Lucy Goosy
It was Lucy’s 80th birthday, and her party guests were set to arrive very soon. She hurriedly rearranged the worn-out furniture and placed the chips and dip on the unsteady folding table. She dusted off the cobwebs and swept the cat litter under the couch. Looking in the bathroom mirror, she noticed her shoulder-length, curly gray hair cascading down her head and thought that she looked pretty. She put on false eyelashes, her reddest lipstick, and a little too much red rouge. Born Lucille Harris and raised in Lincoln, Nebraska, she had gained the reputation of being “very friendly” to many men. She almost always got their attention and had used their interest as a way to feel accepted. This habit was hard to break, even after she left Lincoln. In her 20s, she had moved to Los Angeles and tried to capitalize on her good looks by becoming an actress. She got small parts here and there, but no one ever remembered her. That’s when she decided to change her name to Lucy Goosy. She had hoped that her California friends would simply think it was funny and not ask any questions. Lucy checked the Swedish meatballs—her specialty—that were cooking in the oven, and the clock on the wall caught her attention. “Oh, my! They’ll be here soon. I’ve got to get ready.” She opened the closet and put on her red, silk dress. She had worn it while playing a geisha in a movie many years ago, and the wardrobe manager had gifted it to her. |
“Still fits!” she squealed. As she walked around the living room, she saw something on the folding table. “Oh, no … the balloons!” Lucy tore open the bag and began to blow. By the fifth exhale, she sat down because she was starting to feel faint. “Oh, well,” she sighed. “I hope no one will mind if we don’t have them.” When she regained her strength, she checked the refrigerator and hoped that the beers were cold enough. “I hope someone brings champagne!” Trying to calm her nerves, Lucy sat on the couch and looked at the room one more time. “I’m ready!” she announced to the empty room. The doorbell rang. She walked to the door and looked out the peephole. The guests had arrived! When she opened the door, she was greeted by her smiling friends, and the hugs and kisses commenced. “Lucy! Thanks for inviting us. You look beautiful.” “Lucy! You can’t be 80 years old! You look like a teenager.” “Lucy! Your house looks great.” “Lucy! What smells so good?” Lucy Goosy felt accepted. She was happy. From Carpet Creatures: Tales from the Deep Pile To join the Carpet Creatures project, please visit our TAE Gallery website. |
