Perspective

Novel
For such an accomplished actress, I’ve never had an acting lesson in my life. Today my performance will be in front of half the town at the Pecan Festival. Most of these people know who I am, and I know who they are – but I don’t know very many of them very well. And they don’t know me well, which makes it even easier to be convincing as I act. Just a few hours is all. I can make it for a few hours. For one afternoon, I can keep up the façade that I have worn so many times before. Smile, laugh, act interested in what they are saying. Listen to stories, tell stories, and generally behave like a normal person, which I am not.
Participating in town, church, and school events really tries my patience. While I know most of these people on sight, I really don’t care to get to know them. I see them laughing and joking and I just don’t feel like a part of it, although I act like part of it. I can’t wait until it’s over so I can go home and de-stress; I can be alone; I don’t have to talk to anyone but close family and friends.
I don’t see how they can laugh and have such a good time. I constantly have a darkness hovering in my peripheral vision; a weight on my joints; tension in my neck, shoulders and forehead. The world is not a bright and happy place for me. The world is corrupt, people hurt one another maliciously, natural disasters bring senseless tragedy to millions each year. I personally experience pressing misery; the encumbrance of negative energy tainting what I do. I selfishly want to be in Heaven with God. I want to leave my family and friends behind and go to that place where the darkness doesn’t threaten to envelope me; where my body feels light and healthy; where those around me have good intentions; where I can learn about God all the time.
But for now, I have to mingle, act like I’m having fun, act like I’m interested in these people and events, act like I have plenty of energy and enthusiasm for this community event. Rising from my seat on the curb, I spot my sixteen-year-old daughter making her way through the crowd on the sidewalk. After quickly brushing at my bottom to remove any debris, I lift my hand, and she sees me and comes straight to me.
“Can I have some money?” We knew that was coming, didn’t we?
“What all are you wanting to do?” I responded, quickly calculating how much I had a available and how much I, myself, might need.
“There’s a balloon dart thing, and they have the cutest prizes. And down by Arnold’s Drug there’s a booth with beaded purses and stuff, and, I’ll want to get something to eat and drink – like an Icy Cream bar and a root beer.” She talked so fast I could hardly understand her, but years of practice at listening to this speed speech gave me an idea of what she was saying in this one breath.
“Forty bucks. Will that do it? That should leave you with some extra in case you find something else to do.” She takes the cash I offer and smiles with a big, “Thanks, Mom!” Then she’s gone in the crowd.
I don’t worry about her. Our town is quite small and she knows nearly everyone in it from school or working at the diner. She’s a good kid and will check in with me frequently.
Ah, my first audience for the day. An elderly woman is head across the street for me with a wide smile on her face.
“How are you?” Maude exclaims.
“I’m good,” I lie. She is a revered member of the Women’s Missionary Committee at church; a real treasure; someone I could almost like enough to spend time with.
“What did you think of David’s solo at church last week?” She is an expert at conversation, drawing people out – even me.
“He did a beautiful job. That song is one of my favorites, and his voice is perfectly suited to it. I understand Karen is doing the solo tomorrow.” Karen is Maude’s grand-daughter, fair of face and slow of wit. Though in her early twenties now, Karen’s voice is still clear and high like a child’s, and one of her favorite things to do is sing in church.
“Yes! She’s doing an arrangement of Amazing Grace with a recording she has,” replies Maude. “We’re so glad the church is accepting and tolerant of her. She can wear on your nerves, asking so many questions, wanting to help, and getting into things. But you know she always means well.”
Karen does always mean well. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her. She could serve as an example to others in the community for that reason.
“Well, I’d better go find Callie,” I lie again. I know I won’t be seeing my daughter for quite some time, but I frequently used her as an excuse to cut off conversations when I become antsy. “I’ll see you in church, tomorrow,” I say,and turn away, heading into the thickest part of the crowd.
I avoid eye contact with people, watching, instead, their legs and the tops of their heads. If you don’t make eye contact, people are much less likely to talk to you.
I’m at the booth with the beaded purses, avoiding eye contact with the vendor, when someone I just can’t abide spies me and invites himself into a conversation with me.
“Hey, girl, what’s up?”
“Not much.”
“Saw your daughter over by the ice cream place a few minutes ago. Looked like she was with a bunch of friends.”
