Dizzy my Thin Lizzy

Out in the murk, the grey windrows divided the street from the sidewalk; its dirty snow was so unappealing. But that was not the worst of it.

Some character, his voice fading in and out like an apparition, kept saying to me, “You’re not real!” One moment he was near, the next, absent to me.

Looking back on it, it wasn’t just that I didn’t know him. It was that he knew everything about me. He even looked like Charlie, my partner.

“Stop following me! Haven’t you something better to do?” The finality of my disdain for him would be my rescue. That and the salt-spotted cars, like faded leopards prowling near me through the wasted street, their drivers picking up steam.

It made me smile, and I remembered what my father said. "Those unwilling to die have the duty to bear up under anything."

But the stranger was not deterred. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’ll get that coffee for your buddy. He’s sick, as you know. He wants you to cover for him at the family store. So you’ll put that coffee on his workspace. Should do the trick.”

Now this stranger threatened to ruin my day. I unexpectedly shivered, my head suddenly awash in frozen breath, mine and that of others who were oblivious as they walked by me.

But then I was clever. You know, I didn’t accuse him of interfering in my life or engaging in identity theft. Oh no. He wasn’t on my phone. Or in my contacts. He would remain the unknown.

I turned to go. So much like Charlie, this stranger. Only worse in some way. What was it? I hated how Charlie never did anything he promised. Yet this man could read my mind.

Once I was clear of him, I calmed down and remembered how my father was with me when I was upset. He'd say "Dizzy, my thin Lizzy!" with that grin of his as if nothing ever mattered. He was such a kidder. At those times, I let him call me Liz, short for Lizbeth, as a favor to him. Then, when I would pour out all my problems, Dad, ever a stockbroker, would add, "Don't sell yourself short," which always made me laugh.

I looked at my watch. It seemed foggy. I had to shake it, so terribly wonky. How I hated Charlie. So inconsiderate. So little time left before I had to be at the store. So many things to do with Mother, crazy busy, and Dad wondering if he would ever be able to retire. Would any of this ever stop?

It felt good to run the short distance from that stranger into the coffee shop. Soon I had two fiery coffees, one for each mitt. One stranger less, I trudged back into that dim street to do the work I would do for two, while still being only one person.

#

“Hey-Ho! There you go!”

He was already waiting outside the coffee shop the next morning, blocking my path.

I tried to brush past; my boot caught an ice chunk that hadn’t been there yesterday. I nearly kicked it.

He winced. “Ouch. Real enough for you? Nice work covering for Charlie again. Fooled the family good. As long as the job gets done, right?”

“Don't you get real with me,” I snapped, fumbling in my purse for pepper spray that wasn’t there.

His chin jutted forward, voice dropping to a lazy drawl. “Why, I could tell how ready you are! For anything. Those half-remembered Y-class moves. The five-week self-defense thing? Missed the first two nights babysitting your sister’s dumb ass kids.”

“What do you want?” I yelled. Numb fingers dropped my mitts into the slush so I could dial 911 properly. He waited while I gave the cross streets.

“None of this matters,” he said softly, the glee fading from his face.

The words landed like a warm blanket in the cold. No more unforgiving shifts, no more of Charlie’s promises, or carrying everyone else’s weight. I almost let the thought linger.

"But the cops are coming for you.”

“But the cops aren’t real.”

My pulse hammered as I straightened my hair. “You’re insane," I muttered as I slid my mitts back on my hands, dropping the cell back into my purse.

“A state of mind,” he said. “You can do better.”

“Paddy wagons are real. Hospitals too. You’re lucky I’m still here to report you.”

“Suit yourself.” He sighed. “Your name is Miranda. Your whole life has been building to this: the moment you get read your rights. Then, they scoop you up, too. Police these days—never know what they’ll do.”

"My name is not Miranda!" I screamed before I could stop myself. I wanted to punch him. I swung for his face. He stepped back like a boxer, his tone mocking me, as if he enjoyed sparring and hopping around.

“Hey, miss!” A burly man waiting for the bus stamped his feet. “Do you need help?"

“I’ve got it,” I said, spotting the cruiser turning the corner.

“Suit yourself,” the stranger repeated, utterly calm.

I glanced at the burly man. He wasn’t looking at the stranger at all—just staring ahead, part of the frozen sidewalk. No one else nearby reacted. No heads turned. No whispers.

My mind tilted. What did it take for anyone to notice anything anymore? Which made me wonder where I really was. I stretched and came to—another day with Charlie, who was singing in the bathroom. Low at first, then loud, a man warbling like someone who knew no one was listening. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes as I got out of bed.

Charlie was in the shower. "Hey, babe! You up? Wanna fill in for me again today?"

He was singing, The Boys are back in Town in that silly falsetto of his. I got dressed in a hurry. Charlie was super apologetic.

"Aw, darling! Don't hold it against me. I'm singin' a tune from Thin Lizzy!"

There he was, with water all over the floor, the shower curtain torn, and the drain plugged. I exploded, there and then.

"Unreal, you're acting like this! Go to work, you lazy lout!"

He looked so surprised, like a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar. But then he went back to humming that song, more like making fun of everything. He kept sneaking looks at me.

"You know you used to be a real looker," he said. "You should take better care of yourself."

I stared at the bathroom mirror. I had to smear it to see; the shower condensation was so thick. I wiped my hand on a face towel. Then my face. Then I had a good look at the floor. Water really was rising all around the drain, with dirt bubbling up from the grout lines.

I ran out of there so fast. Must free the drain. I needed a knife or something.

Next thing I knew, the kettle in the kitchen was singing to me. So shiny, hot, and insistent. I could see my reflection in the kettle's stainless steel, warping my lips and teeth like a circus mirror. Now I felt better about what the stranger told me. "None of this matters," he said, which was so calming.

Charlie kept trying to call out. And there were gurgling sounds which made me think I should call a plumber. Or Mack from downstairs. Always coming around, you know, the super?

"Dizzy, my thin Lizzy," he always said. What a kidder he was.