Chris & Phyllis
By Jana Gaskin (SC ‘25)
Silence settled between them. As the quiet unfurled across the porch, a sense of comfort began to grow. That was new, Chris noted. There was usually a need to speak, to constantly stack sentences on top of each other in an attempt to squeeze out the awkward. But this silence was kind of okay. It felt safe, connected.
Monday.
Chris swore the walk home from school got longer every damn day. The hot, muggy weather wasn’t helping either. Pausing under an oak tree, she tried to pretend the shade was an improvement, but standing still only made her more aware of just how sweaty she was. Squinting to shield her eyes from the glaring sun, Chris contemplated if how much she wanted this walk to be over outweighed how much she dreaded going home. She couldn’t take another day in that empty house, silence and dust her only companions. Or even worse, a house with her father in it. There was nothing for it, really. Stand here sweating or go back to the house, she would be uncomfortable either way.
Chris left behind the tree’s false cool, trudging onwards through the shimmering heat waves. She missed San Francisco fog more each day, not to mention food that was seasoned with more than salt and pepper. The straps of her backpack dug in further with each step of the final few blocks; she could have sworn there were permanent grooves by the end. One, two, three too many steps up to the front door. Chris tried the handle, half hoping her dad had come home and unlocked it, but no. Time to dig through the darkest depths of her bag. She let it slide off her shoulders and drop to the porch with a thud.
Chris knelt and began rummaging, several irritating drops of sweat inching their way down her nose and chin. Just as she caught a glimpse of something silver at the bottom of her bag, a voice called out, “Hello there, would you like some tea?”
Chris jumped up, almost tripping backwards down the stairs, to find a petite woman with graying hair standing in the doorway of the neighboring house.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, my name’s Phyllis, I just came out onto my porch, realized you must be Richard’s daughter, and wanted to say hello.”
“Oh, uh… yeah. Richard’s my dad.”
“How lovely to finally meet you Christine! Richard has spoken of you quite fondly for years. He mentioned that you live in California, are you here for a visit?”
“No.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I’d love to have you over for some nice iced tea and a snack, if you’d like? It’s scorching today and I always find a cold drink a helpful aid against the heat.”
“I’m good.”
“Well, alright, anytime you’d like to come and sit on the porch, you’re more than wel — ”
Chris’s front door slammed shut.
Tuesday.
The next day found Chris walking home from school again, this time muttering angrily under her breath about the heat, her dad, South Carolina, her tiny hick school in this tiny hick town, the heat, her dad. Today had been one thing after another, from everyone at school finding out neither of her parents wanted her, to not one, not two, but three different teachers pulling her aside and trying to attach her to one of the preppy nice kids like a refrigerator magnet. Chris was beyond ready for this day to be over, and it was only three thirty.
Nearing the corner of her street, she peered around the corner, trying to see if crazy neighbor Phyllis was on the porch. Snatching her head back around, Chris groaned. Iced tea patrol was definitely present on the porch and probably on high alert since she now knew when Chris came home from school.
Nothing for it, Chris decided. This is just another reason why today needs to end immediately. Marching around the corner, eyes fixed on the pavement, Chris made it all the way to the top of her porch steps before she heard the dreaded
“Good afternoon! Would you like some iced tea?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Alright, then, well you just let me know if you ever change your mind, the offer always stands, especially in this weath — ”
Slam!
Phyllis sighed. “I really wish she would stop doing that,” she said to herself, staring at Chris’s firmly shut door.
Wednesday.
Don’t look up, don’t make eye contact, don’t show any signs of interest, just keep walking, was Chris’s new mantra. Maybe if she said it over and over fast enough, Phyllis wouldn’t be able to see her.
“Good afternoon, Christine. Would you like some iced tea? I also have some finger sandwiches I made earlier, if you’re hungry?”
“Not hungry.”
“Alright, then, well if you get hungry later, you’re more than welcome to swing by.”
Chris shrugged and went inside.
Thursday.
“Good afternoon, Christine. Would you like some cookies or iced tea? I made almond crescents today!”
“I’m good.”
“Alright, then, you let me know if you change your mind.”
Thursday evening.