“Probably other cheerleaders, or classmates. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“So what are your plans for the day?”
“This is it, Mike. Pecan Festival and then home.”
“I guess your husband stayed at home like usual?”
“Yes. The only reason I am here is to bring Callie. I really need to go catch up with her. I see you later.” I make my escape in a hurry without waiting for a response. If I don’t do something, that man will engage me in chit-chat for an hour. I’m so uncomfortable with the way he looks at me – like he’s trying to figure out my innermost secrets. He’d never speak to me again if he knew those secrets and the darkness inside me.
The band is starting up, which means the parade is about to begin. Nearly every store, church, club, and group has a float and it’s always interesting to see who got the privilege of riding on the floats this time. Callie would be gathering with her fellow cheerleaders to follow the band and show off her peppy enthusiasm and strong, limber body entertaining the crowd. The crowds began to adjust as families with young children make their way to the curb, and those who aren’t interested in the parade stand back against the buildings. The rest find places where they could see and began pointing and waving as the band, then cheerleaders, then the Girl Scout float go by.
I watch the parade with little enjoyment. It’s meaningless entertainment to me. Retail places and other organizations spending money on a float to ride down the street on one time. I don’t feel any special bond or affinity for those business represented in the parade. There’s Arnold’s Drug in the parade, and Adams’ Ace Hardware, and Farmers’ Local Grocery, but I still shop at Wal-Mart SuperCenter in Lincoln, about 30 minutes away. But it is something to watch to pass the time, while Callie participates in something she enjoys so much.
Callie is very different from me. She loves to be around people and makes strong friendships easily. She is naturally cheerful and positive, even at this teenage stage! Callie would wither and die if I kept her home like I prefer to stay home. It’s bad enough that she has to live with my strangeness at home. She shouldn’t have to endure being away from her friends and enjoying community or school events just because I don’t like to come to town.
After walking the entire ½ mile of beautiful downtown Rock Bay, I stop into the local convenience store for a drink. No longer do you stop in somewhere, politely ask for a cup of water, and get it free of charge. Nope! Water is filtered and packaged in bottles for nearly a buck fifty each. And if you decide to get it out of the sink, they still charge you full price for a fountain drink! I select the least expensive bottled variety and have it consumed before I reach the corner. My throat and chest feel cool from the chilled beverage, and I think that I should have bought a second one.
I sit, for a while, in one of the plastic chairs provided by the Festival Committee. One of the women from the judging booth brings me a piece of pecan pie made with pecans grown in our own area. The sweetness of that first bite is almost too much; and, again, I wish I had a second bottle of water. Callie joins me suddenly, out of nowhere, with her own piece of pie and shares her half-gallon size fountain drink with me. Dr. Pepper! It figures. DP is one of the few flavors of soda pop that I really don’t like. Callie rattles on about the parade – “Did you see me mom?” “Of course, how could I miss you? You’re the best one on the squad!” – and the various treasures that she spent her money on. All the cheerleaders had bought identical junk jewelry bracelets – and then they all went to the cotton candy booth together. Must have been quite a sight – all those pretty teenage girls giggling in their maroon uniforms, with shiny dangly charm bracelets and each carrying pink cotton candy.
“I know you are probably ready to go, Mom, but can I go over to the diner and say, ‘Hi’ to Randy before we go?” Callie’s new love interest is a tall, serious young man with an eye on law school. He had to work his regular shift during the Pecan Festival, and Callie wanted to make sure he knew he had been missed.
“That’s fine, Callie. I think I’ll go to the car and wait for you. Don’t be too long.”
“Sure, Mom. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The churches near Main Street had offered their parking lots for use by the Festival crowds. I locate my car in the crowded First Presbyterian lot, and slide in with a heavy sigh. I haven’t done much but the strain of avoiding eye contact and conversations has left me exhausted. Across the lot, I see a group of six women getting into a van from the Lincoln First Baptist Church. Their camaraderie is evident and I feel a pang of envy at the thought that I have never been that comfortable with that many people at once in my life. Whenever I see a set like that I’m just reminded again how different and strange I am compared to other people. Being social is a burden for me, not a pleasure, not even a means of survival – just distasteful and hard work.
