Idle Chatter
Marie was cleaning the living room the first time she heard the noise. Cleaning the tornado of toys her children had left spewed in all directions, idly walking away as though they had had no contact with them in the first place. Leaving them for Marie to clean, as they did on an almost daily basis. When they were just old enough for this to have become routine Marie had wondered when she would wake-up from this monotony and find she was still the young girl Matthew had brought to this apartment. The girl with the big eyes he had fallen in love with. The eyes that made him want to buy her the world, he had said. Lost in her reverie, she didn’t immediately notice the interruption. The idle talk of the weather played into her musings, and she turned to admire the glow of the fall sun. But when the talk turned to the Mets, Marie swung into reality. Turning, she sought the source of the voice. She scoured the living room, the children’s room, and the enclave by the front door. When she hadn't discover a source, she assumed it was a neighbor’s radio, and went back to her own thoughts.
The following day the same occurred. She went to each of her neighbors and asked them to turn down their radios, but they responded with blank stares. She returned home to begin making dinner, but the sound was unnerving. She put her own radio on a Tchaikovsky symphony that could drown out a thunderstorm and returned to her task. That afternoon as she sat with her children, she answered only those questions directed directly to her. When the church bell chimed six times, she quickly changed into a floral dress and set the table.
That night Marie didn’t mention the elusive speaker to her husband. He didn’t mention her dress.
It wasn’t until the teeth fell out of the bag of toys that she first took notice of them. So different from the kids’ usual playthings – her husband must have bought them. They almost seemed to stare at her, the bright red gums seeping into the evenly spaced white teeth. The teeth shone like gum – like chiclets, the poor man’s gum. But also like the kind of gum that had been sitting on a shelf for a year, yellowing at a slow pace – on a bad day when she was really hankering for a piece, maybe she’d put it in her mouth. She wouldn’t put it past herself these days.
She reached down to pick them up. They bit her. Marie shrieked in surprise. And then she screamed. Because it wasn’t possible. And then she screamed again. For perhaps, in this time of mysterious voices, it was.
They clamored to the floor, landing with a loud thump. And then they stared up at her. Of this she was sure. They were curved to see her face, to gaze into her eyes. Marie put her hand to her forehead. She wasn’t feverish, not even warm. Chills! She must be having chills! Because this was not happening! It was a hallucination. In her relief the laughter spilled out of her. The initial soft peals gave way to heaving hiccup-inducing breath-stealing laughter. An old man on the street passing under her window heard a lady cackling and through the dirty window saw her bent over, her shadow like a banshee. He ran.
She ran. Into the kitchen to grab a glass. Marie clamped the glass over the teeth. But it was clear and she could still feel their eyes on her – did they have eyes? Tiny ones in each tooth? One minute hidden set? Or could they just feel the aura of her soul? She ran back into the kitchen. A dark glass. And tape. She hurried back into the living room, and shoved the teeth under the glass using copious amounts of tape to secure it to the floor. Eyes wide, nostrils flared, she tiptoed backwards, away from the glass. Matthew would have to deal with them when he got home. For the rest of the day Marie walked around the apartment making no eye contact with the glass.
At 3 in the afternoon, as the school bus drove down her street, Marie took an aspirin. She needed the help to tolerate the loud voices of the children. Then she ran out to the corner and grabbing their grubby hands, pulled them from the chaos. As she hurried them across the street, she glanced quickly for oncoming traffic, and seeing none, ran them up the stoop and into the apartment.
At once the screech of their vocal chords grated on her nerves. Marie smiled as best she could, but the cacophonous sound was unbearable. She put her hands over her ears and began shrieking. The children must have run and hid, because when she stopped the only sound was silence. Every time they came to talk to her Marie covered her ears and screamed, and each time the result was the same. The horrendous scene continued for an hour before Matthew was suddenly standing over her. She couldn’t imagine when they had or how they had known to call him. She only knew as she lay on the floor that he was there. She knew it before she opened her eyes. She could feel his steely gaze, see the clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. She blinked for a brief confirmation. Matthew saw the flutter and pounced.
“The children,” he screamed. “Why are you scaring the children?”
Marie stared at her husband, resolute as a donkey. Uttering no word, she sat and stared. He, in turn, stared at her, willing some sort of explanation to unfold. When none materialized, Matthew wasted fewer than thirty seconds before he rushed into the children’s room, and began shoving clothes into a bag at an incredible pace. And then they were gone. Matthew and the children had left. She wasn’t sure exactly when, but she knew by the stillness. She couldn’t fathom why they would have left. Dinner was in the oven.
Three days later, Marie was going through the motions of her daily routine, sans the addition of caring for children, of course, when the phone rang. She answered unsteadily, and lifting the receiver to her mouth said hello. She must have whispered for the caller on the other end greeted her again. Louder this time, she uttered a more certain hello. And then as the caller explained her husbands’ desire to divorce the phone dropped from her hand, shattering the dark glass in the middle of the floor.
The teeth stared at her. Marie placed the phone gently back in the receiver, ignoring the man urgently yelling her name. She walked over to the teeth and stared right back at them.
And now, three days later, it was the court appointed psychiatrist who instead stared at Marie. Marie knew she would have heard a similar account from Matthew. She knew she shouldn’t have yelled with such a lack of inhibition, but she couldn’t understand why people were making such a big deal over one short hour. As she left the office, no more informed about the uncertain balance of her current life than an hour previous, she ran into her husband.
“Marie,” he said. “I want to make sure you are of sound mind before you see the children.”
She spit on him and walked away.
That night a note appeared under the door. By the time she opened the door, the messenger was gone.
