Regressive Supper

a short story

When you move to a new neighborhood, you worry a little. I mean, you've probably answered the questions you could answer; you've done your due diligence. Like, you should know where the nearest car wash is, if there's a playground. You should know if there's a barking dog or a fire station or a train passing through.

But some stuff you can't know ahead of time.

Living in Maine had just been a fantasy before and now it was real. We signed in May, closed in August, and finished moving in October. Things were crazy at my job at the puppet factory, and Shirese was finishing up her online AI counseling program. The U-Haul place in Portland was only open six hours a week because of staffing shortages. I borrowed my dad's hearse because it was the only vehicle we could find that was long enough to hold Shirese's columns. See, her grandparents were in the theater and when they died, the barn full of props, sets, and costumes got divided between the four grandkids. Shirese had vision, even then; once she has her private practice, the place will have Greek columns. Maybe the aesthetics will help her clients with decorating, something most AI still find tricky for some reason.

Our first winter in the frozen north came up on us pretty quick, beginning of November. I finished the new Pinocchio design and Shirese aced her course on Siri and Seasonal Affective Disorder. Suddenly we had some time on our hands. There were still a bunch of boxes, but we were at least functional. 

I made us some fish sticks and tater tots and Shirese went to find the candlesticks her mom gave us as a housewarming gift. I heard her rustling around in boxes and I started getting impatient. I turned on the TV and it was that episode of the X-Files where Fox Mulder eats all those pieces of pie. The doorbell rang. Shirese said she'd get it and after she opened the door, I heard a woman's voice. 

"So sorry we haven't been by before now." Shirese didn’t say anything. She's shy. 

I got up and went to the door. "No worries," I said, taking care of things. "I'm Billie Baird and this is my wife, Shirese."

Shirese stood there, staring. The woman was white with shiny, intricate hair the color of my great aunt Laverne's fake nails. 

The lady reached her hand out. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Juanita Trump. No relation." She chuckled. We stared. The snow fell lightly, like we were in a commercial for peppermint hot chocolate.

"Wanted to let you good folks know about the progressive supper next month. It's a tradition we have to get us through these cold Maine winters." She didn’t look cold, but she shivered dramatically. I smiled encouragingly. Shirese stared. Maybe she was having an aneurysm. I wondered if I should ask her to count backwards from thirteen.

"It's pretty simple. There’s a five course supper. Five families volunteer and we move around, one course per house. We'd love to see you there."

I nodded. "Do you need us to host?”

"Oh no, you’re new. We’d be happy to have you as our guests.”

“Should we bring something?” In Berkeley, no self respecting lesbian goes anywhere without a rice and bean casserole.

“Just yourselves!" Juanita's voice sounded like a rooster. It echoed in our semi-empty living room and I realized sheepishly that we should get an area rug before entertaining. 

The three of us looked at each other for a few more seconds before our visitor shared one last knowing grin and left.

Shirese kept staring. 

"What's wrong?" I shook her by the shoulders. Maybe she was possessed. Maybe our house was haunted and the ghosts had flown into Shirese's body to escape Juanita's voice.

"That woman is our new professor for The Digital Oedipus in Contemporary Corporate America. She's going to be grading me."

I guess we would be going to the progressive supper.

*

Shirese wrote down the directions to the first place on the supper tour on a post-it note, and we donned our wool scarves from Lands End and our crampon boots. The wind was whipping snow around and the only colors were some flashing red lights on someone’s Christmas tree. 

We walked up to a building on the corner, following the directions. At first we thought we had the wrong place. It was this dilapidated red garage with peeling paint. There didn't seem to be a house around, although it was across from the Catholic church where those kids were selling pomegranate Kool-Aide that day in April when the realtor took us around. I wondered briefly how they were spending their booty.

After a few minutes, a guy in a Harley t-shirt showed up with a paper grocery bag.

"Sorry, my boss' kid fell out of a tree so I had to stay late." He was wearing a yellow bandana and there was a patch on his jeans that said, Save the Humans. He lit a cigarette and put the bag down. "Hang on."

He bent over, grabbed the handle of the garage door, and pulled it up. Inside was a huge surprise. It looked like a fancy dining room, with dark red painted walls, square tables with white tablecloths, and a crystal chandelier. 

"I'm Rex. Have a seat."

