After Sylvia’s death, I retreated from the world. I wanted no part of day-to-day living. I didn’t think I could go through the motions.
It was Sylvia’s friend, Marnie who persuaded me to come out to Port Dover and spend some time enjoying the late fall weather and lake breezes—she didn’t anticipate a freak October blizzard making me snowbound and adding to my angst by making me feel claustrophobic.
I’ve been trying to decide if I can be claustrophobic and agoraphobic at the same time, and I’ve decided I can. It’s simply an aspect of approach-avoidance.
And maybe that explains why I left my snow blower at the end of my driveway and retreated to the house when I spotted my neighbour.
Now I’m not usually anti-social, especially when it comes to women, but lately I seem to be suffering from the seven diseases that never killed anybody.
I mean where is all this angst coming from? It’s as if I reached into the common bin of pain and ladled out an extra helping of suffering.
There. Is that enough grief? No—not quite. Maybe I’ll just have a few spoonfuls more
Of course it didn’t help that my neighbor was Jill from the French restaurant—the same girl who drew a heart on my bill and a smiley face.
Actually, I’m exaggerating—it was just a heart and her name, but her face was smiling.
And, come to think of it, maybe I hid my face because it was definitely not smiling.
Funny how grief will do that to you—make you slump and stoop, hang your head and avert your gaze.
You can hide your face, but you can’t hide what’s inside. There’s a whole poetry of gesture in body movements and they reflect the postures of your mind.
Still, I can’t believe I dropped everything and ran inside.
I’m back on the couch before the fire—no stereo music to calm me now—just the mesmerizing flames slowly devouring a spar.
Maybe I didn’t need German symphonic music—a little Bach, a little slumber—a little closing of the eyes.
I awoke to a scratching at the door and could tell by the changed light it was late afternoon.
As I tried to adjust to the loss of time, it was obvious—I had enough fugues of my own.
I opened the front door and gazed down upon a shivering long-haired Calico kitten.
He was seeking refuge like me, so I let him in.
I wrapped him in the hand-knit throw cover Marnie left on the couch, and it wasn’t long before he was purring.
I rooted about for something to feed him and found a tin of tuna, and put some out on a saucer with a little bowl of water.
He was off the couch and within minutes had eaten the whole thing up.
Then I noticed he was a she—how unobservant of me.
I called her Sylvia because she also had red hair.
After eating, she groomed herself before the fire, feeling quite at home.
She gazed at me and closed her eyes slowly, in one long blink.
I smiled at her coquetry. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air.
I whispered the Plath quote to her and it pleased her.
She came over and leaped onto the couch and promptly fell asleep in my arms.
Just like Sylvia.
I had to stifle the tears.
Some time later I got up carefully, and laid the kitty back on the throw cover so as not to disturb her.
It’s amazing how comforting a purring cat can be when it’s beside you in a still room.
I opened the laptop and saw it was just past five, which explained why I was famished. I hadn’t eaten lunch.
I lit a fire under the kettle and rooted about the cupboard for something to eat. There was Kraft Dinner but I passed in favor of making my own.
Within the hour I had made a lovely oven-baked macaroni and oil and vinegar salad,
Sylvia was awake and hungry again, but she didn’t want tuna—she wanted Italian. I crumbled a little bit into the saucer figuring she wouldn’t eat it, but she did.
I refused to share the wine though—for her, it was strictly water.
I was about to eat when there was a knock on the door.
I opened it and gazed into the lovely face of Jill, my neighbor.
“Hope I didn’t disturb you,” she said, “I was wondering if you had a phone—mine is out of power.”
“Sure, I have cell phone, you’re welcome to use. “Won’t you come in?”
She smiled and entered the foyer, closing the door behind her.
“You look familiar,” she laughed.
“I get that all the time,” I teased back.
“No, really. You were in the Patisserie the other day—Swiss cheese with French onion soup.”
“Yeah, that would be me—I’m quite eclectic. Tonight it’s Italian.”
“It smells delicious. Actually, I’ve got an electric range and was just going to phone a friend who runs a local plowing service to see if I could borrow his gas generator.”
“You’re welcome to stay for supper. I’ve baked a big macaroni casserole and there’s just me and Sylvia here to eat it.”
“Really? You sure it won’t be an inconvenience? I hope I’m not interrupting a quiet evening with your beautiful date.”
She picked up the kitten and rubbed under her chin. Sylvia purred approvingly.
“You see? Sylvia says she like you. And I’ve got wine and plenty of hot coffee.”
“Oh God, I’ve been dying for a coffee all day—one of my sinful pleasures.”
At that moment I felt the same surge of joy I experienced on the drive out.
I felt my heart open a crack and some light shine in.