Callie slides in beside me, “I’m ready, Mom. They were really busy at the diner and I didn’t want to stay long enough for Ruthie to get any ideas about me pitching in. Kayla and Jamie are going to the movies later and asked if I could come too. Kayla can pick us up and bring us home. And I’ve still got my allowance at home so I won’t need any money. What do you think? Can I go?”
“Probably, if your dad doesn’t have a problem with it. What time do you think you’ll be home?”
“By ten, at the latest. The movie starts and seven and we might get something to eat afterwards.”
Instead of setting a firm curfew for Callie, we had agreed that she could set her time to come home as long as it was reasonable for the circumstances, and she came home when she said she would. She’s doing a good job of proving that she is trustworthy so far.
I can smell the smoke of a woodburning fire as I open the door to the car, and I know that Chance, my husband, is relaxing in the warmth of the light. I hurry inside eager to grab a bowl of ice cream and sit quietly with him on the couch while we catch up. I’m almost ridiculously grateful to be home. Callie flies into the house ahead of me and I can hear her rapid chatter as she tells her dad about the festival and the parade. It’s not long before she brings up going to the movies.
“Mom said we’d have to wait and see if it was ok with you. Is it? I need to call Kayla and let her know one way or the other.”
We all three know that asking Chance is a formality; he never tells her, “No” unless he is supporting a decision I made or there is something seriously wrong. Chance is all about indulging and spoiling the women in his life.
“I imagine you can go, Callie, what time will you be home?” Chance and I pretty much cover the same ground most of the time.
“I’ll be home before ten, Daddy. I’ve got to go call Kayla, now and change clothes!” Callie bounces off toward the back of the house, and I shake my head, wondering if I ever had that much energy. I don’t remember. I’ll have to call my mother and ask her.
I sit down on the couch beside and Chance and lean over to remove my athletic shoes. I’m not used to wearing them and my feet feel suffocated and burning. Slipping them off and rubbing my sock-clad feet together is heavenly. I pick up the shoes and head toward the bedroom and my comfy slippers.
“Hey, sweetie,” I whisper, “what are you up to?” Queenie’s soft brown head rises from the bed and her soft brown eyes watch me move around the room as her tail thumps softly on her quilted dog bed. She doesn’t bother rising until she sees that I’m headed for the bedroom door. She knows there is a good chance I’m heading for the kitchen.
I check the stew in the slow cooker and take some rolls from the freezer. It looks like it will just be Chance and I. I have to keep remembering, when I’m saddened that Callie isn’t with us, that in the beginning it was just Chance and me, and it was wonderful. Maybe we can reclaim some of that romance and adventure since Callie is spending less and less time at home.
My current book is sitting on the end table and, from the position of the marker, it looks like I’ll be able to finish it this evening. It’s a gripping story about a group of female missionaries in a male dominated part of the world. Romance, danger, heroism – it’s all in there.
Chance turns on the news as I sit down and pick up my book. I try to get deep into my reading before something on the news catches my attention. Nine times out of ten, something that catches my attention is something negative and horrible. I rely on Chance and Madelyn, my close friend, to tell me what the weather is going to do, or if there is something in the news I really need to know about…like when Mr. Rogers died. I cried that day. He was an everyday part of my life even into my teens, and I grew to appreciate him more as I learn more about him as an adult.
I’m dimly aware of Callie sprinting to the door after Kayla’s headlights reflected off the wall. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! See you later!”
Queenie waddled to the door with her and stood forlornly, looking at the closed door when Callie left the house. Callie wasn’t Queenie’s favorite person – that was Chance – but Callie is part of the pack and Queenie thinks we should stay together at all times.
I read and lose myself for a while. Chance watches the news, making comments that he knows I won’t hear. At the same moment, I look up and he looks at me, “Are you ready for dinner?” We laugh and go to the kitchen together to put together our meal for two.
“You know Joanette, the receptionist at the club? She just told everyone she’s pregnant,” Chance informs me.
“Well, that’s great…isn’t it? I mean, you had said that she and her husband were starting to talk about adoption, since she couldn’t get pregnant.”
“Well,” stalled Chance, “the thing is that the baby is not her husband’s baby and there is a divorce in the works. So I don’t know how good it is.”
“Oh, Chance! The baby itself is always good – a gift from God. But I agree that the circumstances leave something to be desired. Is she going to keep working after the baby comes?”
“I’m not sure. No mention was made of that.”
