Turn Left at the Gorilla and go Down the Hall

By Helene Simkin Jara

The Stories range from humor to tragedy, taking the reader on a ride within the human and sometimes not so human experience. Some of the stories have been previously published in literary journals. The journey is so much about isolating the moment and what the author leaves out, allowing the reader to use his or her imagination. There's an inten

• Language: English
• Publisher: Helene Simkin Jara
• Release date: Oct 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781734477528

Helene Simkin Jara

Helene Simkin Jara, author of the Kindle best-seller Because I Had To, is an actor, director, and writer. Her poems, stories, and plays have won numerous awards.

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Turn Left at the Gorilla and Go Down the Hall

and Other Stories

by

Helene Simkin Jara

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book would not have been possible without the guidance of author and writing facilitator, Clifford Henderson, nor without the eagle eyes and overall brilliance of my editors, Carol Skolnick, my sister, Sharon Simkin Meinhoff, Joan Levine and Earl T. Roske.

A prior version of Laughing was previously published in Porter Gulch Review, 2013.

Bacon and Eggs previously appeared in Porter Gulch Review, 2014.

On the Train was published in the online journal Phren-Z, 2014.

A version of A Night on the Subway appeared in Porter Gulch Review, 2015.

Just Accept Me was published in Porter Gulch Review, 2016.

Eight to Five appeared both in Phren-Z and Porter Gulch Review, 2017.

Sinners was published in Porter Gulch Review, 2017.

This book is dedicated to my sons, Diego and Rafa, who are the light of my life.

CHILDHOOD

Laughing

Her parents were out for the evening. That babysitter was coming again, a teenager who lived just down the street on Summit Avenue. Barbara could have easily watched her little sister herself. She knew she was very responsible even though she was just 10 years old.

Barbara didn’t want anyone else to take care of her little sister. She knew what the baby needed and wanted. She was used to protecting her. When her baby sister would cry, her mother would laugh and put her back in her crib. Waiting until her mother was downstairs, Barbara would sneak into her sister’s room. Gently picking her up, she would cradle her in her arms, cooing and rocking her until she calmed down.

Nobody should laugh at you. No, no, no.

Would that girl know how to do that? Barbara watched from the top of the stairs as the babysitter climbed up the staircase. Instead of going into her baby sister’s room, the sitter went right into her parents’ bedroom. What was she doing there? No one was ever supposed to go in there. She better not be eating a square of the giant Hershey bar with almonds that Barbara knew was hidden in her parent’s dresser drawer under her father’s pressed white shirts from the laundry. She’d better not eat that. What if her parents noticed there was another square missing? Barbara might get blamed. And she better not watch her parents’ black and white TV. Barbara had only been allowed to watch it for the first time two weeks ago when Elvis Presley was on the Ed Sullivan show.

Barbara tiptoed down the hallway and peered through the keyhole of her parent’s bedroom. What was the babysitter doing with her top off and staring at herself in the mirror? Barbara found herself staring at two enormous naked breasts.

Did they really come that big? Did her mom’s look like that? Were hers going to look like that?

She flung open the door. Their eyes met.

Oh, hello, Barbara. I was just changing my top.

Looking at the expression on Barbara’s face, she let out a laugh. Then she smiled. She didn’t seem ashamed at all that her bigger-than-life breasts were just hanging there out in the open in her parent’s forbidden bedroom. Barbara kept staring, looking at her enormous nipples and noticing the freckles all over her breasts, just like the ones she had on her face.

Suddenly Barbara just wanted the babysitter to leave. She waited until the teenager put on her top and watched her laugh as she walked down the stairs.

She laughed! Laughed at Barbara! Barbara felt her face grow hot.

Someone’s at the door. Didn’t you hear them?

The babysitter opened the door, looked out and closed it again.

No one’s there, Barbara.

I heard them knocking. You better check.

Shrugging, the sitter grabbed her coat and walked out into the snow. Barbara quickly locked it from the inside.

She ignored the pounding on the front door that followed and went directly into her little sister’s room. She picked her up and held her in her skinny arms. She sat with her in her mother’s rocking chair, singing a made up song to her.

No one can laugh at us. No one. No one. No one.

After a while, the pounding stopped.

A few hours later, after her little sister was asleep, Barbara was lying in bed, her flashlight on under the covers, reading a book she had found hidden in her parent’s bookcase. She heard her parents come home. Barbara crept out of bed, carefully hiding the book under her pillow. Crouched at the top of the staircase, she watched them as they searched for the babysitter. After they had looked everywhere downstairs, Barbara’s father paused at the bottom of the staircase. He looked up and saw Barbara.

Where is Jane?

