Bjorn! on the Fourth of July (A Barbara Marr Short Story) Read online

  I blame myself. I showed her the poster.

  Bjorn! What kind of name is that for a magician, anyway?

  See, my youngest daughter Amber was going through a new phase. She'd had her fairy phase, her Disney Princess phase, and her Josie and the Pussycats phase. Now she was going through a Houdini phase. Harriette Houdini to be precise. A character in a series of early readers she'd found in her first grade classroom. Amber had a new obsession – magic. Okay. I could deal with that. In fact, not all girls want to be magicians, so I actually liked the break from traditional female stereotyped career aspirations. She didn't want to starve herself half to death to be a supermodel – she wanted to be a magician. Pretty cool.

  So, I showed her the poster.

  I was optimistic and had energy when I showed her the poster.

  It was only 78 degrees outside when I showed her the poster.

  And, if I had to be entirely, one hundred percent honest... I really thought I could convince Howard to take Amber to see Bjorn! on the Fourth of July when I showed her that poster.

  But, when I climbed out of bed at six a.m. on the day of the big event, I wasn't optimistic, I was pessimistic. And I certainly wasn't energetic. No, no, no. I was exhausted from attempting to sleep in an oven of a house whose air conditioning had gone on the fritz in the middle of the most horrendous heat wave Rustic Woods had seen in years. Seven straight days of 100-plus degrees with humidity so thick that the mosquitoes were wearing oxygen tanks. And trust me, when your worst menopausal hot flashes visit you between midnight and three in the morning and you sleep next to a man who somehow radiates more than his 98.6 degrees of body heat, that wonky thirty-year-old ceiling fan over the bed just doesn't cut it.

  I figured that maybe, if I was lucky, I'd managed two, maybe two and a half hours of sleep somewhere in there during the night. I was going to need coffee and I was going to need lots of it. Iced.

  So I took a cold shower, slipped into a pair of skimpy shorts and a tank top, and made my way downstairs grumbling the entire way. Why? Why did the AC have to go out the day before a major holiday? What sort of Karmic crime did I commit? Did I kill one too many spiders when I could have just removed them humanely? That was probably it. I knew my fear of spiders would come back to haunt me some day. See, removing spiders doesn't solve the problem because they'll just come back into the house and I'm sorry, but spiders scare me worse than Mel Gibson mug shots.

  I was hunched over a bowl of Captain Crunch at our kitchen table when Amber plopped into the chair next to me shoving the Bjorn! poster in my face.

  Her own smile formed a crescent from one ear to the other. "Are you ready to be amazed, Mommy?"

  She was referring to the words on the glossy page, in brilliant gold font, which read as follows:

  Bjorn!

  on the Fourth of July

  at the Rustic Woods Independence Day Festival

  Magic like you've never seen before

  Prepare to be amazed!

  Noon on the Lake Muir Stage

  Underneath was a publicity headshot of a dashingly handsome, shockingly blond young man with a politician's smile and sparkling, white teeth.

  Like I said, it looked like a great idea two weeks earlier. Now? Not so much.

  "Honey, I think your daddy is taking you."

  Her head shook vehemently while her smile drooped. "No he's not. He's taking Callie and Bethany to a five cake. He just told me. Usually I'd beg to go because you know cake is my favorite food, but I want to see Bjorn more. It's magic like you've never seen."

  Yes, yes. I know. I showed her the poster.

  Howard bounded into the kitchen too full of energy and definitely dressed for a run. He opened the refrigerator door and retrieved the orange juice carton.

  "You're not really still planning to take the girls to run that 5K today, are you? It's like, two hundred degrees out there."

  "Barb, give me a break. It's seventy-two degrees, I checked. The run starts at eight and will be over by nine so we'll be just fine," he said as he poured.

  I threw him my practiced skeptical frown. "I don't like the idea. It's not safe. I really think you should skip it this year."

  "You mean, so I can stand on steaming hot pavement under the blistering noon sun to watch a man pull a rabbit out of a hat?"