We turned to lighter topics – Callie’s activities, my lunch date with Madelyn, his new custom tennis racquet that should be delivered any day. We set the table nicely and sat next to, instead of across from, one another at the round kitchen table. The stew was simple and homemade but so delicious. I mopped up every drop of broth with my second roll. Back to the kitchen and in five minutes we had everything put away, the dishes in the dishwasher, the slow cooker cleaned, and everything was spotless.
We went back to the living room. Queenie snuggled against my side as I once again lost myself in the pages of someone else’s life. How cool it would be if all life’s problems could be solved in 30 minutes, like a sit com, or in 300 pages, like the novels I read. Chance turns on a documentary about moths in the Amazon rainforest. We are companionable and content in this arrangement.
As I reach the closing chapters of the book, I feel like I need some frozen comfort and head to the kitchen, again.
In the kitchen, I take the flavor-of-the-day from the freezer, and carefully measure out 1 cup of ice cream. I select a long ice-tea spoon from the drawer, because the smaller bowl means the ice cream lasts longer. Chance and I take turns picking up ice cream each day. Today was his day and he was in the mood for pistachio. No problem for me – enough chocolate syrup will kill the taste of anything.
I grab a very expensive frozen treat for cosseted dogs and enjoy watching her wolf it down without what I would consider really enjoying it. A scratch between the ears and a lick on the hand and we are ready to join Chance in the living room in front of the fire again.
“Are you going to church in the morning?” Chance asks. I haven’t been in several weeks.
“Chance, I just can’t. I miserable and uncomfortable the whole time I’m there and I don’t get a think out of it. I’d rather stay home and worship God where I can concentrate on Him fully.”
“You know Callie’s going to be disappointed.”
“Yes,” I replied, “but she’s pretty understanding about my condition, too. Heck, she’s so outgoing and popular, she doesn’t need her mom going everywhere with her anymore. I’ll take her and pick her up, but I don’t want to go.”
Chance never attended church, and there was never a question of whether he would or why he wouldn’t. He just didn’t…just like he doesn’t go to the Pecan Festival, the Rock Bay Happy 4th Day, or any of the high school events where Callie is participating. I sure hope he’ll go to her graduation when it comes time for that!
Callie loves to go to church, but I never hear her talk about God or what she’s learned at church, so I suspect it’s more of another social time for her. Oh well, maybe something will sink in when she’s not paying attention.
“Are you going to stay up and wait for Callie?” I ask Chance, really my way of saying ‘I’m going to bed, if someone’s going to wait up it will have to be you.’
“I’d planned on it. You go on to bed if you’re ready.”
I haven’t finished the book, but I am so sleepy I can’t get anything out of it. I wander back to the master bathroom and brush my hair and my teeth. I scrub my face with a cold washcloth, and take care of elimination business one more time.
My favorite PJ’s are dark blue flannel and roomy. Under the covers I make sure the legs of the PJ’s are all the way down and that the shirt isn’t twisted. Chance and I have separate covers – I can’t stand to be touched while I’m sleeping or trying to go to sleep, and I can’t deal with even smallest draft either. I gather my quilt all around me and tuck it underneath my body all the way around. My arms have to be in such a way that my cold hands don’t touch me and make me cold anywhere else. Then I position my pillow so that I can have my head in just the right position without my nose or lips being tickled, but that some of my breath is reflected back toward my nose. That way I can breathe warm air through the night and not have a sore throat in the morning. Finally, I close my eyes and watch the patterns of light behind my eyelids. I think about retinal detachment and macular degeneration. Then I think about the book I’m reading. Then I go over my schedule for the week. After a bit I turn to the other side and do it all again…and fall asleep.

CHAPTER
I wake naturally around 6 a.m. I can’t remember my dreams but there is a vague feeling of dis-ease. I visit the bathroom first then let Queenie out to do her business. While she’s out a brew a fresh pot of coffee, and doctor it with about three times as much Irish Cream creamer as is suggested on the jar. Some days, I sit down at the computer and go through my emails, but this morning I just want to sit and look outside.
I see the wild rabbits and squirrels playing around at the edge of the yard. I think they’ve figured out that Queenie doesn’t have a chance at getting them. She’s half dachshund, half miniature poodle, and her little legs are a genetic gift from her dachshund mother. She runs her regular trails as I watch, smelling who’s been where during the night and leaving her own messages with theirs.