She went home.

She went home?

Yes. A few hours ago.

She heard her father making the phone call. After he hung up, she knew what would come next.

Barbara, come downstairs.

Barbara stayed glued to the spot where she was crouching. Her father climbed the stairs until he reached her.

She said you locked her out in the snow!

"But Daddy, I caught her in your bedroom with her clothes off.

She laughed at me.

Her father glanced quickly at her mother who was standing at the bottom of the stairs and back again at Barbara. He blinked, looked at her over the top of his glasses, and took a breath.

Okay, go back upstairs.

418 Summit Avenue

418 Summit Avenue. Say it to me. Repeat it. I’m going to ask you again in five minutes, so don’t forget it. 418 Summit Avenue. Yes, that’s right. 418. 418. Say it again. Good. Now, when I’m gone, you stay right where you are here in the kitchen with your little sister. Repeat that back to me. Yes, that’s right. Where?

Grandma stood there in her floral print dress, the one she always wore six days a week. On Sundays, she changed into a different dress, her church dress. Winnie looked up at her grandma like she knew she was supposed to. She nodded like she was expected to. She tried to look past Grandma and focus on the wallpaper. It was supposed to be bright and cheery with the yellow daisies on the navy-blue background. Her grandma had been careful to pick bright yellow chairs to match. She liked matching.

Winnie was told she was too thin by the nurse at school. Her grandma had been called in to ask what she was feeding her. This did not sit well with Grandma. Winnie’s green eyes seemed to pop out of her head. At least that’s what the girls at school told her. Even though she wore the same jeans and t-shirt every day to school, she made sure they looked clean at least.

Bea was the one with the good looks. That’s what Grandma said. Bea had chubby red cheeks and blonde curls. People in the store would stop and tell Grandma that Bea looked like a little angel, that she should be a child model, that she looked pinchable.

The kitchen. That’s exactly right. And what happens if the doorbell rings? Don’t look at me like that. What do you do? Nothing. That’s exactly right. And what happens if there’s a knock on the door? Answer me. Right. Don’t make any noise and don’t answer it.

Now I know you’re excited about our new house, but I’ll let you know when you can go in different rooms. What? No, you may not go upstairs and no, you may not go outside. Not under any circumstances. Your mother, may she rest in peace, would be very upset if she knew you disobeyed me and wandered around where it was none of your business. Okay now, I’ll be gone for about one hour. You can entertain yourselves for one hour, can’t you? Good.

Where are you going, Grandma?

Winnie, ours is not to wonder why, now is it? All you need to know is that I will be back soon.

Winnie nodded in resignation while she squeezed her sister’s hand. Winnie hoped Bea wouldn’t start crying again. Grandma got very upset and angry when Bea cried.

She waited until she heard Grandma’s Oldsmobile start up and go down the driveway. She watched through the curtains as she saw the car go down the street. Then she turned and looked at her little sister, Bea.

Let’s go.

Where?

Bea’s eyes got real big. Her five-year-old mouth was open, drool dribbling down her chin.

Outside! We have to go and see if we can find Daddy.

Find Daddy?

Yes! Mommy always said that Grandma was mean and would probably kill Daddy if she could. Grandma said that Mommy took all those pills and died because Daddy didn’t really love her.

Do you think Daddy didn’t really love her?

Bea’s lips were trembling; her green eyes were filling with tears.

Of course he really loved her.

Why did she take all those pills, Winnie?

Winnie looked at her little sister and furrowed her brows.

She probably took those pills because she had a headache.

Bea nodded, not totally convinced, but anything her big sister said had to be true.

I don’t want Daddy to be dead!

Maybe he’s not really dead. That’s why we’re going to try and find him.

Winnie started searching for something in the cupboards. She was shoving pots and pans around, making a lot of noise.

What are you looking for? Bea started sucking her thumb.

I’m looking for something to use to find Daddy.

Bea watched as her big sister went upstairs to the attic. You shouldn’t go up there! You’re going to get in big trouble when Grandma finds out!

From the top of the stairs, Winnie put her fingers to her lips. Shhh. I’m just going to see if I can find something. I’ll be right down. Don’t cry.

Seconds later, Winnie came bounding down the stairs, a telescope in hand.

What’s that?

It’s a telescope, dummy.

What’s it do?

It finds things. It makes things bigger.

Winnie grabbed Bea’s little hand and pulled her out the front door. They heard crickets, cars with their radios blaring.

I’m scared.

Look at the moon. See how big it is? Bea nodded.

The moon is like our Mommy. It’s up there probably close to where Mommy is and it’s like a flashlight she’s holding to help us find Daddy.

