Deaf Ears
Posted on April 8, 2008
Filed Under Blogroll, bat-ass crazy, bitching and moaning, dogs, marriage | 11 Comments
As they say, it’s got to get worse before it can get better. (Remind me. Who the fuck is the ‘they’ who said that. I’d like a word with them and those choice mots would be sharp and scolding.) As is typical of Monday, today was a shit storm of a day. (Can you tell by all the cursing and the parentheses?)
I’d like to hit the start over button and if I were to do so I would choose not have a vituperative fight full of insults and finger pointing concerning the personal finances and the state of the Madmarriage union over lunch. I would not go to the mailbox and receive my annual rejection from the BU Writer’s Workshop and I would not pack myself into the car and drive over to public housing to coax Gladys into paying her April rent. Actually, to be honest, Gladys was the highlight of my day. I called her to tell her I’d be there just after 1 p.m. She made coffee. She was dressed and pert and waiting for me at her kitchen table. I needed a cup of black coffee (she claims the neighbor’s stole her milk) like a jumpy, caffeinated, nausea inducing bullet to the head but I couldn’t say no to Gladys who had brought out her silver plated sugar bowl and set the table in anticipation of my visit. I brought Gladys a nice thick slice of the chocolate cake I made on Sunday. It was a desperate and shameless attempt to curry favor and, I hoped, a way to deter her from cursing at me and accusing me of stealing her china.
But the gesture was largely unnecessary as Gladys was in a much better place this visit. She had the calendar turned to the proper year and the proper month. She was coherent and full of stories about the life she once led in rural Vermont. She shared with me the fact that April makes her particularly sad as it is the time of year she thinks about the brother that she lost when he fell through the ice on a spring pond. He was her little brother. He was only seven when he died. And some of her tales were happily poignant, like the memories she shared of milking and herding the cows on her father’s farm. Gladys informed me that she likes cows. Gladys also added that she really loves dogs but can’t trust herself to keep one. According to Gladys, “dogs bark too much and mess their pants” and are otherwise a nuisance. She prefers other people’s dogs, stray dogs she encounters on her walk to the store to get cigarettes. Gladys enjoys dogs from afar. All the more reason for me to think that Gladys, in her more lucid moments, is very, very wise.
Because Gladys can’t hear at all, I just sat across from her and listened and nodded appropriately. When it came time to force Gladys to write her rent check I anticipated a battle, some struggle that included details about her imminent move to Florida and her good for nothing daughter and the biddies down the hall that steal her romance novels, but she was agreeable and pleasant and without any ado dashed off a check to cover April’s rent. I tucked the rent check into my pocket and gave Gladys a huge hug. I told her, “Gladys, you and the coffee and the important chat, have made my day just a little bit brighter.” She couldn’t hear me but it felt important just to say it aloud even though it fell on deaf ears.
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