It occurs to me that I’d better take my medicines right now. If I don’t take that handful of pills first thing in the morning, I have a really rotten day. I take three drugs for depression, one for thyroid problems, one for gastric reflux, a green tea supplement for antioxidants, a lactose intolerance therapy pill, a multivitamin, and a flax seed oil capsule for omega-3 fatty acids. In total I take about 13 pills/capsules/tablets each morning. I hold them in my hand, making sure I’ve got everything I’m supposed to have. I take a swig of lukewarm Irish Creamy coffee and swallow. A second swing and all the medicines at once. I’ve learned to swallow them all at once and get it over with. Now, barring a headache or anything major, I have a chance at a decent day.
The phone is ringing and I rush to pick it up before it wakes up Chance or Callie.
“Hi, Sarah! It’s me!” Madelyn’s cheerful voice comes through the telephone line. “I know it’s early, but I also knew you’d be up. Have time to talk?”
“Sure,” I reply, “I was just getting ready to sit back down and relax. What’s up?”
“I just had to tell you that I talked to Brendan’s teacher and found out what really happened . . .” Madelyn and I talk for nearly an hour. We share nearly every detail of our lives.
We met in college, Madelyn majoring in Vocal Music, and me majoring in Elementary Education. We hit it from the very beginning and spent a lot of time studying common classes in our freshmen and sophomore years. Our friendship has withstood major misunderstandings, love affairs, the birth and raising of children, basic personality differences, and even distance at one time.
Brendan is Madelyn’s 12-year-old son. He’s just started middle school and going through puberty all at the same time. Madelyn also has a 7-year-old, second grader, who is happy-go-lucky and very active. Madelyn’s husband, Stephen, swept her off her feet about 14 years ago when they met during preparation for a city concert. She was singing in the chorus and he was overseeing all the electrical components for the concert. He makes her happy, so he makes me happy.
“Good morning, honey.” A kiss on the back of the neck and a hand on my shoulder, interrupts my conversation briefly. Chance is up and leaving for his morning run. I turn and kiss him back, and watch as he lopes down the driveway to the dirt road that leads to our house.
It’s now nine in the morning, and Madelyn is saying goodbye, to leave for church. I briefly feel guilt and frustration that I am not going to church – but quash those thoughts and replace them with more productive thinking.
Queenie wants in and she and I settle on the couch so I can finish reading my book. When Callie gets up and tiptoes to the kitchen, I am so involved with the story that I barely register that anyone else is in the room. When Chance comes back at ten, I am still engrossed, but only have a few pages left.
“I’ve got two tennis lessons this afternoon,” says Chance as I walk into the bedroom. He has showered and is now changing into what I call his ‘business clothes.’ “They are the teenage kids of some new clients to the club. I’ll be home by four.” Chance’s job as tennis pro at Rock Bay Racquet Club has made our lives very comfortable, so I don’t complain when he has to go in for extra lessons.
“Should I just come and join you for an early dinner at the club? You know Callie will be busy with the youth group all day.”
“That sounds good, honey. I’ll be hungry earlier than normal anyway after dealing with teenagers for 3 straight hours!”
So that was my plan for the day – I’d join Chance at the club for an early dinner. Plan for the day. I do well to handle one plan each day. I get easily overwhelmed by more than that. I can read all day long and keep up with what is going on and who is doing what, but when it comes to real life, I become overwhelmed and overstimulated so easily. So I don’t have plans for the day – I have a plan for the day. One item to remember, one item to get ready for, one item to spend my energy on, one item to take care of and then the rest of the day is mine for reading, playing with Queenie, staring into space.
I can hear Callie’s TV. She is watching cheerleading competitions. I sit down at the desk and turn on our computer. We only have one which can be a problem sometimes. By far, I use it the most. And, by far, I use it for Internet the most. I just seem to “get” computers – how they are set up, how they are supposed to work. And I love being able to communicate without having to deal with face-to-face contact.
There are thirty emails in my inbox. I go through and immediately delete about half of them: advertisements, spam, newsletters I don’t feel like reading today. I begin reading the oldest and work my way to the newest. Sometimes, if I know something is going to take a while to respond to, I’ll leave an email in the inbox and go on to the ones that I can dispatch fairly quickly.
