Story by J.J. Krause

Cascade is a serialized satire about four Seattleites –– a failed homosexual, a crypto-obsessed mom, a party-girl-turned-caretaker, and an unorthodox professor, all trying to hold it together in a world coming apart. Catch updates every few weeks on the Capitol Hill Seattle Blog. In this installment, we meet Dave, Karen, and Tamara on a weekend day as an unexpected heatwave hits Seattle. Want to skip ahead? Get the book.

New Neighbors
As Karen led her son back home, they passed a woman unloading a box from an orange Chevy Bolt at the house next door. Karen did a double-take. New neighbor?

From behind the box, Tamara saw Karen and Albie. They made eye contact and exchanged almost-imperceptible nods. A Seattle greeting.

Tamara hoisted the box through the door of a squat house, inside of which was her new roommate: an eighty-year-old woman clutching a walker.

“Let me help, Tam,” pleaded Rose, “what can I do?”

“Nothing. Sit down.”

Two French bulldogs were running in circles around the living room. Rose eyed them nervously. “Are they supposed to be breathing like that?”

“They’re fine. But it smells weird in here, Mom,” said Tamara. One of the dogs sneezed, as if on command. “When did Yulia last vacuum?”

“A few months ago, maybe?”

“Yikes,” said Tamara, disappearing with the box into the back bedroom, and reappearing without it. “I saw the neighbors, I think.”

“Bill?”

“No, the new ones next door, who moved in a couple years ago.”

“Oh, them. I haven’t really met them,” said Rose, embarrassed, “I think it’s a mom with a kid.”

Tamara nodded. She was not a mom. She was a daughter, however, and even at age fifty-two, at her parents’ house she’d revert back to her childhood self. She went to the kitchen and began rifling through cupboards. “What is there to eat here? Any snacks?”

“There should be cookies.”

Tamara found them: a box of Pepperidge Farms Milanos, expired three years ago. She tossed them in the trash, below a poster that read, “In Grandma’s Kitchen, Kids Eat Free.”

“What have you been eating, Mom?”

“Oh I make do. Lots of ice cream.”

Tamara pulled out a can of tomato soup and inspected it. It expired six months ago. She dumped it in a bowl and popped it in the microwave.

“I’m having soup. Want some?”

“No thanks.”

“Did you have breakfast?”

“I had a cookie.”

Tamara nodded, looking out the window. Outside, she saw a man walk by in pink shorts.

Rose pushed her walker to her La-Z-Boy recliner and prepared to sit, teetering back as if about to do a trust fall.

“Mom!” yelled Tamara, running over, “Ask for help!” She grabbed Rose by the hand. Guiding her down, she noticed how thin and papery her hands had become.

“Honey, this is my technique. And it’s not the sitting down that’s difficult.” Rose fished for the remote control. “Tam, I know you’re trying to be a helpful, but you really don’t have to do this. You should be living your life. I can manage on my own, with Yulia.”

“Are you kidding? We’re not bringing back Yulia.”

“Then we can find a new Yulia. And Walter can help.”

“Walter’s busy… he’s helping with the grandkids, and he probably needs help himself soon. I’m mostly-remote. This just makes sense for now.” Until we come up with a new plan, which shouldn’t take long.

Rose didn’t respond. She turned her attention to the TV.

Tamara disappeared into the guest bedroom—now her bedroom. She opened a box and started unloading. What am I doing? she thought, I should be removing junk from this house, not moving in.

Luckily she packed light. Most of her belongings were still in her condo in Olympia, where they belonged. She shoved clothes into a dresser and arranged a few photos in front of a piece of driftwood that said, in flowery cursive, “Less is More, More or Less,” blocking it from view.

“All done,” she said, emerging back in the living room and flopping into the other La-Z-Boy with her soup, “back in the old Hood.” 

“How does it feel?” said Rose.

Depressing, she thought. But she said, “Surreal. At least Nacho and Rita will have a yard.” She scooped up a wheezing dog.

Surreal was an understatement. Though the street names were the same, it wasn’t the neighborhood she once knew. Many houses, like the one Tamara grew up in, had long since been razed, replaced by townhomes and McMansions. Except a few holdouts, most old-time families had moved on, mostly south. Even the trees were turning over. But this was progress, and she supported it. And maybe one day her mom’s house would turn over too…

To Rose, it was also surreal. The last time Tamara had been under her roof was thirty-five years ago when she was a teenager. And at that time it wasn’t exactly harmonious. Would it be different now? Rose wasn’t sure. She hadn’t seen a whole lot of her daughter during the past few decades.

“You’re not watching KOMO, are you?” said Tamara, turning to the TV. Rose didn’t respond. “You know they’re owned by Sinclair. What’s next for you, Fox News?”

“They’re just showing up for work. They don’t own the station.”

The weather forecaster was gesturing at her green screen. “Enjoy this warmth while it lasts, because our next weather-maker arrives Tuesday, with a more typical pattern—rain and cool temperatures,” she announced with an authentically-fake smile, “We’ll be back to great sleeping weather!”

“Thanks Shannon,” deadpanned the anchor, “I guess we’ll take it.”

Rose chuckled.

The newscast flipped to coverage of a homeless encampment—yet another sprawling Hooverville that had sprung up by million dollar homes.

Tamara didn’t want to be watching local news. She didn’t have time for townie drama—she was a woman of the world now. She pulled out her phone, bored, and scrolled the feed. With a pang of jealousy, she saw a photo of her boys on the playa, all holding margaritas. I should be there… but instead I’m here, in a recliner. She closed the app, trying to ignore the claustrophobia building inside her. She swiped past Hinge, the dating app. Not in this location! She tapped Zillow. Now this was an interesting app. But, zooming in, there was not a single listing anywhere in Madison Valley. Insane, she thought, no one is selling… you’d think at least a few would want to escape! She found her parents’ house and tapped it, pulling up the Zestimate. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Look who it is, Tam!” interrupted Rose, “your boss!”

Tamara looked up at a woman on the screen, with gray hair and a face worn by nonsense.

“We’re working with the new regional authority in King County to secure additional locations for shelters, and we expect to increase our number of beds by 2,000 this year,” she said.

“When will residents see an improvement?” asked the reporter.

“We’re doing everything we can, but we need to do more.”

“Live from Olympia, this is KOMO news.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Rose, “you’re working for the governor… who would’ve believed my little girl would be doing that?”

“I’m an admin, Mom.”

“You’re the brains of the operation. And it’s a big upgrade for you.”

Tamara put down her soup. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, relax. You know what I mean. It’s a big job, Tam.”

“All I know is that after five years, I get a pension.”

“That’s my girl.”

Just a few more years. A year or so of expired soup and word art. Then another few in Olympia. It would fly by… then she’d fly away again—and she knew exactly where she’d be going.

CASCADE 1: Going Downhill | A Failed Homosexual |.Crypto Karen | New Neighbors

J.J. lives in Seattle and can frequently be found on foot trekking up and down hills, stopping only to record one-liners and half-baked ideas.

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