A Brief Encounter

A rude awakening, and one small crime solved.

Bleary eyed, I stumble out of bed to figure out what all the noise is about. I can hear a fight going on, and the crash of what might have been a glass measuring cup being thrown against a wall, and.....cymbals? I open the library door to chaos.

"WILL YOU STOP THAT UNGODLY RACKET!!" screams a petite, pale lady, who is perched on the edge of the divan, quivering with fury. She is swathed in a bright green patterned silk kimono and a turban with a single feather affixed to its center; she holds a neon yellow knitted afghan around her for protection from the noise, and looks like nothing so much as an irate cockateil. The object of her ire is the parade that is snaking around the furniture, shouting and booming with glee. Eppy, carrying a broom as a baton, leads with her chest thrust out like a tiny majordomo, hupHUPPing her charges. Cindee follows, bashing together cymbals vigorously and asynchronously, chanting unintelligibly between laughing fits; Xena keeps time on marching feet, toot-tootling furiously on an enormous tuba. The Machine trails behind, expertly tapping out a martial tattoo on a snare drum while gazing dutifully ahead. The lady on the divan follows their progress with mounting exasperation, and finally throws herself dramatically face down on the pillows, shrieking in mortal agony, kimono sleeves ending up artfully arranged around her like sycophantic birds of paradise.

"Welcome to the Saturday showdown. This is a weekly event," Jane says laconically, looking up from the desk where she is paying bills. "Girls, I think maybe you should head outside if you have so much energy, please."

Eppy sticks her tongue out briefly, then yells the marching order. "About...FACE!" They pivot. "Forward....MARCH!" As the Parade heads for the door, they weave their cacophonous way in a final salute around the divan, causing the lady to wriggle blindly in paroxysms of disgust. Their noisy good humor drifts behind them as they bang down the hall.

The silence truly is golden. Until....


"Every WEEK they wake me up this way. WHY do you let them get AWAY WITH THAT??" cries the lady, who I am coming to realize is Narcissus. She addresses Jane, who shrugs unsympathetically.

"Perhaps, Narci, if you had not turned off the alarm this morning before everyone had heard it, they would not feel compelled to have mounted this event to get everyone out of bed."

"But we all needed SLEEP! You have been running us ragged with this crazed scheduling of yours," and she flourishes a list in Jane's neat handwriting. "Did you even look at yesterday? We had 30 minutes where nothing was scheduled. And same on Thursday...and today's looking no better!"

Jane folds down her laptop screen and addresses Narcissus patiently, with the air of one repeating oft-repeated words. "Again, Narcissus, I'm only scheduling like that because earlier in the week we didn't get anything accomplished. You know very well this is crunch time at the end of the work quarter, and that we agreed by joining boot camp we were trying to work exercise in the very first thing of the day. I don't think Saturday is an exception. Though it is today, of course, since you SHUT OFF THE ALARM and we all slept until 8." Jane looks at her sternly over folded hands. "Please stop doing that."

"PLEASE WORK MORE FREE TIME IN TO THIS SCHEDULE, GAWD!!!!" bawls Narcissus. "You pay attention to everyone's requests but mine: the Professor gets to go to SCRUM classes and play with her stupid charts - do you know she actually asked me how many grapes "dozens" were? How on earth should *I* know? - and Eppy gets to go play with the nieces and nephews, Cindee gets to hang out all night at karaoke, Xena gets gym time with the Machine - even Constance gets to read Poirot novels!"

"She's practicing her French, dear." Jane reminds her.

"BUT WHAT ABOUT ME? What about napping and baking and writing in your journal? What about reading some soul-feeding, non-school, non-French fiction once in awhile? What about Amazon Prime? What about taking in an art film or a museum? When was the last time we went to the Opera? What about overindulging in a little CHOCOLATE ONCE IN AWHILE? THIS LIFE IS POINTLESS!"

And she breaks down in histrionic sobbing, peering over the crook of her elbow to make sure she is having an effect. Through the windows, I can see the parade making its merry progress across the lawn, and it appears Cindee is now dragging a protesting Zoe along behind her.

Jane sighs a small sigh of defeat. "Okay, you win."

Narcissus immediately sits up. "I do?" Recovering, she tosses her hair, and sniffs delicately, wiping her eyes on her excessive sleeves. A streak of mascara decorates her left cheek. "Of course I do. I'm right, obviously. We can't keep up this crazy schedule. Our lives need more BEAUTY than this."

"...and preferably," says Jane drily, "less drama. Monday, IF the work for the upcoming webinar on Tuesday is all done - IF IT'S DONE, I SAID - we can leave some time on the schedule for...whatever." The prospect seems to make her uncomfortable. She taps her pen against her teeth, contemplating the preening woman on the couch. "Amazon Prime, eh, Narcissus? That wouldn't have been you who kept changing the Machine's programming this past month to that "Sit On Couch and Watch Amazon Prime" directive, by any chance?"

"So what if it was?" snaps Narcissus darkly.

"And it wouldn't have happened to have been you who left the rest of the chocolate bar out by the Machine when her order was to only eat 6 pieces of it, on Wednesday?"

Narcissus gasps. "IS MY EVERY MOVE MONITORED NOW? AM I ALLOWED NO PRIVACY? Just like a prisoner!" she wails, warming to her role. "My crime is artistic passion, and this place is my DUNGEON!!" With that, she springs theatrically from the divan, strikes a brief pose of suffering, and sweeps from the room, her sleeves fluttering behind her like shredded pieces of soul.

"Have you met Narcissus?" Jane inquires brightly, allowing herself a small smile.

As I gaze after her, I wonder out loud: "I can see why Xena, Eppy and the Machine were up for a parade, but what the hell was Cindee doing in there? I expected her to be sleeping in like Zoe did.  Er....tried to do,"  I amended.

"Oh, Cindee's not completely stupid - it's Saturday, after all. She knows there's a bbq for a friend tonight, and that if we wake up and get the workout in, she'll have a better chance of convincing me we can stay there late tonight. It's REALLY hard to talk her down when she's already out somewhere."

"And besides," Jane says thoughtfully. "Anywhere there's noise and ridiculousness going on, Cindee is bound to show up. She might have hatched that plot with Eppy, actually." She stands. "And now I must rouse the Professor - these bills are troubling, and she was going to help me look for a new job.....so we have a TON of potential future payroll numbers to crunch this weekend." She salutes and departs, leaving me with my thoughts, and a distant crash of cymbals.