I have messages from a couple of Internet friends; some funnies passed along by someone who’s only on my list to exchange funnies with; digests from some list-groups; and several notifications of activity on various sites I belong to. One of the Internet sites is about parenting and I moderate a couple of groups on it, so I always check on those messages right away. There are several women with whom I regularly correspond on that site. My list-groups are good for me also. There is some distance between you and the other members, but you can still share the details of one another’s lives and get support and encouragement. But I never have to actually see anyone.
Callie enters the living room and looks over my shoulder as I type an answer to an i-friend’s message.
“Did you have a good time last night?” I ask.
“Sure, Mom. Everybody was there and we all went to Pizza Pete’s after the movie. I was home by nine-thirty. Do you think we could look into a competitive cheerleading camp for me this summer? I really think I’m good enough. I’m as good as any of those girls I saw today!”
“You find the information on it, Callie, and we’ll just have to see. You might start saving some of your earnings from the diner. Daddy will be more likely to pay for some of it if he sees you making an effort, than to just pay for all of it.”
“I’m still trying to save up for a car, Mom! How can I save up for cheerleading camp, too?”
“I guess you’ll just have to decide what’s more important – spending money on make-up and movies or saving that money for cheerleading camp. You let us know what you decide.” Making it her problem, because it is her problem. I don’t have the energy to convince her to save the money or to pretend it’s okay with me if she goes. I’ll miss her like crazy.
“Did you take your medication, Mom?” Callie, Chance, and Madelyn asked me that every chance they got. I take anti-depressant medication four times a day, and have trouble remembering to get it all it. Shoot! Some days I don’t remember I have medication at all! Those days usually turn out pretty awful.
“Yes, thanks Callie. I took it early this morning. I need to remember to take it at lunchtime.”
“I’m going to be working on my literature paper the rest of the day. Can I get on the computer in a little while to type it out?”
“Sure, Callie. I won’t be on much longer anyway. Let me know if you need any help.” Reading and writing are my two absolute favorite things. I specialized in high school and college in producing A+ reports and papers. I enjoy a chance to help Callie and exercise my skills.
When I finish on the computer, I head to the master bath to take a shower. I find it deadly dull to take showers or baths, but I have to do it. I pick out a casual outfit: jeans and polo style shirt. I’m a casual person, so that’s practically all I have in my closet. Queenie follows me into the bathroom, knowing she’ll get petted and scratched while I wait for the water to warm. The scale shows that I’m not losing weight (bad) and not gaining weight (good), so I guess that averages out to okay. To be in a healthy weight range, I need to lose about 30 pounds. But it’s just not happening right now.
The water is on the hot side of warm and feels great running over my chilled body. My hands automatically perform the showering duties of shampooing, soaping, rinsing, and shaving. My mind wanders on it’s own, settling on a memory here, a question there, the name of the actor I was trying to think of two nights ago and couldn’t. My walk through the garden of my brain continues while I dry, dress, brush teeth, and comb hair.
I’m staring at myself in the mirror. I can remember a time when I sang or hummed through my whole bathroom routine – now I’m silent. Not a good sign. I really do like to sing. I’m not especially good at it, but I enjoy doing it. But I haven’t been able to find any joy or comfort in it for the last few years; I don’t even have the interest to try to sing.
I shake my head to clear those thoughts and try to remember if I did everything. I can’t remember actually doing some of the things, but everything feels right, so I go with it. In the master bedroom, I sit on my side of the king-size bed and look around. I finished my book this morning, and don’t have another to start. I can hear clicking and keyboarding from the living room so I know Callie is working on her assignment.
I wonder if there is anything on the 600 channels of cable TV to interest me. As I scroll through, I see movies, sit coms, documentaries, and game shows that would have interested me at one time. None of it holds my interest, now. It’s just not that interesting.
Workout video? No, I just showered. Baking? Last time was the great measurement fiasco, and I’m not up to that kind of anxiety. Madelyn? At church. Mom? At church. Nap? No, my hair’s wet and it would dry funny if I lay down.
The office bookcase holds a number of sports books I have never read. I take one down and find myself learning about the alloys used to make tennis racquets and the proper tension of the strings. I can deal with that. I’m not all that interested in the engineering behind tennis racquets, but it’s information I don’t already know, so it will keep my interest for a while.
“Mom? What are you reading that for?” Callie has found me curled on the loveseat in the office reading about racquets.
