Nic Narrates

A bad day. A slump. A rut. Why is the day so bad? Why the mood so foul? I know why. And I do not want to write about it.

So I call up Boss Lady, or Grandma if you will. She doesn’t recognize my voice at first- despite my best intentions, I call too infrequently. But when I tell her it’s me, it’s as though I can hear her face light up. I can hear her smile. She’s always happy to hear from me. She says, “Well I’ll be!” She says it as though nothing else in the world could have more surprised or made her afternoon. Her granddaughter called her for no reason.

Well, almost no reason. Under the guise of requesting Boss Lady’s rhubarb jam recipe, I sought a bit of sunshine and happiness. A bit of human connection where all others seem to be slackening. I wanted to reach out to the one person who still cries in her sleep for the husband lost, but who wakes up each morning and starts over with what life has given her. I wanted to be reminded that you go on.

Tasked with digging up the recipe and adding a few others for good measure, Boss Lady went on to chat about the latest family gossip. So and So’s knee surgery, Great Aunt You Know’s son’s graduation, the Cousin Twice Removed’s dog that got cancer and had to be put down. Ever the keeper of every family happening and whispering. A matriarch through and through, if we allow.

Before she hung up the phone and returned to her afternoon as planned- a string cheese and juice snack, looking after her post-surgery sister, and painting the wrought iron seat by the backyard crab-apple tree- she asked after the boyfriend. How is he? How does he like his new place? Is he still traveling? How is work?

A few noncommittal “yes’s” and “no’s” and all was politely, if not accurately, skirted. I didn’t tell her about the troubles he’s facing or how it’s taking its toll. I didn’t tell her how I hurt for him, how lonely I feel at the same time. Instead, I merely blanketed my own uncertainty and sadness with throw-away words, poorly expressed “fineness” and “goodness.”

Boss Lady wasn’t done with me though without reasserting her approval, advising I “hang onto him.” She meant well, but each syllable brought a return of my pre-call weariness. The conversation had turned inward on me and I not only saw but felt my own smile wane. There was nothing more to say after that except, “Grandma, I’m trying.”

Filed under: family matters, just say 'when', quiet desperation, so what if i scream?, things people say, wakefulness, work in progress, write on by Nic