Shirese and I looked at each other and I bit my tongue to keep my face serious.

Pretty soon some other people came. There was this skinny guy with a thick moustache and a woman with a pink stretchy v-neck shirt; the guy had a snake around his neck but nobody said anything about it so I guess the snake was invited too. There were these two elderly ladies with stiff gray hair who looked like they were sisters. There was a gal with a teenage boy who was writing symbols in a notebook the whole time; he didn't look up once. And then Juanita came running in. She was wearing a turquoise velour tracksuit. Her hair was in a bun and impeccable. She waved and Shirese waved back. Shirese mouthed to me, “Do you think she knows who I am?”

I looked at Juanita who was petting the snake. I leaned over and whispered. “If she does, she’s clearly not wondering what you’re going to do your paper on.” 

Shirese’s eyes got big. “Shit! I need a topic!” My wife’s not great with the big picture, but nobody beats her with the details.

Everyone sat down and chit chatted. They didn't talk to us, but that was fine because we were new and needed to listen. After a while, Harve cleared his throat and asked if he could say a few words. Everyone closed their eyes but us. Then he looked at us like he was waiting so we closed our eyes too. I hoped nobody would jump out and say "boo."

"Just wanted to send my gratitudes to Sol for ordering the mixed nuts you guys commented on last month. Shout-out to the team who finished paving the road this week. And, as always, grateful for electricity."

Everyone nodded and mm-hmm'ed. Then we heard Harve crinkling the bag and walking around and plunking stuff on plates. Eventually someone touched my arm, and I opened my eyes. 

"Time to eat now." It was one of the sisters.

I looked in front of me, and there was one chocolate-covered Oreo on a Christmas napkin.

Shirese whipped out her eye pencil and jotted down a note for me. “Life’s too short, eat dessert first?!? Maybe a ‘regressive’ supper!”

I pinched the skin on my hand, and Juanita flashed me a smile.

*

The second place was a few blocks away, closer to town. We followed signs to the back of the building, and we saw a blue door with a note taped on it saying, "Progressive dinner #2." There was also something written painted on the building in black, but I couldn't quite make out the letters. 

Shirese whispered, "Graffiti sucks." I nodded gravely.

We went inside and there was a woman there who hadn't been at Harve's place. She had reddish hair down to her waist and a tiny Chihuahua followed her around. "That's Razy," she said. 

"What an intriguing name," said Shirese to nobody in particular. Razy humped her leg.

I introduced myself to the hostess, hoping to get a name, but failing. Instead, she placed a Dixie cup into my hand. "Welcome." She looked at me with such authenticity that I almost cried.

We went into a very tiny living room and sat on a blue couch. The TV was blaring The Price Is Right and everyone there sat, mesmerized. "Sandy Lendermeyer, come on down!!!" I took an empty place next to Juanita and admired her skin. I wondered if she’d had a facelift. 

Shirese was leaning against a wall and when Juanita looked in her direction, my wife stood up straight and smiled big and eager like the Cheshire Cat. Juanita didn’t seem to notice. Shirese was sweating a little. She can get spritzy when school stuff heats up.

A few minutes later, a man with a shiny bald head came in with a tray. It was covered with little tin foil bowls of nuts. He went over to each person and they each took a bowl, carefully. The bowls did not look very solid. The man looked proud. Juanita told me, "That's Demeter's new boyfriend, Chuck. He just got out of jail." Demeter, I guessed, was Razy's human mom. 

Chuck came over to where Juanita and I were sitting and leaned the tray over. We each delicately picked up a foil bowl. 

"Did you make these?" I asked shyly. I didn't want to offend him, thinking perhaps he had been practicing the skill in jail.

Chuck laughed. "The neighbor kids came over and were bored. So I put 'em to work." He did this snorty thing as he laughed again and promptly started choking. Demeter came in and whapped him on the back. They seemed like a very nice couple.

Shirese eyed me from across the room. She subtly moved her hand to her belly. She kept an eye on Juanita because she didn’t want her professor to see her as ungrateful. But yeah, I had been thinking the same thing. Oreos, nuts...well, the next house should be the main meal.

*

The third place was a lot bigger than the first two. It was a few blocks away so we had a lot of snow on our boots, but this person had a whole big shelf in the entryway for wet shoes. Everyone walked into the space sock-footed. 

