Read Online Pushing Upward by Andrea Adler - Free Book Online Page B

learns from the situation what is demanded of him and then follows this intimation from fate … in addition to the time of toil and effort, this is also a time of planning …
    Planning? Planning what? I jumped out of bed, scooped up my clothes from the floor, and headed toward the shower. Water. Standing up, lying down, I loved it! The shower head was old, but it still had some juice. The towels were nice and thick. I clicked on the heat and was back in heaven. I even started to sing “Our House,” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Quietly, of course.
    Returning to the bedroom, I put on my clothes, made my new bed, opened the window, and tried to inhale my new life. The room looked smaller in the morning light, but Josef’s paintings made the space seem bigger. They began to breathe, taking on a life of their own. I could have studied each painting all morning, all day. But there’d be time for that. Now, it was time to start my new life. I tiptoed out into the hallway, wondering if Emma was still asleep. I had no idea of her schedule or what time she started her day.
    This was unknown territory. I saw that her bedroom door was open a crack. I peeked through the small opening, but she wasn’t inside. I walked toward the living room and poked my nose around the corner, into the room. There she was, sitting in her elegant green satin high-backed chair, reading. As I studied her impressive posture, she looked like a retired law professor ruminating over the subtle refinements of a legal journal. She was, however, only reading the New York Times .
    The Victorian high-back was by far the most outstanding piece of furniture she possessed. Crafted from rich mahogany, it curved in a half moon along the top, where clusters of grapes and leaves were carved delicately into the thick, dark wood. Hunter-green satin covered the seat and the back of the chair. The curve of the arms where the wood was molded fit perfectly beneath Emma’s frail wrists, supporting her hands while she read.
    â€œGood morning,” I said, trying not to startle her.
    She jumped slightly. “Oh, you startled me.” She smiled away the surprise, set the paper down on her lap, lowered her bifocals, and waved me over to the chair next to her. Lovingly, she said, “Come, sit down. How was your sleep?”
    â€œNot bad! I think I could have slept for two weeks.”
    â€œI’m glad you had a good rest, dear.”
    She paused and then gingerly raised herself up. It took all her strength to lift her body. Cup and saucer in hand, she walked step-by-step, head held high, purposefully, toward the kitchen. “There’s coffee and bagels,” she called back to me, “or cereal, if you like.”
    â€œNo, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
    Returning from the kitchen, she focused on the trembling hot cup, evidence there was still weakness in her limbs. She sat down, carefully placing the cup of coffee and quarter piece of toasted bagel with cream cheese on the small table between us.
    â€œSo, do we need anything from the store?” I asked, hoping there was something I could do with all this energy and no immediate place to put it.
    â€œI suppose we could use some paper goods, fish, chopped liver … there’s no hurry.” Her voice was a little shaky. She took off her bifocals. “So, tell me, Sandra. Do you have a plan?”
    The question sounded stern. “A plan?”
    â€œA plan for your career?”
    â€œWell, I was planning to go to the Screen Actors Guild, to see if they had a list of auditions.”
    â€œAre you in shape to audition?”
    â€œWell, yes.”
    â€œThere is a swimming pool at the back of this building and a YWCA down the block.”
    â€œThat’s great … it’s just that I’m on a tight budget, and I can’t really afford the Y.”
    â€œI used to volunteer there. They told me I could use the facilities. I never have.