Connellsville - Episode 3

"The Card"

Mrs. Rosemary O' William’s, called "Rosie" by all who know her, sorted her way through the pile of warm, freshly cleaned clothes. This half-hour of time, reserved from 8-8:30 p.m., came and went every Friday. Starting on the first week after their honeymoon, it was only one of a set of regimented duties she proudly took on as the rising political stars better-half. During their 25 years together the collection of Hagar dress slacks, store brand cotton-blend oxford shirts, and Fruit of the Loom under-garments, changed little in style, or amount. As for her duty, although today’s technologies promise "wrinkle free", the guarantees never deliver as advertised. She still takes the extra few minutes to apply an iron and light starch in order to finish the job right.

With each fold and press the disorganized, twisted ball of cotton and polyester takes shape into a neat row of tight columns, each designated by their purpose. One for slacks, one for t-shirts, one for dress shirts; and so on. This transformation from untidy, and unkempt, to that of neat, and uniform, pleased Rosie, her role in the process filling her with a sense of accomplishment. It was 8:20 p.m. as she came to the the last article of clothing, a pair of khaki dress pants. Unfurling them with a few snaps in the air, she laid them upon the ironing board. She began to stroke her hand from the belt line downward to the end of each pant leg, when her fingers came across what whe instantly determined to be a foreign object. Annoyed at having to break from her now automated process, she slid her hand down into the right side pant pocket. There in she felt a thick piece of paper with jagged edges and a rectangular shape. A business card no doubt. How odd, she thought, how could she have missed this during her pre-wash inspection?. Luckily, business cards are of little hazard, unlike the occasional pen, which Marty is known to frequently store away, and, absent minded as he is, forget to remove.

With her hand free, and the card fully exposed from it's hiding place, she was struck by another discovery. Remarkably, this card appeared intact and unscathed. Some how it survived the vigorous washing of the soapy waves, tearing G forces of the spin cycle, and scorching winds of the tumble dry - without so much as a blemish. In this condition Rosie could not help but read the inscription. Unlike the other cards, all of those lawyers, brokers, and executives, each of whom she considered to be self-serving and over-paid, this card belonged to an Artist, Connell Patrick Byrne. This was quite out of the ordinary, and in the mystery of who ?, how ?, and why ?, she decided to place it on the shelf reserved for the other important items.

Without warning, in the moment between thought and action, a sensation came upon Rosie. An intense rush of warmth, like the greeting one receives when opening a hot oven on a cold winter morning, only this was far more intense, and the source unknown. At once it moved around, through and from within her. He knees buckled slightly, the floor seemd to slide out from under her. Shifting her weight to the dryer, she balanced herslf. Then, as suddenly as it arrived, the sensation departed. With the floor once again firmly underfoot, she regained her balance and stood upright. Rosie was at a loss as to the cause of this episode. Searching for an answer, she recalled her doctor’s appointment of only a few days before, one in which she had checked out with flying colors. Having a clean bill of health recently behind her, she reasoned that she had no cause for alarm. Perhaps it was a shock from one of the devices, certainly the dryer made for a likely candidate. It was well past 15 years in age, and she mentioned to Marty on more then one occasion her desire for an upgrade. Confident that she was once again her normal ,50'sh self, Rosie set back to completing the job at hand. It had been a long day, and even with the experience of moments ago aside, she was already tired, and looked forward to a good night of rest.