  Blistering noon sun? Who did he think he was, Hemingway? "Aha!" I shouted, wagging an accusatory finger at him. "So you are doing this just to avoid taking Amber to the magic show. I knew it, you avoider you!"

  "Mommy," Amber said, "you don't want to see Bjorn with me?" Her sad voice could've made hardened criminals cry.

  After I pulled the finely sharpened dagger out of my guilty heart, I got my selfish head back on straight. Bad, bad, Mommy. What's a little discomfort compared to the joy and wonder my daughter would experience when she saw Bjorn!?

  I patted her hand. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I do. I do want to be amazed." I turned back to Howard. "If the run is over by nine, then you'll be home in time so we can all go together. It's the Independence Day Festival so there will be other fun things too."

  He winced. "I promised Colt we'd stick around and help with clean-up. I don't think we'd get home in time. How about we meet you there?"

  I couldn't argue with that. Colt was our best friend and business partner who, in the goodness of his heart, volunteered with the Rustic Woods Nature Center to put on their annual Fourth of July Save the Forests 5K. "That works," I acquiesced. "Take your cell phone then, so we can connect. That place gets so crowded. Amber and I will probably have to be there a half-hour early to get a place close to the stage."

  Amber clapped her hands and bounced in her chair. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She settled for a minute, placed her own hand over mine and grew very serious. "You won't be disappointed," she said, then jumped up from her chair and ran from the room shouting, "Bjorn! on the Fourth of July! Yay, yay, yay! Prepare to be amazed!"

  I blew out a sigh and looked at Howard. "She's awfully excited about this. I hope she's not disappointed."

  He gulped down the last of his juice then set the glass in the sink. "You showed her the poster."

  ***

  To plan my morning after Howard and the girls left, I worked my thinking backward from noon. If we wanted to be in front of the stage at 11:30, we'd need fifteen minutes of driving time and five minutes for parking which could be tricky during the Independence Day Festival. And we'd better add a couple minutes for walking just in case we had to park really far away. So that meant leaving the house around 11:05. The kitchen clock read 7:50. Plenty of time. I considered the many things that needed to be done. Laundry. Lots of laundry. God must assume that I love laundry, because unlike money, there's always plenty of it. Sigh. I didn't feel like doing laundry on the Fourth of July.

  I filled a hot water bottle with crushed ice, grabbed the remote control, laid on the couch with the cool rubber bottle on my chest, and began channel surfing. No air conditioning on the fourth of July called for relaxing with a good movie. The typical movies were on: Born on the Fourth of July, Independence Day, and Yankee Doodle Dandy, but I decided to go off-theme and watch an oldie but goodie – Some Like it Hot. It seemed appropriate.

  Setting the remote down on the coffee table, I settled in, plumping up a pillow under my head and getting super comfortable. Probably a little too comfortable. Remember: I was operating on very little sleep.

  I was shaken awake by Amber waving the cordless phone in my face. "It's Mrs. Rubenstein. She wants to know where her avocado dip is."

  My eyes popped open and I bolted upright.

>   I'd forgotten the avocadoes. And the onions, lime, garlic, tomatoes, jalapeno pepper, and cilantro. Actually, what I'd forgotten was the guacamole that I had promised my dear friend, Peggy Rubenstein, over a week ago. She needed it for a party she was hosting for soccer kids and their parents. She said she could never make it as good as I did – probably because when she looked for a recipe, she searched on "avocado dip." To know Peggy was to love her for her inability to remember the correct names of just about everything. I grabbed the phone from Amber's little hand while trying to get my still-sleepy eyes to focus. "Peggy! I'm so sorry!"

  "You're just running a little late, right?" she asked.

  "Um, I'm kind of running a lot late."

  "They start arriving soon! Barb, please say you didn't forget."

  "You don't want me to lie, do you?"

  "You forgot!" she shouted.

  I felt terrible, but knew I could make it right. "What time is it now?"

  "Ten thirty."

  That wasn't so bad. I could work with that. "I'll head over to the store right now and be at your house lickety split."

  "You don't even have the ingredients yet?" she asked.

  "I have them in spirit, just not in a shopping bag."