The best part about this place was the greenhouse. It was attached to the main house and had a door propped open with all these trees and plants inside. In the middle of the greenhouse was a sculpture of a lady. I walked out because I dig that stuff, but when I went to touch the sculpture, a siren went off. In seconds, I was surrounded by four 10-year-old boys wearing fluorescent yellow polo shirts. Their dark straight hair was mostly shaved with a longer bit in the front on top. They crossed their arms and looked like a mini-militia.

"Boys, boys, it's fine, our guests don't know yet," said a woman, breezing in and breaking up the arrest effort. "At ease." The boys ran off as quickly as they had come. 

"I'm Da-Chung. Those are my boys. They're quadruplets and you won't be able to tell them apart, so I won't even bother with names."

What could I say? 

“The boys have a very, er, close relationship with my statue. It’s almost as if he is a fifth sibling. Which, thank goodness, he is not. They guard him like his life depends on it. The other neighbors are used to the routine.”

I thanked her for explaining and for calling off the boys and told her how lovely her greenhouse was. She smiled and invited me to take a pillow because it would be more comfortable. She motioned to a shelf in the corner of the greenhouse. It was stuffed full of pillows. Soon the others came in and everyone took a pillow. I thought of the spacious house with the dining room table and the two couches in the living room as we sat on the dirt-covered floor. 

Shirese was next to me and looked stressed. I raised my eyebrows. “My paper,” she mouthed and then shrugged indicating she had no ideas. I wished I was smart enough to help but I wasn’t and she knew that going into the relationship.

Soon everyone was seated on a pillow, smooshed together in between plants and soil. Da-Chung stood up and the boys came back in, each carrying a tray of mugs. They passed out mugs to each person and then returned inside the main house. Da-Chung took out a piece of notebook paper that she had folded up and put inside her pocket.

"You all know I write music. This is a song I made for this occasion."

She cleared her throat. I saw Juanita near Shirese and she was closing her eyes. I wondered if we were all supposed to do that, but nobody else was. My butt was itchy so I wiggled around a bit, trying to look like I was getting comfortable. Then I heard the song. It sounded like a cross between the theme song from Orange is the New Black and Oh, Canada. There were no words, only "la." Chuck reached up and wiped his eye. People were getting emotional.

Then it was over and the boys came back in. One of them had a pitcher and filled our mugs with some kind of yellow citrussy juice. The other three had miniature ham sandwiches. And when I say miniature, I'm talking like the size of your pinkie. They passed them out and then went outside and roared off on their scooters.

Why did nobody seem hungry besides us?

*

We followed Juanita and the others up the street. The moon was glowing like a big empty plate, and snow dusted the tips of the trees. Shirese clung to my arm like an old lady. "I had one idea for a paper. How about Alexa, Anxiety, and Analysis?"

I nodded as my stomach growled. The title sounded probing to me. But Shirese's work was way over my head. 

The others turned the corner and approached an off-white apartment building. "Be careful," said Shirese, pointing to a sign. I looked up just in time to step under the overhang, and I watched as dozens of cubes fell to the ground, shattering. When it was over, I stepped back out and looked up. There was an elderly gentleman with a long beard and an empty plastic ice cube tray. He was cackling.

"He's out every night in winter doing that," whispered Juanita. "That's why the complex had to put up the sign." Shirese had a fascinated look on her face. I elbowed her, not wanting her to be too brown-nosey. 

We went inside and saw that this apartment was three rooms. All the lights were out, and there were candles. There was music playing, some kind of stringed instrument, maybe Irish, which sounded live, but we didn't see where it was coming from. There was one table in the middle of the main space, one of those six-foot fold-up tables you find in classrooms and church basements. 

"Does anybody live here?" I asked nobody in particular. How could they? There did not appear to be a bed or a fridge. 

"Georgie Georgie has this space set aside for stuff like this," said one of the sisters. Shirese looked at me with raised eyebrows. It's a good thing she's counseling AI; she'd never have the patience for humans.

"Georgie Georgie?" A nickname, perhaps?

"His mom's last name was Georgia but she didn't want him to be Georgie Georgia. That would be tacky. So she changed it."

The skinny guy with the snake nodded and then pinched his girlfriend's waist. She let out a little yelp.

On the table was a big bowl of cherries and a smaller bowl. I assumed this was for the pits and stems. Then someone put their gum in there and I started to doubt myself.

