Shadow Cast

Doris sat smiling at the shadow. She knew why it was cast that way. It had come to her while she sat there staring out the window.

The sun had risen to the right, and the shadow of the orchid had pointed left. That was as it should be.

But as the sun rose, she noticed that the shadow had shifted so that even though the sun still shone from the right, the shadow pointed to the right. At first, this had confused her, but as she sat sipping her morning coffee thinking, the truth of why this was had dawned on her.

Again smiling, she wondered how often it might happen in a person’s life that she noticed a shadow pointing in the direction opposite to what it should be. In the real world. The one where shadows were always cast the expected way. Well, now she knew. Who decided what world was real anyway?

The noise of Harold rumbling around upstairs caused her to exhale sharply. She picked up her coffee and sipped. Now she could hear him flushing the toilet. Next, he’d be brushing his teeth, then shaving. Why didn’t he ever change the blade? Money was never that tight.

The huge Cattleya had bloomed that morning. She’d noticed the bud opening the day before and had brought it inside to sit on the window sill.

It will reach full bloom by tomorrow, she’d thought.

The orchid was the white. Her favorite. The purple was what everyone expected, the yellow, a bit less common, was too sharp for her taste. But the white, the white was special. Diaphanous in the sunlight. You could almost see through it. So delicate, she thought.

And she’d been right. The blossom had reached full maturity in the night. It had welcomed the sunrise, and now it bent its shadow in the opposite direction of what was expected.

The sound of Harold stomping downstairs startled her. Not that he didn’t stomp downstairs every morning. But this morning was different. She felt the intensity of the stomping a bit more.

“Good morning,” said Doris, not shifting her attention from the orchid and its reverse shadow.

Harold grunted.

Her husband had never swept her off her feet or made her catch her breath, but their marriage had been good. Two grown children, five grandchildren. Some of those years had not been unhappy.

“Where’s the paper?” said Harold, slumping into his seat.

Still, Doris watched the orchid and its contrary shadow.

“I think,” she said, “it’s out on the front porch where they usually leave it.”

“So why didn’t you bring it in?”

Doris picked up her cup and sipped, then gently put it down. “I was busy,” she said.

“Busy? Busy doing what?”

“Look,” said Doris, nodding toward the window. “Do you notice anything different?”

Harold turned his attention from the missing newspaper to the window. “The window?” he said. “What? What’s different about it?”

“The Cattleya. Can’t you see it?”

“See it? Of course, I can see it. I’m not blind.”

“Well,” said Doris. “Don’t you notice anything different about it?”

Harold rolled his eyes. “No. It’s the white one. So?”

Doris glanced in her husband’s direction. “I see you cut yourself shaving,” she said.

“Yeah, so, what about it?”

“Harold, you really should change the blade more often. They aren’t all that expensive.”

“Eh, lemme tell you, everything’s expensive now. Not like you’d notice. All you do is spend money.”

Doris smiled. “That’s right, that’s all I do,” she said. “And all you do is save it. Someone has to spend some of it. We have to eat, right.”

Harold heard something in his wife’s tone that sounded different. Where was his paper?

“Aren’t you going to get the paper?” he asked.

“Another thing I spend money on. Bills, Harold, there are bills,” said Doris, her cheeks coloring a bit.

“And what about my coffee?” Harold asked. “Are you going to get it for me?”

Doris cleared her throat. “So,” she said, “you don’t notice anything different about the orchid.”

Exhaling noisily, Harold said, “No. No, okay? I don’t see anything. So what is it already?”

“Well,” said Doris, pushing back her chair and standing up, “if you don’t see it, you don’t see it.”

She walked over and poured a cup of coffee. Bringing it back, she placed it in front of Harold. “There,” she said.

“And my paper?”

“I’m going, Harold, I’m going now.”

“Well isn’t that great?” said Harold. “Yesterday would have been better.”

Doris smiled, turned, and walked out of the kitchen.

Harold heard the sound of the front door opening. He sipped his coffee and waited. Several minutes passed.

“Doris?” he called. “Where the hell is the paper already?”

There was no answer.

Angrily pushing back from the table, he stormed out into the living room. The front door stood wide open.

“Dammit, Doris, how many times I gotta tell you not to leave the damn door open?”

Harold went to the door expecting to see Doris outside. She was nowhere to be seen. The newspaper sat on the porch.

Stepping out, Harold picked up the paper and looked up and down the street. No Doris.

Closing the door behind him, Harold called out, “Doris, where the hell are you?”

Silence.

He headed back into the kitchen. “Doris?”

The room was empty. Dropping the paper on the table, he turned and went to the stairs. “Doris?”

Harold hurried up and checked every room. Sticking his head out a window, he scanned the backyard for her.

“Jesus H. Christmas,” he muttered as he headed back to the kitchen.

After pouring himself a second cup of coffee, he sat down and glanced at the window. The white Cattleya sat basking in the sunshine.

“Different?” he muttered. “What the hell’s so damn different?”