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| Tamera, Cramer, February 26, 1958–September 18, 2021 |
I'm pondering a new circumstance today, namely that my friend Tamera Cramer suddenly and unexpectedly left us last night. đŸ˜¢
Tamera and I met at a board games Meetup, and from there we began hanging out on our own, usually meeting for dinner and maybe a movie. We bonded over things like our shared identity and experiences as single, middle-aged women, our shared appreciation of writing and of good grammar, our shared battle with clutter, and our shared love of books and of certain cultural phenomena (Star Trek being a prime example). One of the things I remember most about Tamera is how unapologetically she was "into" all the things she was into--which were many.
Mentioning the clutter monster reminds me of a funny story: One time when I was helping her declutter in preparation for a move, we suddenly heard an ice cream truck playing We Wish You a Merry Christmas--in May! We had a laugh over that one. And then yesterday, after I shared that story with her friends on a Facebook group text, two of us, myself and another friend, almost simultaneously heard ice cream trucks--in different locations. Take that for what you will, but to my mind, sometimes such things are too serendipitous to be anything but a sign.
But the real reason for this post, beyond "just" honoring Tamera, is that last night I rediscovered that she once asked me to review a story she'd written. I'm sorry to say I didn't complete that task while she was still alive. But I have now; you'll find it below.
Tamera: Thank you for your friendship. Here's your story finally. I'm sorry it took me so long. I've blended and lightly edited the two versions you shared with me. I hope you like what I did with it.
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Circumstances by Tamera Cramer
Gary stood at the front room window, looking down at the bullet casing he slowly twined through his fingers. He could still hear the reverberations of the gun volleys even though they'd left the cemetery more than an hour ago. He thought about how solemn the men from the VFW had been at the graveside as they fired the weapons, folded the flag, and handed him and the family the bullet casings. The sergeant had explained all the protocol to him and nudged him when he needed to respond to something. The odd thought passed through his mind about how formal protocols were called “pomp and circumstance.” That led to him thinking about his circumstances. Just what were his circumstances? He started to take an inventory. Looking out the window, he used the bullet to count off on his fingers:
- He was single for the first time in 11 years and had no idea how to be nor did he want to be.
- He was in good health except for ten excess pounds he should really lose.
- He was the father of a beautiful, healthy five year old, Hannah, who kept asking when they could get a puppy, how many Sesame Streets till Mommy would come home from the Afghan place and, lately, why he was sad.
- He owned a house that until just a few days ago had been a home but that now felt empty and hollow, even though it would shortly be paid off when the insurance money came through. Thank you, Uncle Sam. The proverbial farm is bought.
He moved the bullet to the other hand so he could continue counting. Before he began, he felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he looked into his mother's concerned eyes. At the edge of his field of vision, he saw others in the room turning to look at him and whispering to one another. In a whisper, she said, “Gary, Honey, please come and eat something.” She tugged on his arm, and he allowed her to lead him across to the dining room. Why did everyone have to whisper everything to him? Were they afraid that if they used normal voices, he'd break into pieces? Everyone walked softly and whispered. They whispered to him and about him to each other. Everything was quiet and soft. He felt like he was beginning to go a little crazy. When they reached the table packed with the “covered dishes” and deli trays, his mother picked up a plate and began filling it with food, occasionally asking his preferences. He mumbled answers with little thought to what he was saying. There in the middle of the table sat Lisa's picture. Correction: it was a picture of Lieutenant Parker. Lisa was the girl who he fell in love with. When the plate was full, he told his mother thanks and moved into the kitchen. His brother-in-law, Frank, and his friend, Alex, were hanging out, drinking beers and talking nerd tech. He walked over to stand next to them, placing the plate next to the sink and turning toward the men leaning against the counter. In his peripheral vision, he saw the other two men glance at the plate and then at each other. “Hey, Gary, you really should try some of that food. Lorie brought it from her catering company, and it's really good stuff. I know these beef roll-ups are really terrific.” Frank grabbed one off the plate as he spoke. “Oh yeah, and the shrimp chorizo on a stick have a bit of a kick. Hey, I rhymed!” Alex laughed and in an almost-normal voice said, “You should have seen the faces Hannah and little Andrew made when they bit into one of them.” Gary, again playing with the bullet casing, smiled slightly as he imagined the two cousins. Lisa would have loved it. She had always encouraged Hannah to eat everything and try anything new. Looking back down at his hands, Gary noticed that the bullet end of the casing left an odd circular, flower-like pattern in his fingertips as he pressed it into the flesh. He thought this was odd. He'd always assumed bullet casings would be perfectly round. Lisa's best friend, Gwen, came into the kitchen, carrying two large boxes. She and her husband, Marty, often double dated with Gary and Lisa. “Well, here you are.” Gary sighed a little as she spoke. Gwen too was whispering. “I hope you don't mind, but I made, or at least tried to duplicate, Lisa's chocolate fudge cupcakes. Mine always come out just a little off. I guess I just don't have that same touch of love Lisa brought to all of her baking.” Gwen sniffed a little. Gary gave another slight smile. He knew what was wrong with Gwen's cupcakes. They would never be right. Lisa never gave away her real recipes. She always kept something secret. In this case it was a few small drops of Irish cream flavoring. Gwen cleared her throat. “And, Gary, I hope this doesn't upset you, but I gave the cupcakes a special decoration, something for everyone to take with them.” Gary stared at Gwen. Was she serious? A party favor from a wake? Where did she think she was? Did she not understand what was going on? He watched her open the top box and take out two of the pastries. They had little signs on toothpicks sticking up out of their tops. Gary noticed Frank and Alex look at the cakes, then at each with their eyes widening. They both opened their mouths as if they wanted to say something, but, looking between the cupcakes, Gwen, Gary, and each other, they stopped. They seemed to not know what words to use. Gary reached over and took one of the cupcakes, turning it so it faced him. The room seemed to become even quieter, if that were possible. The sign showed Lisa's name, the dates her life began and ended, and a quote, “The best kind of friend is the one you could sit on a porch with, never saying a word, and walk away feeling like that was the best conversation you've ever had.” Putting the bullet casing down on the counter, he turned the little sign around and looked into the face of Lisa. It was one of his favorite pictures of her. Gwen had taken it one night when the two couples had gone to a stand-up comedian competition in the park. The poster showed a gleeful woman with her head tilted back and a smile so broad, her face looked like it would split in two. She'd laughed so hard that night that she'd gone running for the Port-a Potty after only two contestants. “Gary, is it alright?” Gwen was staring at him, looking like she was about to cry if he was unhappy. He looked down at the cupcake and then back at Gwen. Gary smiled at her, and her body relaxed. “I'm so glad you like it. I thought this would be a nice way to remember her and give everyone something to share.” She began unpacking all the cupcakes and putting them on platters. Frank and Alex moved in to help. The men told her this was really sweet and helped her carry the platters into the dining room. Gary, looking at the cupcake in his hand, removed the picture stick from it and then took a bite. Yep, it was missing the secret ingredient. Maybe he should be kind and let Gwen in on the secret. He straightened up from the counter and turned toward the bullet casing, reaching to pick it up. He stopped midway and looked at the cupcake again. Reaching instead toward the cupcake, he plucked the little sign out and placed it in the casing. He moved to the sink and set it on the window sill. He smiled at his wife's picture and returned to the living room.