DIFFERENT STROKES

She’s a small woman, not abnormally small, about 5 feet with such a poor posture she looks almost childlike. Clara is comfortable with her appearance. Never have I seen her straighten her spine, pull back her shoulders. What I have seen her do since we became semi-friends 5 years ago is open a jar of pickles without a screwdriver or any type of gimmick. That was nothing compared to watching her remove the flat on her Honda, put on the temporary spare and nonchalantly drive herself to a garage for replacement.

She lives with her older sister, Joan, a few blocks from my apartment. Can these gals really be sisters? They were poured from separate molds. Joan is, I guess, 5'8", is always on parade even at her computer, ramrod straight. Not being an out and out snoop, still I am aware of the huge amount of mail they receive. It overflows the metal box near the front door. The mailman has left a canvas bag, right below the box that takes care of in and out going mail. What do they get? I can’t imagine.

Clara drives a high speed lawn mower once a week, digs any needed holes, removes debris. She can take that mower apart and put it back together whenever it throws a tantrum. Joan tenderly cares for the tea roses, wisteria vine and yellow Shasta daisies. The fair sized lot is almost worthy of being in House and Garden.

On hot summer evenings as I stroll past their house I often can smell strong, Italian meals baking. My mouth waters but have never been invited in, nor have they ever accepted my rare invitations. They don’t need me. I don’t need them. Now and then we meet at the super- market. Joan makes the choices, reaches the high cans and Clara pushes the cart, goes too fast for Joan who glowers at her. ‘Don’t rush me. Tomato sauce is on sale and I want a few more cans.’

Last week at Muvico I caught a glimpse of the girls in line. Each bought her own ticket. Clara, went in to theater # 3 to see ‘WWIII’ a rough film of annihilation, disease, the end of the world. Joan, wearing a soft chiffon blouse and wide silk slax went into theater #7 to see a remake of ‘Grease.’

My boyfriend and I decided at the last second not to stay. We opted for pizzas with lots of toppings and a glass or two of Chianti. Neither of us had much to say but our thoughts were evidently spinning in the same direction. ‘Know what I think, Sweetie. I think the Joan and Clara sisters aren’t sisters.’ ‘Yep, I think you are right. Do you care?’ ‘Why the devil should I care? They are what they are, can do what they want to do, Right?’ ‘Right!’

‘And we can do what we want to do. Let’s go back to your place. O.K.?’ ‘O.K.’