Beautiful.
Sharron, have you joined Notes yet on Substack? I just discovered that I can click on the Restack icon, make a comment, and it appears in Notes. I just posted about this lovely piece and your writing. Fun!