  "Well, if you're going to the store anyway," she said, her voice relaxing, "could you pick me up a gallon of lemonade?"

  "Sure."

  "And two pounds of hamburger?"

  "Okay..."

  "And hot dogs and buns if it's not too much trouble – hamburger and hot dog."

  "Peggy, did you buy anything for this party?"

  "Let's just say we make good friends because we're both a little forgetful. Oh, and two big bags of chips for the avocado dip. You're the best."

  I'd kill her if I didn't love her so darned much. I hung up the phone and ran across the room for my flip-flops while shouting orders to Amber. "We have to go now – can you grab my guacamole recipe out of the recipe drawer while I get my purse?"

  "Sure, Mommy. We aren't going to be late for Bjorn! though, are we?"

  "No, no. Not at all. It's a holiday, the store will be empty and I know where everything is. We'll be in and out in five minutes, over to Peggy's in another five – I'll leave her with the ingredients and recipe and we'll be on our way."

  We met at the front door, me with my purse over my shoulder and keys in hand, Amber with a cape over her shoulders, magician's hat on her head, and the infamous recipe. I had to smile. She really was prepared to be amazed.

  We stepped into the soggy air. I swear my shirt took exactly three seconds to stick to my skin like it had been super glued. Meanwhile, Amber skipped to the van, her cape flapping slightly in the breeze she created. Taking her cue, I pushed away the grumpies, turned my frown upside down, and decided, despite the mild setback, to approach the day with a positive vibe. We were on our way to some magical fun. Magic like we'd never seen before. We were going to see Bjorn! in action and life would be good.

  I had to work to keep that smile on my face, however, when looking for a parking spot in the unexpectedly crowded lot at Rustic Woods Shopping Center. Okay, I told myself, there are other stores here besides the Food Mart. Probably tons of people getting iced coffee concoctions at The Java Hut. I scanned the store fronts. The bank was closed. Fiorenza's was closed. Hunan Rustic Woods was closed. My pulse rate quickened. If there weren't at least a hundred people in line at The Java Hut, we were in trouble.

  When we couldn't find a shopping cart, I knew we were doomed.

  "Mommy," Amber said quietly, looking around the store as we entered. "It's not zactly empty. In fact, I'd say this place is pretty full." She looked up at me and added, as if I might not have understood her meaning, "Full of people."

  I threw a thankful smile to a man who offered me an empty cart on his way out. "Don't worry. I know this store like the back of my hand. We'll start here in the produce department, make our way through meats and chips, and finish off in the bread aisle. Brenda is the fast checker..." I stood on my tippy toes to search for Brenda and found her on number ten conveniently right at the end of the bread aisle. Karma seemed to be pleased with my simple acknowledgement that there was probably a better way to get rid of a spider than to unleash a full can of bug spray on its scary little body, and had, in Karma-kindness, placed Brenda right where I needed her. Thank you, Karma, thank you.

  We did in fact speed through the store with a good amount of ease and only two cart collisions, which, I'll admit, were my fault. Thank goodness they don't cite people in grocery stores for reckless driving. I apologized profusely to both parties, one of whom was a hunched over little old lady with very thick glasses in the chip aisle. Once she regained her composure after my cart slammed into hers, I noticed her staring with some puzzlement at the top shelf. "Would you like me to reach something up there for you?" I asked. It was the least I could do after adding several more silver hairs to the already nearly-white tuft on her head.

  "That would be so kind of you," she cooed. She pointed a crooked finger. "The green bag, please."

  I gladly plucked a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips from the shelf and placed them in her cart.

  "Thank you, sweetheart."

  I smiled, happy to have made amends for my transgression, and turned to complete my shopping. Her weak voice stopped me.

  "If it's not too much trouble, darling, could you grab me two of those pretzel stick bags as well?"

  My eyes scanned the top shelf. No pretzel bags. She interrupted me mid-bewilderment. "Down there, pumpkin." The crooked finger now pointed to the bottom row a few feet away.

  I cleared my throat. "No problem. Two bags it is." I tossed them into her cart, this time attempting a quicker getaway by only nodding, turning my back, and moving my cart forward.

