CLARA, Pt. 2

Clara loved failing to anticipate the end of a staircase. She would walk up in the evening with her eyes closed, blocking the urge to count the forty-two steps. If she succeeded in tricking herself, it resulted in an odd sensation of falling. Odd because her standing leg was still firmly planted on the last carpeted stair. The total displacement of her body was zero. But, the feeling of falling had nothing to do with loss of elevation. When she lifted her working leg up to the phantom step, Clara expected the solid wood floor to catch her. But it did not. And, she loved it. And, she appreciated it. The failure of the floor to rise up to greet her leg was a demonstration of everything she believed in. “Hmph,” she would say, confirmed in her notions.

A 5:30 am riser, a morning jogger, a three-whole-meals-a-day-er, a vitamin popper, a calendar user, a newspaper reader-- Clara had stacks of the Los Angeles Times dating back to January 7th, 1978 in her attic, right next to her back up set of encyclopedias and all her retired paper shredders (eleven). She had a hard-copy inventory of every item in her house down to the paperclip, and, for fear of losing a piece, she refused to lend out any of her precious Tupperware collection.