Looking Back and Letting Go

It was Sunday. Cecelia lay on the couch, curtains closed. She would have to go back to the office tomorrow and face them. Calling in sick again wasn’t an option. At least she had the rest of the day to wallow in her misery.

The events of last week played on a loop in Cecelia’s brain. Mark called, out of the blue, on Monday to ask her to dinner. She lied and said she wasn’t available until Thursday. On Tuesday she bought a new outfit, on Wednesday she had her nails done. All week long she told her work friends that her high school boyfriend was trying to rekindle the flame; and how, after breaking up with him two years earlier, she had to let him down again.

Of course, two years ago Cecelia was busy dreaming of her independence and finding that happily ever after romance. She had been with Mark for eight years and was so comfortable that she feared missing out on something exciting. Reality was a bit different from her imagination. She’d been on several good dates, a few bad ones, and a couple awful ones. She dated Joey three months before he dumped her, but it was more of a relief. So what if the holidays were a little lonely and she was always at the singles table at weddings? She had a lot of good friends and was on the fast track at work. Just last month she was given a big promotion.

Cecelia was startled by the knock on the door. She was not in the mood for visitors. Maybe it was just a delivery? Another knock. Then a third.

“Cecelia! Cecelia!”

It was Lexi. Cecelia’s best friend had called five times, and sent eighteen texts.

“I know you’re in there! Answer the door or I’m calling the police.”

“I’m coming!” Cecelia yelled back angrily, rolling off the sofa and heading to the door. She knew Lexi wouldn’t go away, and that she wasn’t afraid to call the police.

“What’s your problem?” Cecelia grumbled as she opened the door.

Lexi smiled sweetly, dressed in a pale pink blouse and bright yellow shorts, always with the large frame sunglasses and hair swept up in a perfect updo. The contrast with Cecelia’s baggy grey sweatpants and stained purple sweater, three days in, was stark.

“You’re alive!” Lexi jumped through the door, hugging her friend.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Cecelia was uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t showered since Thursday. Her hair was tangled. Had she even brushed her teeth?

“Is there something wrong with your phone? You haven’t called me back.” Lexi looked around the apartment. It was dark, one dim lamp in the corner, but she could see it was a mess. “Last I heard you were meeting Mark for dinner.”

“I did.”

“And...” Lexi drawled.

Cecelia’s voice cracked, “He brought his fiancé.”

Wide-eyed, Lexi whispered, “Oh.”

“He wanted to tell me before they made a public announcement.” Cecelia rolled her eyes.

“I guess that was thoughtful?”

Cecelia started crying. “It was humiliating. I did not see this coming. I thought he wanted to get back together.”

“That stings,” Lexi sat with her friend, observing tissues and empty chip bags strewn about the room. “But, don’t take this the wrong way, it’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”

“I guess in the back of my mind I just thought he’d always be there, like a backup.”

Lexi nodded, “When was the last time you showered?”

Cecelia just shrugged.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, we can go talk over lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Maybe just a walk then? We could go to the park. Fresh air and sunshine will do you good.” Lexi pulled open the curtains.

"I can’t go out there, there’s pollen,” Cecelia said in defiance.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Lexi wasn’t backing down. “Shower, now. I’ll find some clean clothes.” Looking around the room at the dirty dishes and overflowing trash can she added, “And maybe I’ll work on this mess.”

Thirty minutes later they were in Lexi’s convertible, top down, radio on.

“Better already, right?” Lexi used her most cheerful voice.

“It’s too bright.”

Lexi tried another angle. “Why are you so upset? Is it really about Mark?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t actually want to start things up again, right?”

“No. But I didn’t want to say goodbye forever either.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Lexi asked.

“All I’ve been doing is reliving our whole relationship. He’s just always been my person.”

“But you wanted to find a new person.”

Cecelia began crying again, “But I didn’t – I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Lexi began.

“You don’t understand,” Cecelia sniffled, wiping her eyes. “You have a boyfriend, Elissa got married, Amanda just had a baby for goodness sake. And then there’s work.”

“What happened at work?” this was news to Lexi.

“I told everyone how Mark wanted to get back together.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know!” Cecelia’s frustration was boiling over. “I’m such an idiot.”

“That’s not true,” Lexis assured her. “You might be a little dramatic though.”

“I called in sick on Friday,” Cecelia confessed. “I didn’t want to face them.”

Lexi’s jaw dropped. That was so unlike her friend. “You don’t have to tell them all the details you know.”

“True, but they will ask, especially Charlotte.”

“So what if they do.”

They sat in silence for the rest of the drive to the park, letting the sun soak into their skin.

“Do you think it was a mistake, letting Mark go back then?” Lexi asked.

“Maybe. I thought it was the right choice at the time.”

“It probably was then,” Lexi said, then added, “You’re going to be okay.”

“I know.” Cecelia replied. “This just hurts a bit.”

“Ready to walk?”

“Too much pollen. Let’s go to lunch.” Cecelia smiled. “I’m getting hungry.”