  "I see you're heading toward the orange sodas, dearie. Those twelve-packs are so heavy and I have five adorable grandsons at home that just guzzle that stuff down like there's no tomorrow. Do you think—"

  I reached for a twelve-pack. "How many?"

  "Three."

  Four bags of cheese balls, five packs of peanut butter crackers, and six gallons of bottled spring water later, Amber and I escaped to the meat aisle where we were told it would be seven to ten minutes before the butcher would be able to restock the hamburger. This naturally threw my original battle plan off kilter, but Amber and I made the best of it by running to the bread aisle for hamburger and hot dog buns. What we ended up with were two loaves of day-old white bread, leaving the bread shelves entirely empty save a few bags of red, white, blue, and green bagels at the end. You guessed it: the green wasn't intentional. It was mold. I guess people don't generally celebrate the Fourth of July with bagels and cream cheese.

  Finally, with the two pounds of hamburger in hand, we avoided the pet food aisle where hunched-over little old lady was asking some other dearie to help her with a monstrously large bag of dog food, opting instead to tear down the feminine products aisle which proved not-surprisingly free of other shoppers. I quickly snatched a box of Pretty Lady panty liners for "sports-active women who leak a little," because, well ladies, I know you'll understand this: I never liked to be caught... unprotected. We landed happily and firmly at the end of the line number ten. There were only two other shoppers in front of us and thankfully their carts weren't too full.

  Amber held up her wrist and pointed to her Harriette Houdini watch with a great deal of concern shrouding her freckled face. "I think this says one minute after eleven o'clock, doesn't it?"

  I peeked and sighed. "Yes, it does. This took a little longer than I thought, but don't worry, I can make up the time by calling Peggy on the way and having her come to the car for the groceries."

  Predictably rapid and efficient, Brenda the checker had the two customers in front of us scanned, bagged, and paid in practically nothing flat. We were next. "Hi Brenda! I said, handing my frequent shopper discount card over. She returned my smile, but held up a hand, rejecting my card. "Hang onto th
at for just a minute, Mrs. Marr. I'm going on my break." She punched some keys on the register in front of her and recognizing the fear in my eyes, offered what she probably thought was consolation. "Don't worry – another checker is taking over for me. He'll be... " I saw her gaze fall on someone behind us. "There he is now. Arthur, you'll take good care of Mrs. Marr, right?"

  Arthur? Not Arthur! Curse you, Karma!

  See, if Brenda is the Mario Andretti of grocery checkers, Arthur is the polar opposite. He's... well, I really don't know that much about car racing except I know Mario Andretti is fast and Arthur is not. The earth orbits the sun faster than Arthur checks. A giant redwood can grow from seedling to its majestic maturity before Arthur can get five items scanned and bagged. I kid you not. The man was slower than a tortoise on Ambien, and I was stuck in his line like a desperate fly on a pest strip.

  "Hey there, Mrs. Marr," Arthur said, moseying up to the register then giving it a long look as if he'd never seen one before. He pressed one key on the number key pad, then turned his attention back to me. "How are you doing this Fourth of July?" He looked at the machine, then pressed another key. "You and the family have..." one more key pressed, "...any plans?" His index finger hovered over yet another key which I knew, from my many years of shopping at The Food Mart, would be the last key in his secure checker code that would re-activate the register and allow him to commence his service.

  "Actually," I said, staring at his hovering finger, praying he'd punch that darn number and get a move on, "we are on our way to the Independence Day Festival..." Press it, Arthur! Press it! "Amber wants to see the magician at noon—"

  "Bjorn!" Arthur shouted. "Isn't that the coolest name? Bjorn!" He shook his head sadly. "I really wanted to see him. But, as you can see, I had to work." Then, Bing! he pressed that last number on the key pad and the register began to hum. Arthur picked the bag of avocadoes from the belt. "Hey, if that's at noon, you'd better get over there soon." He held up the bag. "Are these the California avocadoes or the Mexico organic avocadoes?"

  "Mexico organic," I answered quickly.

  "Are you sure? Because you know those are a whole lot more expensive and you don't want to overpay."