The note suggested Marie take a few days to get her thoughts in order and then visit a local doctor. Perhaps with the aid of the doctor, Marie could regain her composure, and the family could return to life as normal. It was in this way that Marie came to be a lady who began each day with a visit to a long, brown, leather couch. The day ended routinely at 5pm with a brief call from Matthew to discuss her progress. After a quick dinner she would put the leftovers into a stuffed fridge and go to bed. The fridge was stuffed for though Marie only ate for one, she cooked for four. As she went about her day, she often forgot the family wouldn’t be home for dinner.
If it wasn't for the constant chattering, Marie might have liked the teeth. When one feels so lonely, any kind of attention is appreciated. Even when it bites and spits at you. Marie had recently named the teeth: Gums. She chuckled every time she said the name.
She now enjoyed the company and could tone out the idle babble. But not the constant clicking and clacking. At first she'd thought the teeth were cold, so she went out to buy them a blanket. It was her first outing in which she didn’t go directly to the doctor’s office in ... well who could remember how long, and she entered the first shop apprehensively. She noticed the smiles of the sales ladies and the scent of lavender and honeysuckle and warmth that seeped from their person. She wished for their dewy skin. She almost reached out to touch a young one’s face, but quickly checked her instinct. She bought a small blanket, and copied the ladies’ broad toothy grin when she took from her the bag. Marie practically floated home.
“Gums, I've brought you a blanket,” Marie announced with uncurtailed glee upon her return. It was lovely having a companion to talk to. She laid it gently on the sofa and set the teeth even more gently upon it. Her anger erupted the second he spit on her. How dare he? Didn't he see how she tried? She grabbed the teeth and tossed them into a drawer. For the rest of the day she wore headphones for though she now hated music, the moaning was far worse.
But then the need to be close to a human grew stronger and Marie found herself stumbling down the main street, pulling her jacket tight to escape the wind. She entered a new store with a slight pep in her step. It was a shop she would never have shopped in previously. The items gleamed in the window, like little bars of silver and gold. The store reeked of extravagance. Before she could doubt herself, Marie strode to the shelf with the fur stoles. She quickly found the shelf with the least expensive ones- she wasn’t crazy after all. Marie bought a beautiful stole, and while the busty saleslady gushed about how the stole would complement any outfit and make Marie the belle of any gathering, Marie nodded whilst thinking only of how happy her teeth would be.
When she returned home her husband was standing with his hand on the door handle. He glanced apprehensively at Marie and then at the bag, and when she showed him the stole he didn’t yell. The kiss he placed on her cheek was soft and gentle, one could almost mistake it for caring.
“I wasn’t sure if you were home,” he said. “I was just going to quickly pop in and check.” And then taking her hand, he said, “I now realize I had been taking you for granted. I miss you. I miss our life. Can I take you to dinner?”
Marie acquiesced, smiling quite graciously – just as the well heeled lady in the store had whilst she commanded an army of ladies to gather her beautiful clothing and cup after cup of tea.
“I just need to grab a coat,” she said, entering the apartment.
“Why don’t you wear your new stole?”
Unable to explain the true owner, she once again quickly yielded to her husband’s suggestion. Mistaking her compliance as a sign of progress, Matthew took Marie’s hand as they walked out the door. Yet throughout their dinner Marie could only think of how upset the teeth would be that Marie had worn the stole first. Would he even want a used stole?
That night Matthew went into the closet for his pajamas and came out with the teeth.
“I found these disgusting things in my closet,” he said, as though she were unaware of their location, and tossed them in the bin. As soon as he entered the bathroom Marie rescued the teeth.
The next morning Marie forged sleep until she was certain to have heard the whisper of the lock implying her husband’s departure. She jumped out of bed, and without stopping to brush her own teeth, rushed to the drawer where she had encased the teeth. Pulling them out, she held them close to her heart and walked into the living room. She presented the teeth with the fur stole, and cradled it into the warmth. The teeth thanked her warmly.
That night she told her husband she was too tired to meet him for another dinner, and promised to call when she was ready. A week flew by without a call.
And then on one of those cold days that sneaks up on you, chilling your fingers while the sun smiles mischievously upon your head, there was a knock on the door. It was the old man who had, unbeknownst to Marie, passed under her window months before. Handing her a note, Marie understood that he had been searching the area for his dentures and was now inquiring if she knew of their whereabouts. Dentures! How had she not realized what they were before. She denied any knowledge and all but pushed him to the door.
That night, she was once again startled by a knock. This time it was her husband.
“Marie,” he said. “I ran into this gentleman upon my entry to the building. Are his dentures still here?” Unable to deny her possession, she feigned retrieval from the trash. The man took her teeth and left.
The following day a persistent knock yet again disturbed Marie, this time from her grief. Patting her eyes dry, she was surprised to find the old man on the stoop.
“I’m sure you discovered the secret of my dentures,” he said. “They are my voice. Without them I have no words, few thoughts, I am lost. I recognized in your eyes the impact of their loss, and I wanted to give you a chance to say a proper good-bye.”
He sat on the couch while she brewed him a cup of tea. Upon his departure, he promised to return the following day, for he could tell she was lonely. And, so was he.
It wasn't until Marie found herself in bed with the old man that she realized she didn't know his name. She wasn't certain she needed to. Upon their following encounter she invited him to spend the night. While he slept she tiptoed around him, dressing like a rabbit hiding from a fox. She crept to his side of the bed and spotted the teeth in a glass. Seeing them drowned in such an inhumane manner, she knew her maternal instincts were intact.
Marie grabbed the teeth and fled into the freezing night.