Mule’s Musings

by Tom Peters

Mrs. Williamson died the same year Bartholomew retired. The year of the pandemic. She died in her bedroom next to the pool where he was writing about her. Bartholomew’s schoolmates started calling him Bartholomule for no particular reason and once one syllable nicknames were assigned, Mule stuck.

Mrs. Williamson called Mule by his mature and uppity given name right up until her last words. As he sat holding her hand at her bedside, she joked, “I never said ‘I love you, Mule’, OK, I said it my dear, dear Bartholomew.” She fell off into a nap. Still a nap, in Mule’s heart and mind.

Mrs. Williamson was Jewish; Mule was a fallen Catholic. Mrs. Williamson was sexy and domineering, Mule was horny and a bit lost. A butterfly beats its wings outside her condo as if to say, “Where did Mrs. Williamson go?” A neighbor’s black cat slithers across the pool area to her front door to check in on her.

Judy Williamson was her full name when Mule met the famous therapist. He would find out eventually her original name was Joshua Schwartz before switching to her appropriate gender. Joshua Schwartz built a distinguished career as an author and Jungian therapist.

Twelve years earlier, Mule and his young wife, Kim, purchased a larger condo just a short walk from Mrs. Williamson’s now empty, deserted condo.