It's Just a Game

Six - Pauline's Life Laid Bare

Pauline's apartment was simply decorated with an underlying elegance. I stood in her living room, unsure of how to start. I had just decided to sit on the sofa and absorb the room's ambience when the front door opened and Eleanor returned. I turn to look at her as she walked down the hallway.

She stood, looking somewhat uncomfortable, as she stopped in the living room area. In the back of my mind an idea was forming. Did I ever mention that I'm a very selfish person? It's an unbecoming trait, I suppose, for a person who was supposed to be shepherding her flock, providing care and support to her Church community.

It had a lot to do with why I was on sabbatical. I didn't want to think about it right now and as quickly as I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind, I could see the shadow that hovered over me. It was coming closer by the day. running across the bottom of my mental image. My personality had everything to do with why I was taking my so-called sabbatical and why I was in Blue Pond.

I was having a crisis of conscience. There comes a time in your life when you must turn the harsh light of examination on your own soul. I had been forced to do this and I didn't like what I saw. I felt like a hypocrite and a fraud. Mercifully for my state of mind, Eleanor spoke, her voice cracking, "Oh Millie, what am I going to do with without her?"

I snapped off the harsh light that I had focused on my soul and turned back to the issue at hand. The hovering black shadow could wait.

"It sounds like her sister has given us free rein." I knew I was changing the subject, but I wasn't ready for my aunt to break down in tears when I was alone with her like this. I did think of her situation and I added, meaning every word of it, "I think it would be easier on you if I look through things on my own. You don't need to put yourself through the agony of remembering all the good times you had with her here. I'll be very careful. If it's something that is obviously an important item, I'll put in one pile and something might be important, I'll put in another pile. Something will be easy to deal with and I'll put them in a third pile. Then, we can discuss what to do with each one of them."

"Bernadette said she was going to donate the clothes." Eleanor sounded more like herself. "That only makes sense. Pauline was petite, very delicate with impeccable taste. They wouldn't wear the same clothes at all even if they did fit Bernadette. But of course, they wouldn't. She's anything but petite and her taste...." Eleanor shuddered.

"That does make my job a little easier. I will just bag up all her clothes. I'll check the pockets and we can find out if she cares where we donate them and if she doesn't will take them wherever you want them to go." It was helpful to talk to her about the approach to take. One step at a time. I would start with clothes.

"Oh, perfect. There is that place that collects clothes they give free to women reentering the workforce and recovering from broken relationships where they can get good quality outfits for free. I can't remember the name but I can find that out." She stared off into space. "The Clothes Closet. I think that's the name."

We agreed that she would check with Bernadette, but I was sure that Bernadette did not give a darn what we did with her sister's outfits. This plan gave Eleanor a good exit strategy for going back to her place.

I assured her that I planned to begin with the clothes and call her little later in the morning. I did not tell her that I also planned to tell her that I was on a roll and was going to stay in this house overnight. I would be more comfortable sleeping in the dearly departed's house than I would be sleeping on the pull-out loveseat. Did I ever mention I love my solitude?

I knew that if I told her my plan now, she wouldn't leave until she was positive I would return home. It was kind of exciting to think about exploring another woman's life, now that I had the beginning of a plan. Besides it was easier than exploring my own life.

When Eleanor talked about her bridge partner, I had always assumed Pauline was of a similar age to Eleanor. It was a surprise when I discovered she was closer to my age.

She stopped at the door, "Are you sure?"

I nodded emphatically. "Yes. I am positive. I don't want to see you suffer and everything that is personal to her, her favorite skirt, her favorite sweater, these things will only make you sad. Also, it will give me a chance to look at everything objectively without worrying about you."

The relief in her eyes revealed how she liked the idea of approaching the task objectively. This was something she could accept as a legitimate reason for her to go back home and have a rye and ginger ale and maybe a really good cry.

Alone for the time being, I ran myself a glass of tap water and opened a few of the kitchen drawers. Nothing unusual there, no slips of paper or notebooks tucked away.

I went upstairs and into the master bedroom. The closet was the most sensible place to start so that's what I did. There were four dresses hanging among the other clothes and I took them out, laid them on the bed, removed the hangers, and felt for pockets. There were none. Folding them into neat rectangles of fabric, I realized that I had not checked to see if there were any large plastic bags in the house.

Back downstairs I went. In the end drawer on the right-hand side in the kitchen, there was a neat collection of garbage bags and blue recycling bags along with plastic wrap and tin foil and freezer bags. Pauline had been a well-organized person. I took a package of blue bags upstairs with me. It was better to be able to see what was in them.

The dresses went into the bag. I repeated this with the skirts, slacks, blouses, and jeans. I checked the pockets and there was nothing in any of them. Not even a dime. There were five jackets, two were casual, one was a tweed jacket, and two were dress blazers that looked like they have never been worn. There was some loose change in one of the casual jacket pockets, a business card in the tweed jacket pocket, and a khaki green epaulet in the black blazer jacket's only pocket. I set these items on top of her dresser.

I found a large cardboard box in her store room and placed her shoes in it. Next, I attacked her dresser drawers. The big decision was what to do with her underwear. It was nice and clean, and tidily organized. I decided my job was to pack it up and The Clothes Closet people could figure out what they want to do with used, albeit clean, underwear. It was an eclectic selection of cotton bikini briefs, silky wisps of red lacy panties, and thongs.

Her brassieres coordinated with the panties, some of them being plain white utilitarian bras and some of them lacy matches to the lacy panties. I gathered up her socks and placed these all in another blue bag. Her sweaters were on shelves built into the end of the closet. I unfolded each one to check for pockets, one at a time, refolding and stacking them in another blue bag. There were no pockets.

What could I tell from Pauline's clothing? She was conservative and a size 2. It was past noon by the time I stacked all the bags and the box of shoes in the front hallway. I hadn't gone to the closet in the front hallway, but I was thirsty and overdue for a reasonable call to Eleanor. I knew I was resisting calling because she would protest something. Indeed, I was surprised someone hadn't showed up at the door at noon sharp demanding I join them for lunch.

I was hungry. Never mind calling, I would stroll back to Eleanor's and have a sandwich and visit a little and then tell them my plan to stay overnight at Pauline's. I looked around the room, thinking about what it would be like when I die, and someone has the task of going in to clean up and clear up my things. I made a mental note to myself to start taking better care of my belongings and clear out the detritus before that.