“It’s just something to read, Callie. Did you need something?”
“It’s after one ‘o’clock and I haven’t seen you get anything to eat. Did you remember to take your medicine?”
“No, Callie, I didn’t even think about it. I’ve just been reading the time away. I’ll go take it now, before I forget.” I need that lunchtime dose, otherwise I become overly sleepy and almost non-functional. Two anti-depressant meds, one flaxseed oil capsule. This set of meds is a lot easier to take!
“I’m going to meet your dad at the club for an early dinner. Care to join us?”
“I wish! But I’ve really got to get this paper done. I think it’ll just be peanut butter at the computer desk for me tonight.”
After taking my lunchtime meds, I consider getting something to eat. Thinking about that early dinner, I decide not to eat lunch. I can always grab a small snack if I need to before then. The racquet book is waiting for me on the couch when I return to the office. The office feels closed in because it’s all inside walls and no windows. I take the book to the living room where I can hear Callie talking to herself and typing away, and I can look out the window at the forest to rest my eyes occasionally.
About the time I’m getting sleepy from being inactive, the clock shows it’s about time to leave for the club anyway. Callie bids me goodbye as I head out the door to the car parked in the drive. A stray cat, lounging on top of my car, peers at me through slitted eyes. It’s obviously not happy to be disturbed. As it slides down the windshield and trots across the hood, I see another streak out from under the car and disappear almost instantly into the forest. ‘Queenie,’ I think, ‘would be appalled.’
The car starts readily, idling easily, waiting for me to get ready to drive. Chance has always made sure I had a reliable car; he knows how to take care of his woman! The car jolts softly on the many bumps and dips in the dirt road. One-half mile of secluded, almost hidden roadway between our house and the highway leading to town.
I have enough time to stop in at the grocery store and pick up a trashy romance novel to occupy me until I can go to the big bookstore in Lincoln to stock up on reading material. It’s hard not to just grab a buggy and head for the meat department. I think this is the first time I’ve ever been in here for a non-food something. Here’s a trashy romance novel I haven’t read yet. I call them that like it’s a bad thing, but there’s not very many of them that I haven’t read.
The cashier is a high school girl who looks familiar. I respond to her greeting, but try not to give any indication that I recognize her. I don’t want to get into a thing about how we know each other and how we’re doing and what’s up in each other’s lives. I just want to buy the book and be on my way. Fortunately, she either does not remember me or picked up on my I-don’t-want-to-talk signals.
“Paper or plastic?” For some reason this question always messes with me. I always want plastic; I never want paper. But when asked that question my brain stops responding and I have to repeat the question slowly, making sure I don’t get distracted from the word I am on, so I can tell them what I want. It’s really quite ridiculous, but I can’t help that.
My new book occupies the passenger seat, and I make my way through a Rock Bay traffic jam (three cars, two trucks, a tractor, and a motorcycle at the intersection all at the same time) to the Rock Bay Racquet Club parking lot. It’s unusual for a town this small to even have a racquet club, but after Chance did the pro tour for a couple of years and a wealthy Rock Bay resident wanted tennis lessons for his son and daughter, well, a club got built and prospered. It’s been expanded several times over the years. It now has ten outdoor tennis courts and two indoor tennis courts. Handball and racquetball can be play on one of six specially designed courts. The outdoor pool is open from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and the indoor pool is open year round for fitness or parties. The grill is a casual place to eat after a match; or a fun place to meet for lunch or dinner any time.
Chance is waiting for me at the bar. He has his usual beverage of choice, orange juice with nothing added please. The waitress meets us as we sit down at a free table. Within minutes she is bringing me an ice tea and taking our orders. We eat here so often that we know the menu by heart and usually have our order ready before we walk in the door. Chef salad for me, Bacon Cheeseburger for Chance, and Fries to split.
“I have news,” says Chance, his face nearly splitting in two with a smile. “I have been approve for two solid weeks of vacation. It starts tomorrow!”
“Well, there nothing like waiting ‘til the last minute, Chance! What on earth are you going to do for two weeks if you don’t come to work.”
“Well, for five of those days, you and I are going to a resort, by ourselves. We’ll take walks, cuddle in front of the fire, go site seeing, go on a dinner cruise…maybe more than one, if we want.”