The front door slammed, hard. Chris’s father Richard stalked into the living room and stared down at his daughter, fast asleep on the couch. How could she be so lazy, so neglectful? He had stayed away, uninvolved her entire life, but somehow here she was, a reflection of him.
“Christine, I need to talk to you, right now.” Richard shook her shoulder as he spoke.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“I happen to live here. The real question is, what are you doing with your life? I just had a stressful business trip, and now I come home to the absolute joy of hearing that my daughter is so incompetent she can’t even make friends.”
Richard waved a piece of paper in her face. “Do you know what this is? This is a signed letter from your teachers, the school counselor, and the principal stating that they are all ‘deeply concerned for your well-being during this difficult transition.’”
Richard began pacing as he continued to read from the letter, getting louder with each step. “They said that you’re ‘resistant to meeting new people,’ ‘having difficulties keeping up in class,’ and ‘need to get involved and connected before it’s too late.’ Are you truly that pathetic? Forced to have parents and teachers manufacture your social life? Unable to handle any kind of responsibility for your schoolwork?”
Chris drew her legs into her chest, arms wrapped tight, as small and compact as possible.
“Don’t have anything to say, do you? Hah! No reason or explanation for your failure. You’re just as useless as…” Richard paused, back turned to his daughter.
“Just as useless as your mother.”
Chris unfolded herself from the couch and started walking to her room, breathing as deeply as she could.
Richard followed. “This is your problem, your mess. I want to hear that everything is fixed by the end of next week. You’d better figure out what’s wrong with you and find some sucker willing to be friends in spite of that.”
Silent, Chris reached her room and turned to face her father, meeting his eyes for the first time.
“Do you hear me? Are you even listening to a word I’ve said? Say something, damn it!”
Chris walked into her room and slammed the door shut.
Friday.
Another day, another walk home in the heat. Today was the worst it had been all week, with sauna-like levels of humidity and incessant sunshiney, clear skies. Chris sighed as she walked. She knew how relentless her dad was. There was no way she was getting him or her teachers off her back unless changes were made, but she couldn’t stomach the idea of giving in.
Hearing the whine of mosquitos, Chris slapped at her neck but came away with nothing but sweat. As she looked down at her empty hand in dissatisfaction, she felt her phone go off. Chris checked her notifications and stilled.
Mom: Hey hon, just checking in! We haven’t chatted for a while, do you have any time to call today?
After a moment of staring at the message, the first one her mom had sent since the move, Chris shoved her phone into her pocket, and continued walking, scuffing her feet with each step.
“Good afternoon, Christine! How are you today?”
Chris’s head jerked up, surprised she was already on her street.
“Um — I’m okay.”
“Just okay? Well, this heat is terrible. I admit I’ve also been a bit grumpy today because of it.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you like some iced tea and fresh fruit? I found a perfect watermelon at the farmer’s market this morning.”
“I — ”
“And before you say no, know that there’s no pressure to talk or stay for a minute longer than it takes to drink your tea.”
“Um, I was actually…” Chris looked down at her feet. “I mean, I have a lot of homework to do.”
“Of course, of course, I completely understand. Just know, you’re welcome anytime.”
Chris looked back up, squinting in the harsh sunlight. She briefly met Phyllis’s eyes then looked away, fascinated by something down the street. “Thanks, maybe another time.” Phyllis smiled and nodded.
Chris began walking back to her house. One, two, three steps up to the porch and then she paused, hand on the railing.
“Um, I’d actually…I think I would like some tea.”
“Well, now, I can’t tell you how pleased I am. I’ll finally have someone to help me drink all this extra tea I made. Come on up, and I’ll pour you a glass.”
Chris walked up onto Phyllis’s porch.
“Come sit, my dear. It’s much too hot to be standing around today.”
“Okay.” Chris sat in the rocking chair opposite of Phyllis, perched on the edge of her seat.
“Now, here’s your tea. Do you feel like chatting at all?” Taking a tall glass and a plate of beautifully cut fresh fruit, Chris shook her head. “That’s perfectly all right. Would you like to just be quiet, or should I tell you about the time my mom almost lost me in Seoul?”
Chris looked up at Phyllis, eyes wide. “You lived in Seoul?”