Home Alone

Amanda Smithfield never made a conscious decision to become a recluse. She admired the poetry of Emily Dickinson. But she never meant to imitate Ms. Dickinson’s lifestyle of solitude. Amanda lived alone by choice, and stayed home unless it was unavoidable. 

Maybe the early months of Covid had awakened some latent desire in Amanda to be alone. When the government asked citizens to sequester at home, Amanda was glad to stay in her house and work from the spare bedroom she modified to be her office. 

Amanda was delighted when she learned about Walmart+ free home delivery. She gladly paid the $100.00 fee. She no longer had to get out to get the food and other items she needed. She canceled doctor appointments and chose not to return to church services. The mail carrier in her neighborhood delivered mail to mailboxes near the front door as a courtesy to the older residents in the neighborhood who couldn’t safely walk to the curb to get their mail. This arrangement suited Amanda just fine. 

Amanda lived in a modest two bedroom, one bath white frame house on a small lot in what was once an upscale but now aging neighborhood near the university. Amanda had moved back in with her parents after graduation because they were getting older and needed help. She was the only child of John and Margaret Smithfield. After they died only a few days apart during the pandemic, their daughter inherited the house and the rest of the modest estate. 

Perhaps it was the profound loneliness of making all the funeral arrangements by herself. Maybe her grief enveloped her in a solitude that no friend could penetrate. When other people their age grew tired of being stuck at home and began to get out, Amanda was content to do her work, care for the house, and spend her evenings reading books. She declined summer invitations to go to the lake, citing the heat. She couldn’t go to dinner in the winter because it was too cold. 

Amanda lived in solitude for months. She never had many friends, and she had broken her connections to almost all of them by refusing invitations and allowing no visitors to come to her home. 

One fine spring day, Amanda’s refrigerator malfunctioned. It was only two years old, but she considered ordering a new one instead of calling a local appliance repairman. But even if she did that, she would have to interact with the delivery people. So she called a number she found in her mother’s old address book. The listing in her mother’s handwriting said, “Ron Harman, appliance repair.” She called the number. 

“Appliance Repair. This is Ron. Can I help you?” 

“Yes, I hope so. This is Miss Smithfield. I need your help with my refrigerator. It’s not cold enough and I’m about to lose all my food.” 

“Smithfield? On Barclay Drive? I remember you, Mrs. Smithfield. I was out there a couple of years ago when your stove element burned out. I’m in your neighborhood and can stop by soon. Will that be ok? ” 

Amanda hung up the phone, terrified. What had she done? What was she going to do? 

The doorbell rang in less than 30 minutes. For the first time in a long time, Amanda went to the door. And there he was, an older version of himself. But it was him, Ronnie Harman, once the cutest boy in their class. 

His surprised expression matched Amanda’s. “Amanda? Is that you? How long has it been ? Since we graduated? I just talked to your mother a little while ago. Something about her refrigerator?” 

“Yes, Ronnie, it’s me. I called you. Mom and Dad passed away a few months ago. This is my house and my refrigerator now. Come in.” 

They talked about school days and people they’d both known. Ron quickly identified the problem with a relay in the refrigerator and repaired it in a few minutes. 

Amanda had let a man into her house and engaged in conversation, like a normal person. He was easy to talk to, and she had not cut the exchange short, and she had not run away. She enjoyed herself. 

“Amanda, I’m glad we got to talk today. Do you have time to go out for some coffee?”

And then Amanda’s fear came racing back. Reflexively she made up an excuse why she couldn’t go. It was spring. It wasn’t too hot or too cold. So she said, “Oh, no. I can’t go out there. There’s pollen. I’m terribly allergic to this oak pollen.” 

Ron knew a feeble excuse when he heard one. He didn’t press. He gathered up his tools and told her, “Ok, You’re all set. No charge today. I was so glad to talk to you. If you ever change your mind about that coffee, let me know. Here’s my card. I hope you’ll call. ‘Bye, Amanda.’ 

Later that afternoon, Amanda was reading her devotional. The text was from Ecclesiastes 4. The phrase that jumped off the page was verse 11: “Two are better than one.” She finished the paragraph about how two can help each other up when they fall and keep each other warm in the cold. She blushed a little when she read that. 

Something inside her softened, and she wept. Were these words from God, on the very day she’d talked to an old school friend and then rejected his kind invitation? The loneliness she’d denied for so long welled up in her heart. She picked up her phone and dialed before she lost her nerve. She got voicemail. She left a message. 

“Hi, Ron. It’s Amanda. I’m feeling much better now. I’d like to have that coffee with you if the offer is still available.” 

Ron returned the call soon. They agreed on 4:00 the next day. And for the first time in a very long time, Amanda Smithfield looked forward to going out of the house and having a conversation. 

Pollen

Charlotte hated going outside in spring.

It was Saturday, and her father was working. She was free to do as she pleased. There wouldn't be any arguments.

