Then (and I wonder if you will recall this) then you told me about your roommate going out with a boy she really liked for the first time. It was a chilly fall day and they were in his car and she passed gas. And she told you she quick rolled down the window and acted like she just needed some air but unfortunately it was too late. That incident kind of spoiled the mood and he never did ask her out again and she felt real bad because she thought he would always associate her with farting. You wanted to know did I think that was fair. I said well of course not. You said I don’t think so either. But then we both busted out laughing. Oh poor Kay, you said.
You sent me letters about jobs you had after you graduated, and then about Jonathan, including after your first date with him when you said you thought you’d met The One. And you told me he was real precise the way he cut up an apple for the two of you to share and you liked that. You told me he had the gentlest touch and was quick to smile and was patient and a good listener. I remember thinking, My, she’s found a good one. Course your most recent letters talk about your frustrations with him and your thoughts about divorce and that hurts me bad Ruthie and I’m sure it hurts you two as well. I guess you can’t have a marriage without hurt and you’ll surely seewhat I mean when I tell you about what happened between Terrence and me, that secret I kept for so long.
But that day when you were little and I was telling you the story I had to quick think of why a pizza might be lonely, but I did it. Children make you think of things you never would have thought you could conjure up, don’t they? You would know now, having children of your own. And now I’ve got to just go and set a spell and think about your children who will be steamrollered if you do go through with it. Divorce. I don’t mean to make you feel bad, I’m just telling you my true and whole feelings, like we always have.
Flo is sitting in the living room looking out the window at the rain. She took a short walk before the storm started and was charmed by a collection of toys some child had put at the base of a tree. It was almost like a deconstructed dollhouse. Flo saw that in one room, there were two figures standing face-to-face, as though engaged in serious conversation. One was a purple bear wearing a sundress and a red ribbon on top of her head. No shoes, Flo was happy to see. Keep a link to being wild! The other was an angel, white wings, white robe, and even white hair.
Flo stared at the two figures for a long time. She thought it was so interesting that a child would think of this, something recognizable from Earth talking to something representing that other realm, one that is unknown but that is nonetheless depended upon by so many.
She remembered the time after that terrible secret about Terrence was revealed, and they talked about what it had meant when it happened, and they talked about what it meant now, and Flo thinks they were both aching and afraid. But they were talking. And after they fell silent, Flo made up a movie in her head about going to an empty church and sitting in a pew and staring up into the face of a statue of the Virgin Mary, asking for help in making a decision. And she got help. Maybe it was from the Virgin Mary. Maybe it was from her own self. But she got help.
Now the rain stops, and the sun comes out. A million rainbows. She thinks of Ruthie, and she thinks of Teresa, and she thinks of all she might still have time for, and she is happy.
After Terrence died and I finally felt like eating again, I used to set myself up fancy. Now, by fancy I mean using dishes with personality. A heavy coffee mug with a green stripe around the top, that was Terrence’s cup. And I found some coffee mugs in a thrift store years back that ended up beingmycups. They are Mr. Rooster and Mrs. Hen. On the hen cup, there is a little baby chick round the other side. Oh, it’s sweet, just pecking at the ground. I wonder if the artist had the hen all done and then got a little twinkle in their eye and thought hold on, I’m going to put a surprise on here. You will find those chicken mugs near the front of the cabinet on account of I use one just about every day.
What else. All the ironed napkins I have folded in the drawer of the dining room buffet, I don’t guess you’d want them. If you don’t iron them they look like they’re fresh out of the rag bag, but it seems like no one irons anymore. It’s funny how that happens, things falling out of favor, and these days to hell with wrinkles in your clothes, no one cares. No time to iron, everybody says, who has time to iron?
I had time. I moistened the clothes, I used a coke bottle with a sprinkler top, and then I rolled them and put them in the refrigerator in a plastic bag. Come time to iron, I turned on the radio to Arthur Godfrey for those years when he was on, and I set up the board by the window for double entertainment. Wouldn’t sit down to iron ever, still don’t, though theonly thing I iron now is my pillowcases and hankies. I don’t guess people want to iron cloth napkins, maybe they don’t even use them. But maybe you could at least have a look at them before you pass them by, the pretty colors and the lace. Some have birds or flowers and some you’ll see are only for Christmas.
I’m thinking if it comes that I can’t stay here, if I have to go somewhere, I hope it will be a hospice place. I understand they are not so afraid of dying in those places, and they have windchimes in the trees outside the building and candles in the lobby and people will come to your room and strum on guitars for you. And also they will read aloud to you, which would be my pick. Read me a story and I’m not hardly here anymore.
“Am I disturbing you?” Teresa asks.
“Not at all,” Flo says, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”
“Well, I’ve got Flash. I was walking him. Would you like to sit out on the porch?”
Flo grabs a sweater from the coat tree stationed by the door and they sit down in the rocking chairs. Flash lies down on the rag rug.
“Seems like he’s pretty used to that leash now,” Flo says, and Teresa says, “You should have seen him five minutes ago. Pulling at the leash like a whirling dervish. But I won.” She sighs.
Flo waits a beat, then asks, “You okay?”
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“For…” She laughs. “I don’t know.”
“You can talk about anything you want with me, Teresa.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I talk about anythingIwant to?” Flo asks.
“Of course.”
“All right. Let’s us talk about love.”
“Oh, jeez,” Teresa says. “That again. All right, let’s talk about it. Let me ask you, what exactly do you mean by ‘love’?”
“Oh, you know, you meet someone—”
“There’s a lot of different kinds of love,” Teresa says. “For animals. For art. For travel. For solitude. For reading. For fudge.”
Flo says, “I think you know I’m talking about people love. Loving a person. And them loving you back.”
“Well, I love my clients. And they love me back. And it’s asafelove.”