Phyllis smiled at the surprise in Chris’s voice. “I thought that might interest you — Richard mentioned that your mother is from Korea.”
Chris nodded, then sat back in her chair expectantly.
“Alright, where to begin. I guess the day truly started to go wrong when I woke up in the morning and decided I simply must wear my yellow flip-flops.”
Over the course of the afternoon, Phyllis told story after story. She didn’t ask Chris a single question, just shared about her life as they sipped tea and listened to the cicadas hum.
The Next Month.
Almost every day after school now, Chris spent her afternoons on the porch with Phyllis.
Sometimes Phyllis talked about her life traveling all over the world as a kid, sometimes about her own children, sometimes about her work as an author.
Each day, as she handed Chris a glass of tea, Phyllis asked: “Would you like to talk, or would you like to be quiet?” And each day, Chris would sit and say no, she didn’t feel like speaking and could Phyllis tell her more about her life.
On and on the afternoons went, building a steady, comfortable rhythm.
One day, Chris walked up the porch steps even more sullen than usual. She dropped into a chair without even taking off her backpack and stared straight ahead.
Phyllis raised her eyebrows and handed Chris tea and cookies. “Good afternoon, Christine. Do you feel like talking today?”
Chris shook her head and slid her backpack onto the floor.
“Alright, well would you like me to talk?” Phyllis asked, leaning back in her chair.
It took a couple minutes for Chris to respond. “Could we just be quiet today?” she asked, closing her eyes.
“Of course, dear.”
Silence settled between them. As the quiet unfurled across the porch, a sense of comfort began to grow. That was new, Chris noted. There was usually a need to speak, to constantly stack sentences on top of each other in an attempt to squeeze out the awkward. But this silence was kind of okay. It felt safe, connected.
Two glasses of tea and an hour later, Chris thanked Phyllis for the quiet and the snacks, said goodbye, and went back to her house, leaving Phyllis smiling as she cleared the dishes and brought them inside.
The Next Day.
“I need to tell you something.” Chris said as she sat.
“By all means, dear, go ahead. I’m here to listen.”
Chris took a sip of tea. Setting the glass down, she stared down at her hands for a long while.
“I need to tell you that I’m sorry for being rude when we met. I had just moved to Spartanburg from California and I was really… I don’t know, angry? Sad? Something.”
Phyllis nodded and waited.
“My dad… He left my mom as soon as she told him she was pregnant. All he said was that a kid didn’t fit into his dreams and goals. I would have been in the way, so he left. That meant it was just me and my mom growing up. Until she decided she was over it.”
“Over what?” Phyllis asked gently.
“The whole being-a-parent thing. She wanted to go back to school and get a doctorate to teach. And apparently, supporting me at the same time was not ‘a financially sound decision.’ So she shipped me off to my dad, basically saying that she’d done her community service for sixteen years and now it was his turn to deal with it.”
Chris paused, struggling to continue. Phyllis waited, silent, until Chris’s glass of tea was nothing but ice cubes.
“Both of my parents decided that I was less valuable than their dreams. That I was a temporary inconvenience to be dealt with, never something they wanted. I thought it was just my dad, but as it turns out — ”
A long stretch of quiet followed her words. Chris looked up at Phyllis and the older woman set down her glass and said gently.
“I am so sorry, Christine. No one deserves to feel unwanted.”
Chris drew her legs into her chest, arms wrapped tightly around.
“I lost my mother and my husband within six months of each other, to a stroke and lung cancer. Both were sudden, devastating. I was lost in grief for a year after that, isolating myself from everyone around me.”
Phyllis hesitated, the first time Chris had seen her do so.
“Allowing myself to grieve was necessary. But even when the pain eased, I was still afraid. I was terrified to open up again, because that’s when losing someone hurts: once you’ve let them in.
“I almost missed some beautiful friendships because I was so scared of the pain. I thought that I would be safe, that I could protect myself by being closed off. But allowing other people to care for me taught me to see myself through their eyes. To see myself unbiased by self-contempt and judgment.”
Phyllis smiled. “My community saw me for who I was, broken and grieving, and loved me regardless.”
“Then what happened?”
“It changed everything.”