“So you’ve already made the plans, without even asking me first?” I’m a little miffed that he is treating me as if I have nothing to do, no commitments to fulfill, like I could just drop everything and steal away for several days in a row. The kicker is he’s right. I have no one to check with, no arrangements to make. I can just pick up and follow my man wherever he goes any time I want – or he wants, in this case.

Scene
This whole morning has been a struggle for me. I got out of bed easily enough because I had to use the bathroom, but after I haven’t wanted to do anything or talk to anyone. I couldn’t make myself eat breakfast, and the thought of swallowing all those pills made me almost sick. I couldn’t even make up my mind enough to just go back to bed, so I’ve walked around aimlessly, or sat staring most of the morning.
The phone has rung three times, but I don’t want to talk to anyone, so I don’t answer it. Someone has left a voice mail but I can’t think clearly enough to figure out how to work the darned thing. It doesn’t matter anyway because I’m not calling anyone back.
I think about reading, but I can’t remember where I left my book, and I can’t remember what the storyline was anyway. Watching TV would be a low-stress, low-cognitive activity. I see the TV, I see the remote control, I see all the buttons on the remote control and feel overwhelmed already.
Queenie is running all around the yard right now, chasing fallen leaves and barking at nothing. Soon I realize I’m still standing here with my hand on the couch, looking out the window, and I have no idea where Queenie has gone. I don’t know what, if anything, I’ve been thinking about. I should go somewhere else, not just stare off into space; so I sit on the couch. I’m sleepy enough to go lay down and nap, but too sleepy to get up and walk to the bedroom.
I just tip my head back on to the cushion of the couch and close my eyes. Tears threaten to surface and my throat feels thick and hot. There’s nothing to be upset about. Life is smooth. We are all healthy. We are all happy….except….we aren’t ALL….happy. I turn my mind off because that line of thinking will get me nowhere but self-pity land. It’s time to concentrate on breathing, so I don’t think about anything else. In…out…in…out…in…out – Gotta let Queenie in! I think I’ll go to the bed and lie down now. I’ll probably be asleep in seconds.
I see by the sun and shadows when I wake that it is after noontime. A deep breath and a deep stretch help me feel ready to try and face the world again. Queenie leaps off her bed to join me as I head toward the kitchen. Perhaps a glass of ice water will help clear the fog that remains in my head. While in the kitchen, I realize that I haven’t taken anything out for dinner, and now, I really don’t care – I’m still not hungry.
The phone rings and the small ache above my right eye sharpens into a stab. Great! A migraine. Fortunately, the medication the doctor prescribed works like magic within about 30 minutes. Once again, voice mail answers the phone; and I down a migraine pill with another full glass of water. Now that the phone has stopped ringing, I wait for the headache to subside some. After a few quiet moments and more deep breathing, I’m heading back to the bedroom to pull the drapes and lay down until the medication kicks in.
“Mom!” I’m awakened by my daughter’s loud cheerleader voice ranging through the house. It must be about four-thirty. Thank goodness my migraine is gone.
“In here, Callie!”
“I knew you were here somewhere because your car was in the driveway,” she sings through the hallway, sounding every bit of perky sixteen-year-old that she is. “What’s for dinner? I need to go to the library this evening, can you take me? Mrs. Frann said I got a one-hundred on yesterday’s test. And Randy wants to know if I can go to the movies Saturday night. What do you think? It’ll be our first official date!”
“Callie, please stop saying everything at once. I’m having a rough day and I just can’t keep up.”
“Sorry, Mom! Want some coffee? That might wake you up.”
Before I can answer she’s clear down the hall and into the kitchen. I guess I’m getting coffee whether I want it or not. My heads spins a little as I stand up. I really need to get something to eat. I’m not sure what we have, but I’ll find something.
I round the corner into the kitchen and smell delicious breakfast blend java. Even though I currently use enough Irish Cream creamer to provide a full day’s worth of calcium, I used to drink coffee black – and breakfast blend was my favorite.
“What kind of stuff do we have for snacks, Callie? I really need to eat something.”
“Well,” she drawls out opening the fridge, “here is some leftover carrot cake, three donuts, a chicken leg and chicken thigh, and something…meatloaf that I think we’d better toss. Does any of that sound good?”
“Carrot cake sounds great, but I need protein. Pass over those chicken pieces.”