My stomach growled and I wondered if the real food was waiting for us or if we would need to do the late-night Taco Bell thing. Then I realized I hadn't checked for a Taco Bell in the neighborhood. So much for due diligence.

*

The last place was the furthest walk. We crossed a bridge, went through a park, climbed a hill. The building was brightly lit, almost like it was daytime. As we walked up to the door, there was this lady in a white dress leaving. She had a little smile like she knew some kind of secret about all of us that we didn't know. Maybe we all had kick me signs on our backs. 

She turned and looked at us as we were heading inside the glass doors. "Hope you find it to your liking," she said and winked.

We all stared as she hailed a cab which appeared out of nowhere. She got in and it sped off into the pitch-black night.

There was an elevator and we all squished in. I felt something cold against the back of my neck. When I turned around, I realized it was the snake. I let out a little cry and everyone in the elevator started shrieking. People were a little on edge. Maybe from hunger? When they realized what happened, they laughed. Everyone except Shirese. I figured she was still thinking about her paper. But she actually seemed to be studying the people around us. 

When the elevator dinged, the doors opened and there was a guy standing there with a tux on. He had dreads like my cousin and super-pointy shoes that no lesbian would be caught dead in. Well, maybe K.D. Laing. He handed each of us a small white cloth and gestured toward an open door. There was a violet light emanating from the apartment. Shirese clutched my arm and I felt the long nail on her ring finger. She bites the rest of her nails, but she keeps that one long just in case. She's been doing that since she took self-defense last year with her anarchist niece, Emma-Louise Kropotkin.

We walked in and the room was full of smoke, but I didn't start hacking like I would if it was from cigarettes. It was hard to tell how many people were there because the light was so dim and purple. The white parts of people's outfits shone brightly, and I realized that near the bathroom was a blacklight. The floors were these old pine boards with square nails and it was obvious they had been brought in from somewhere a lot more rural. The ceilings were high and a huge fan whirred around overhead. On each of the four walls was a huge painting that looked like a five-year-old had done it. I wondered how old the kids were and if they would be serving food or making some other kind of guest appearance.

Shirese made a beeline for the bathroom, and I decided to poke around the kitchen. Just outside the door was a fog machine. There was a big crowd in the kitchen, and it seemed like everyone was looking at something. I thought maybe, finally, everyone was eating. I kind of elbowed my way in with lots of smiles and excuse-me's and eventually I saw what they were looking at. A teenage girl in a chef's hat and a tie-dye apron was standing there talking and gesturing to the table, on which lay the cut-up body parts of what seemed to be (because I have never seen one in person) a moose. She held the antler so the head was sitting on the table as though you would find the rest of the moose's body underneath. The antlers were massive, and she had a power saw. She was motioning with her other hand across the moose's forehead. I saw a banner behind her that said, Ancient Human Rituals. Between the noise of the fog machine and the music and the people's voices, it was impossible to hear what she was saying, but I didn't need to know to get what was coming next. 

I pushed my way back out of the crowd and scooted from the kitchen to the bathroom where Shirese was tucking her shirt into her jeans. Juanita was chatting at her, leaning against the wall, closing her eyes.

“It’s far too sophisticated for, well, for some…but perhaps given your studies, you might be able to comprehend…”

Shirese looked like she was staring at Juanita’s neck. I checked for a necklace or a basal cell or anything at neck-level that Shirese might be noticing but was disappointed not to see anything, so I jumped in and interrupted.

"We need to leave. Now."

She nodded, not missing a beat.

*

When we got back home, we were both sweating. We realized we hadn’t eaten anything since the cherries so we made four boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. I found the candlesticks in one of the boxes underneath my helmet from when I played college football. Damned mementos. I set the table, and we ate every last orange noodle.

Then we decided it was time to finish unpacking. Somehow getting the room set up after such a turbulent evening was more than necessary. We needed to feel like regular humans.

When we were doing the dishes, I turned to Shirese for a hug. She wrapped her arms around me and then, after the hug, gave me a relieved look. 

"I think I figured it out."

Huh?

"My first paper. For school."

Ah, yes. Right.

“The Regressive Experience of Breaking Bread with AI."

*

This story initially appeared in the journal Hotch Potch Literature and Art. If you’re interested, check out a (free) sample issue here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/vdvu9lm6us.