Winnie tugged on Bea’s arm. Where are we going?

We’re going to the bridge.

The bridge?

Yes. The moon is telling us to go to the bridge to find Daddy.

I’m scared.

Don’t be silly. Just be sure if we see another person to hide with me.

Why?

Why? Why do you think? Because we’re not supposed to be outside at night.

Are we going to find Daddy?

I hope so. Remember how he always said he loved the river?

Winnie tugged again on her little sister’s arm.

Bea said, I have to go pee.

Now?

Bea started crying. I have to go pee and I’m scared.

Winnie pulled her little sister behind a bush. Here. Go pee here. I’ll stand guard.

I can’t go pee in the bushes.

You have to.

I can’t.

Just pretend we’re going camping with Daddy. Remember when he took us camping and we had to pee in the bushes?

Bea nodded. I just peed my pants, Winnie. Grandma is going to be mad.

Winnie sighed. Well, we can’t do anything about that now. We have to hurry and get to the bridge. Grandma will be coming home soon and we have to try and find Daddy.

The two sisters, four years apart, ran hand in hand towards the bridge. It was quiet in this suburban neighborhood, everyone tucked away in their fancy houses. The bridge was only four blocks away down a dirt path. The moon was full, which helped guide them. Some of the maple trees were beginning to lose their leaves. Winnie loved the sound of her feet running through the leaves on the ground. The wind picked up and leaves were flying everywhere. They ran past the houses and along the path to the bridge. Now, suddenly they were looking down into the water, Winnie holding the telescope to her eyes.

Bea looked down into the water. What do you see, Winnie? It’s too dark. I can’t see anything.

Quiet!

What do you see, Win?

There’s some people down there in the muddy part.

Is it Daddy?

I can’t tell.

How many people, Win?

There’s two people.

Is one of them Daddy?

I can’t tell.

Can I see?

No!

Why not?

You can’t see because…

Why, Win, why?

You can’t see because…

Winnie dropped the telescope, grabbed Bea’s arm hard and started running.

What’s wrong?

Nothing! Don’t ask me anything! Nothing!

What did you see, Win? What did you see? Why did you leave the thing that makes things bigger there, Win? Why?

Because I don’t want to see anything anymore. Ever.

As they were running, Winnie thought back to what she had seen by the water under the bridge. There was a figure that looked a lot like Grandma. Could it have been Grandma? Is that where she went? Was she with Daddy?

They were panting when they got to the front door of their new house. Something looked wrong. Very wrong. There were two police cars parked outside.

Uh oh.

They walked slowly into the kitchen, expecting to get in big trouble, expecting to see their Grandma sitting there with her arms crossed and angry.

The two police officers looked worried. The girls didn’t see anyone else with them.

Hello. I’m officer Watson and this is officer Parker. Please don’t be scared. We’re here to help you. We need to ask you a few questions first. Take your time in answering. Just tell the truth. Before you tell us where you’ve been, we need you to sit down.

The girls nodded in unison and sat down at the kitchen table opposite the two officers. Winnie looked at the officers. The one who was talking had a sweet face. His cheeks were pink like Bea’s. He was tall, at least to her. She imagined he was even taller than their daddy. The officer who wasn’t talking, Officer Parker, was shorter than Officer Watkins. He looked like he didn’t want to be there. Winnie noticed him looking at the yellow daisies on the wallpaper. Bea started crying.

We found your grandmother tonight.

You found her?

Winnie looked over at Bea.

We found her under the bridge.

Bea and Winnie got very quiet.

Is she dead?

Bea looked up at her big sister.

The kind policeman took Winnie and Bea’s hands in his. He looked them in the eyes and said quietly,

I’m afraid so.

Winnie’s voice got caught in her throat. She wanted to say that she wasn’t dead when she had seen her under the bridge, but she knew she couldn’t do that.

The other policeman had been studying the girls. He was new at his job. He didn’t know if it would be wrong to question them about why they were not at home or if they knew anything or anyone who might kill their grandmother.

Where have you two girls been?

Bea started crying. Winnie looked at the policeman.

We went outside to try and find our Daddy.

Doesn’t your Daddy live here?

Bea cried even harder.

No, we don’t know where Daddy is. We went to see if we could find him before Grandma got home.

Where did you think he would be?

The first policeman gave his partner a look.

Bob, these little girls are probably traumatized right now. This can probably wait until tomorrow, don’t you think?

Bea blurted out between gulps, Winnie said he liked water, so we went to the bridge to find him.

The two policemen turned to look at Winnie. Did you see anything when you went to the bridge?

Winnie shook her head, looking down at the floor. No.

Did your grandma know you were looking for your Daddy?

