Sometime after lunch, I’m back at the laptop when I see GrannyLizzie enter the Agora, the little icon beside her name morphing into a smiley face, as though to be present on this forum is a pleasure and a joy. I decide to beat her to the punch.
thedoctorisin: Hello, Lizzie!
GrannyLizzie: Hello Doctor Anna!
thedoctorisin: How’s the weather in Montana?
GrannyLizzie: Rainy outside. Which is OK for an indoor gal like me!
GrannyLizzie: How’s the weather in New York City?
GrannyLizzie: Do I sound like a hillbilly saying that? Should I just say NYC??
thedoctorisin: Both work! It’s sunny here. How are you doing?
GrannyLizzie: Today has been tougher than yesterday, to be honest. So far.
I sip, roll the wine around my tongue.
thedoctorisin: That happens. Progress isn’t always smooth.
GrannyLizzie: I can tell that ! My neighbors are bringing groceries to me at home.
thedoctorisin: How terrific that yo’ve got such suportive people around you.
Two typos. More than two glasses of wine. That’s a pretty decent batting average, I think. “Pretty damn decent,” I say to myself, sipping again.
GrannyLizzie: BUT: The big news is that . . . my sons will be visiting me this weekend. Really want to be able to go outside with them. Really really!
thedoctorisin: Don’t be hard on yourself if its not meant to be this time around.
A pause.
GrannyLizzie: I know this is a harsh word, but it’s difficult for me not to feel like “a freak”.
Harsh indeed, and it needles my heart. I drain my glass, pull back the sleeves of my robe, rush my fingers over the keyboard.
thedoctorisin: You are NOT a freak. You are a victim of circumstance. What you’re going through is hard as hell. I’ve been housebound for ten m onths and I know as well as anyone how difficult this is. PLEASE don’t ever think of yourself as a freak or aloser or anything other than a tough and resourceful person who’s been bravev enough to ask for help. Your sons should be proud of you and you should be pruod of yourself.
Fin. Not poetry. Not even decent English—my fingers slipped on and off the keys—but every word was true. Strictly true.
GrannyLizzie: That’s wonderful.
GrannyLizzie: Thank you.
GrannyLizzie: No wonder you’re a psychologist. You know just what to say and how to say it.
I feel the smile spreading across my lips.
GrannyLizzie: Do you have a family of your own?
The smile freezes.
Before answering, I pour myself more wine. It brims at the lip of the glass; I bow my head, slurp it down to high tide. A drop rolls off my lip, down my chin, onto my robe. I smear it into the terry cloth. Good thing Ed isn’t watching. Good thing nobody’s watching.
thedoctorisin: I do, but we don’t live together.
GrannyLizzie: Why not?
Why not, indeed? Why don’t you live together, Anna? I lift the glass to my mouth, set it down again. The scene unfolds before me like a Japanese fan: the vast flats of snow, the chocolate-box hotel, the ancient ice machine.
And to my surprise, I begin to tell her.