She put on some jeans and a long-jacket, so nothing will get on her skin. She stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the mask over her head, fastened the clasps with practiced precision. Her father ordered it for her custom made, as he always has since she was a child, and it cost a pretty penny. It never quite fit against her face.

Charlotte tugged on her gloves, put on a thick waterproof backpack, and stepped out of the house. She stopped by their elderly neighbor's cottage and knocked lightly on the weather-beaten door.

"Mrs. Badgers?"

The old woman's curtains were drawn tight, as always in the spring.

"Charlotte, is that you?" Mrs. Badgers answered.

"Yeah, I'm heading into town. Wanna go for a walk? Anything you need from the market?"

A laugh and dry cough rattled before Mrs. Badger's voice wheezed out. "Oh, you sweet thing. But no, no—I can’t go out there, there’s pollen. And my new respirator mask hasn't shown up yet."

Charlotte was appalled. "But you ordered it three weeks ago!"

"They're say next Tuesday," she complained. "Can you believe it? Don't worry about me dear. Got plenty to tide me over. Enjoy your day."

Charlotte went on her way again. She waved at another neighbor and passed by Mrs. Vance's cottage. The older woman was sweeping the front porch clean... and not wearing a mask. The other neighbor looked straight at Mrs. Vance with their blank, masked face and hurried away.

Charlotte walked up to the porch. "Morning, Mrs. Vance."

"Almost noon, actually," Mrs. Vance replied. "Oh, stay right there. Got something for you."

Mrs. Vance let the broom fall to the ground and rushed into the cottage. She returned with a picnic basket.

"Make sure he eats more," she instructed. "I saw his lunch this morning. Not nearly enough."

Charlotte nodded dutifully. "I'll stuff it into his face if I have to."

---

Every villager wears a mask in the spring. Everyone except the Vances. No one wanted to breath in the pollen. Guests had to wash in the mudroom before entering a house. Business slowed down at the local restaurants. Children awkwardly tried to play, fully covered from the sun.

Charlotte heard that some people outside the village liked to pick flowers and put them in vases in their homes. If only. Probably would've made her house look cozy.

The picnic basket was lighter than she expected. Or perhaps, she was getting stronger carrying it to the river. She already knew there were sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, homemade potato wedges, a thermos of iced lemon tea, and a pair of shiny apples.

Charlotte hiked the usual trail through the woods. She stopped and adjusted her grip on the basket, then glanced over her shoulder. No one else around. No crunch of twigs underfoot. Just tweeting birds, squirrels darting around. She exhaled, fogging the inside of her mask, and kept going forward.

Leo was right where she knew he’d be: perched on a flat rock by the riverbank. His auburn hair was free and his face bare. Never a mask since the day he was born.

The sight sent a strange pang through her chest.

"Leo, I'm here. Your mom told me to bring you lunch."

He greeted her with a smile and put down his sketch book. "Hey Charlie... you're early." He frowned. "I already got lunch."

He indeed had lunch—some sad leftover chicken salad with a protein drink. 

"Fine." Leo opened the basket.

Charlotte took a seat beside him on the rock. And then, she unclasped her mask and tugged it off. The cool air caressed her sweaty face, and she wriggled free from her long jacket.

Leo stared for a moment and shook his head. "You can't keep this up forever."

"It's only during spring," she argued. "No one comes out here during the spring."

"The park ranger does," Leo reminded her.

"I know when he does, so it's fine."

The roast beef sandwiches and potato wedges were delicious.

"You can always follow me over to Providence," Leo offered, mouth half-full. "Once you graduate. Or just take a GED and get it over with."

Charlotte sighed and bit into her sandwich. Leo had been nudging her toward leaving for months, ever since he’d been accepted into an art program on scholarship.

The boy wound up with more opportunities than anyone else in the village, simply because he’d never been tied down to its rules. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

"There isn't much restrictions without masks," he told her. "Even better than NYC and Chicago."

Charlotte chewed slowly as she weighed Leo's words.

"It's not that simple," she said at last, licking a crumb from her lip. "My dad—"

"Doesn't control your destiny," Leo interrupted. He pours her some tea into the thermos cup. "Be honest. You wanna spend the rest of your life here?"

"Well, no..." she hesitated. "But it's home."

"Planning to open that bar at home?" he challenged.

She had dreamed about owning her own bar ever since her father sat her on a stool in front of those shiny bottles on the shelf. But opening a new bar in the village wouldn't work. There were already two in the village--a dive and a fancy one at the inn. And they were both practically empty during pollen season, a good quarter of the year.

She pictured years spent pouring drinks for masked patrons who'd shuffle in, wipe down their seats with sanitizing cloths, and leave after a quick fix. If she could actually make any money at all.

"They also have a bartender school there," he added triumphantly.

Charlotte blinked. Once, twice, three times. She put down her sandwich in defeat.

"How hard's the GED?"

"Kinda hard," he replied. "But there's practice tests for that."

Charlotte spotted a fluff of pollen in her hair and groaned.

"Dad's gonna kill me."