That's how the light gets in.
—Leonard Cohen
I came to Port Dover to escape my grief over Sylvia's death.
Marnie, Sylvia's best friend, loaned me her cottage as a refuge—it would be a change of scene and hopefully would lesson the pain I felt gazing at familiar places that triggered memories of Sylvia and our life together.
But it's hard coping with even mundane matters like digging out from a freak October blizzard or evading an attractive waitress at a restaurant who just happens to smile at me.
And just when I thought I had a minor victory in snowplowing the driveway, I spotted the waitress from the restaurant who just happened to live next door.
All my reason went out the window and I left the snow blower in the driveway and fled to the safety of the house where I wouldn't have to face my attractive neighbour.
Yeah, so much for minor victories.
But on the other hand, I hadn't totally lost my ability to feel. I rescued a shivering kitten who came scratching at my front door—so, that counts for something.
I wrapped him in the hand-knit throw cover Marnie left on the couch, and it wasn’t long before he was purring.
It was then I noticed he was a she—how unobservant of me.
So, I called her Sylvia because she also had red hair.
And I guess I ended up taking one step forward and two back.
I was still obsessed with Sylvia, but somehow the kitten comforted me.
After eating thr tuna I gave her, she groomed herself before the fire, feeling quite at home.
She gazed up 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, laying her 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 saw by the mantel clock 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 favour 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 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 neighbour.
“I 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.
It's amazing how politeness kicks in even when you're inwardly conflicted.
“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.”
Again, my manners ran ahead of my reason.
“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 here.
I felt my heart open a crack and let some light in.