Determined to regain control over her hum, Mrs. Queen followed her son’s advice – routinely taking her prescription medicine, relaxing the worries that otherwise constricted her diet, forcing herself to leave her rocking chair’s comfort to socialize over coffee at the local diner, even cutting Lacy short in conversation whenever that neighbor attempted to share one more troubling story of misfortune to befall another stranger who had never before impacted Mrs. Queen’s life.
Mrs. Queen began to master her hum. No longer did her humming last the entire day. The periods of Mrs. Queen’s humming shortened, and the hum’s volume grew softer. She felt stronger, and Mrs. Queen again enjoyed strolling through her neighborhood to get a little fresh air and exercise. She felt more confident. Her opinion of the world improved to such an extent that Mrs. Queen no longer suspected that calamity lurked behind every wall, around every corner, in wait to ambush her. She started to believe again that happiness still owned a home in her community.
She felt encouraged whenever she had an opportunity to help others, and so Mrs. Queen increased her volunteerism. She walked the dogs at the county animal shelter three afternoons a week. She visited the elementary school on Thursday mornings to read to the first and second graders. She sat behind the desk of her community’s small hospital, doing her best to help patients complete the paperwork required for each appointment.
Helping the senior center prepare their free Wednesday lunches became Mrs. Queen’s favorite helping turn. She enjoyed assisting Frida Kampwerth in the preparation of the fried chicken served to the impoverished elderly of their town, and she loved to listen to Irene Walker describe the antics of her grandchildren while that cook bustled over pans of peach cobbler. Work at the senior center provided Mrs. Queen with as much good company as good food, and Mrs. Queen became so brave as to even join in the card games played through the afternoon.
“Well, what’s it going to be today, Earl? You want to play Bridge or Rummy?”
Earl Guthrie stabbed at his dessert of chocolate pudding. “I’m not in the mood for any games today, Thad.”
Thad Kelso chuckled. “What’s got you upset now?”
“What hasn’t?” Earl grunted Mrs. Queen away when she attempted to warm his coffee. “When was the last time any of you read a newspaper?”
Lisa Watts rolled her eyes. “I’m proud to say I haven’t read a paper for over a decade. I do my best to steer well clear of those nasty things.”
“Hell, Earl, those papers don’t come to anyone’s doorstep anymore,” started Vance Wernsing. “Now you have to have a computer to read a newspaper, and a newspaper’s not enough motivation to get me to sign away my privacy and freedom to use one of those awful machines.”
Earl sighed. “Well, all of you should start paying attention to how low this world’s fallen. Take my advice, and start preparing for the worst. Time to start thinking about how you’re going to take care of your loved ones. Things do not look good, and I’m in no mood to waste my time thinking about games when the shit’s about to hit the fan.”
Frida leaned through the window cut into the wall separating the kitchen from the dining room. “You referring to anything in particular?”
“Take your pic,” Earl replied. “There’s the weather and the climate for starters.”
“Now hold on there, Earl,” Thad held up a hand. “There’s little real scientific proof for that. You should know better. All this talk of global warming’s just one more way liberals try tricking folks into voting for them.”
Earl shrugged. “Alright. We’ll say you’re right. Let’s just move on down the line. There’s rioting throughout our cities. A deranged man gunned down thirteen in a shopping center last weekend. Gang warfare killed another nine last night upstate. Marriage is no longer reserved between man and woman. The jobs keep vanishing. There’s sex all over television, and people don’t worship God the way they should.”
Thad tapped the table. “And the government keeps taking more and more.”
“And a man who’s worked hard his entire life can’t afford to go to the doctor anymore,” Lisa bemoaned.
Frida shook her head at such talk after she had worked so hard to provide good, fried chicken. “I don’t slave at this fryer so all of you can suffocate this place with doom and gloom. A person can always find hardship. It’s always been that way.”
“No, Frida. This time is different,” spoke Earl. “Volcanoes are smoking all along the Pacific Rim. The ground’s shaking at all the big fault lines, so it’s only a matter of time before the big one hits. And there’s war, Frida. More war than ever before. Our nemesis in the east is rising again, and we won’t use conventional weapons when we finally fight him. Ask me, I think all those nukes are warming up again in their silos, getting their rockets ready to fly. If meteor and disease don’t kill us first, I’m sure thermonuclear war will.”
Thad frowned. “Come on, Earl. I only asked if you wanted to play Rummy or Bridge.”
Having effectively deflated any optimism in the center, Earl took up his spoon and returned to his dessert of chocolate pudding. He waved to beckon Mrs. Queen to return to his table with the coffee he first denied. Everyone at his table held their breath, fearing how Earl’s pessimism would affect Mrs. Queen’s delicate nature. Mrs. Queen stood still and silent as everyone in the center looked upon her. She bit at her lower lip, as if struggling to choke some sound before it could revolt from her throat. Fight as she did, Mrs. Queen could not defeat her habitual hum, and it broke from her lips in a high-pitched and sorry whine.
Everyone in the senior center sighed. They knew how hard Mrs. Queen had been trying to be courageous. They knew the toll her loneliness took upon her as she lived in that old home, empty now of her husband and children. Those at the table listened to Mrs. Queen’s hum, and they hated themselves for playing any part in summoning a return of that sound.
But Mrs. Queen suddenly stopped that sound. Everyone blinked at the unexpected silence, and they saw an uncharacteristic fire smolder in Mrs. Queen’s eye.
“Get your own damn coffee, Earl Guthrie. I’m tired of listening to you bitch. Excuse me while I do something useful and help Frida and Irene with the dishes.”
Earl Guthrie smiled as Mrs. Queen turned her back upon him and stomped into the kitchen. He happily helped himself to a refill. Perhaps, he had given up too soon on the world. Perhaps there was still hope. For Mrs. Queen had just proven she could control and stop her hum, and that brave feat, Earl thought, just might give them all a reason to feel optimistic regardless of all the terrible things found in the newspaper.