Spring Cleaning

Spring Cleaning
Part I

Plaster Man - I feel nervous arond him. He is sinister. His actions are suspicious. His first day on the job he asks odd questions: Where does my husband work? Is he gone all day? He sort of paces around the house, just looking at it. He is on my *#@* list from the first day. None-the-less, he is on our doorstep because a sincere, if not sometimes flaky, source recommended him. I lock every single door on the way into the house after meeting him.

Day one, around four hours later.

I hear a crash. I try to ignore the sound and hope that whatever it was was just a passing thing. However, the Plaster Man's legs dangling from the roof catch my eye. I know that his legs are about 5' off the ground. He thinks he's dangling 100' off the ground. It becomes an ordeal.

The Plaster Man never yells. He never raises his voice. He just dangles there in a state of panic. I know this because the man does not let go when I have him by the legs and tell him to. I get smacked in the face by his boots. My face is in his (one who was on my *#@* list too) midsection trying to support him. Finally, the carpenter who is working on the other side of the house hears me yell. He comes running over and tells me to get the ladder. Everyone is acting like it is life and death. It is not. It has been about five minutes and the Plaster Man is still hanging on by his fingertips. If he falls, my goodness, he lands on his feet. Worst case, his bum.

The ladder. The ladder is what fell out from under the Plaster Man. It is about twice my size. I look at the dang thing and lose my concentration. Impossible.

None-the-less, in the spirt of the "emergency," I heave the thing up. It soars over my head, swivels, and starts to capsize. I compensate with my appropriate adrenaline response rush, and hump it over to the dangling man. The ladder falls against the window but, thank you God, does not break it. I am now desperate. I can't get it under the Plaster Man. His arms and hands are stopping it. Bam, bam, bam goes my ladder. The Plaster Man, unbelievably, is still holding on.

The Carpenter grabs hold of the Plaster Man's hands. Now it's human to human. Skin against skin. Muscle holding muscle. Bam, bam, bam goes mye ladder. This is insane. Finally, the ladder gets under the Plaster Man. I have amnesia. How the hell did that happen?

It all works out fine. The Plaster Man walks down the ladder. He doesn't say a word. Carpenter man comes down from our low roof and doesn't say anything either. Someone has to say something. We have just been through an ordeal and no one is talking. I look at the two of them, waiting. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Obviously, this is a macho thing. I stand in the silence and appreciate what it is: men defying the obvious. Impressive.

The Plaster Man holds out his wrists. Little drops of blood are on them - little scrapes from my perspective (all knowing mom that I am). We go in the house. I tell him to wash them with soap and water. I get lotion and band-aids. He snaps at me to get him a paper towel. I am reminded of why I didn't trust him in the beginning and leave him alone in my kitchen to dress his own wounds.