Both Winnie and Bea shook their heads.

Winnie looked out the window at the full moon. She took a gulp of air and blurted out: I think I saw Grandma and Daddy.

Officer Watkins looked over at Officer Parker. He nodded. Go on. What else did you see?

Winnie tried not to cry. I saw…I saw Grandma fighting with a man.

Officer Watkins nodded. Could you describe the man?

Winnie began to wail. No!

Officer Watkins took Winnie’s hand and nodded to Officer Parker to take Bea’s hand.

"I know this has been a rough night for you too. Hearing about your grandma must be quite a shock. We want you to know that we don’t feel you are safe being alone tonight. We’re going to take you to the Police Station and make sure you are in a safe place. Okay?

Winnie looked at her little sister who was sobbing. Be brave, Bea. Be brave. Maybe we’ll find Daddy soon.

A Room

Please, Alice begged her mother. Please. I want my own room.

Her mother had her back to Alice, typing the novel to end all novels, which she did every morning from exactly 7 a.m. to noon.

"Please," Alice said to the back of her mother’s overly hennaed hair, watching the smoke from probably her fifth Marlboro wafting to the ceiling in the kitchen.

Alice watched as her mother’s back stiffened, resting her manicured blood-red fingernails on the keyboard. It’s drafty.

I don’t care, said Alice. I’ll wear a sweater.

It’s full of spiders and spider webs.

I’ll take a broom and get rid of them.

No one’s ever cleaned up there. It’s dusty.

I’ll clean it. I promise. Please, Mom. Please.

Her mother turned towards Alice with a look like she had swallowed an uncooked octopus. Her lips curled up one side of her face, yellowed teeth gnashed.

You may not live in the attic, Alice. There’s no telling what you’d find up there. There might even be a dead body.

"A dead body?" Alice’s eyes grew wide, her generous lips began to tremble.

Well, continued Alice’s mother. We never did find Uncle Hal.

You mean his body could be in the attic? Alice felt as if her voice suddenly went up an octave.

Her mother relished the reaction in her daughter’s face. She took a long satisfied drag of her Marlboro. We never did find him, she said, deadpan.

Oh. Alice suddenly found herself needing to focus on something familiar, like the hardwood floor on which she was suddenly collapsed.

Thoroughly gratified, Alice’s mother looked at her daughter sprawled out on the floor and quietly turned her own body back to face the typewriter. She stamped out the cigarette in the bulging ashtray and lit another.

Alice in the attic. My ass.

Uncle Hal wasn’t real. She was so pleased when she had been able to use him on other occasions when she didn’t want her children to disturb her writing of the great American novel.

Plinkety plinkety plink plink. She got to work on her typewriter.

All the Right Places

Natalie had been waiting for over 20 minutes now. Where was Mom? She was always late. When they lived in Hollister, Gilroy and Salinas, she was late there too. And now they were in Santa Cruz.

Natalie hated being the new kid. Why did they always have to move? Natalie was tired of always moving. She was only 11 ½ years old and hadn’t lived in the same apartment more than two years in a row.

The kids didn’t like her, especially here in Santa Cruz. She didn’t look like most of them. They called her names. At least the kids looked more like her where they used to live. Her mom kept saying it would be better here. There was a beach and a boardwalk. Her mom’s boyfriend was out now, released. He must’ve been in prison pretty far away, because her mom had never visited him.

While waiting for her, Natalie figured her mom had probably walked over to Shopper’s Corner again to get change before she picked her up. The cashiers always gave her change when she said she needed it for laundry.

Natalie thought that maybe when her mom finally came and she was once again sitting in the back seat, the big deep backseat that smelled of sweat, cigarettes and spilled beer, maybe then when her mother was perhaps singing to one of her favorite tunes on the radio, she could tell her what happened. Yes, that made Natalie’s stomach clench. But she’d have to tell her about what happened right after school.

Natalie saw the car pull up. She ran to it and got into the back seat. She waited, but the right moment to say something didn’t seem to be coming. Natalie could see her mom’s face in the rearview mirror with her clenched jaw, her blood-red lipstick not quite on her lips right. No, the moment didn’t seem to be happening and her mom didn’t even have the radio turned on, like she usually did.

Her mother suddenly began to sing the song she usually sang when she was very angry. Angry at their next-door neighbor, her boss, the world, or of course, her daughter. There was always room for that.

Playin’ a fool’s game, hopin’ to win, and tellin’ those sweet lies and losin’ again.

Next came the laugh, the laugh she hated to hear because it wasn’t the kind of laugh you hear when you know someone is laughing because they thought of something funny. It was the kind of laugh you hear when you know someone has tortured a bug to death,