Some days you wake up without a clue. You think you have the day scheduled, planned, in sync. And then . . . Tiffany happens.
The early morning was mine. All was well. I woke before Suki. Before the sun. Lemon water. Good solid bowel movement. And yoga as the sun was rising. Green smoothie as the cold winter sun made its blessed ascension in pure and lovely silence.
I was prepared to face the rest of the day, even Suki-strangeness with equanimity. Indeed I sat with her, cuppa tea in hand, as she breakfasted on a toasted half slice of bread lightly buttered, fried kipper, and a few sips of Earl Grey; a veritable feast for her. I refrained from quizzing her about anything, just sat in silence and waited for her to speak first, which she never did. She glanced at me several times as though wondering when I was going to pounce on her in my normal way with logistical queries about how she was planning on spending her day. I felt a small squirming thing inside of me just dying to be unleashed into its usual repertoire, but really, it was only a very small twinge. The peace of my early morning rituals was still in deep overlay, and I smiled indulgently when Suki gave me one last glance and took her tea and last few bites of toast and kipper with her into her room, mumbling something about emails. What a queer little person. What a love. Ah.
Perfect. Plenty of time for a brisk walk around our complex. Maybe I would even meet a neighbor and give a smiling nod of good will. As I walked, I tried to be in the moment. The trees. The shrubs. The morning sounds. There were even birds about. Then I started to speculate that my vibrations might be getting lighter and lighter. Indeed, I should start all my weekend days this way and I was bound to experience a significant spiritual shift. Already, I felt much more serene.
At this point, I glanced down out of habit to my watch. It had been 2 minutes. When I looked back up, that's when I saw her. Her car, anyway. No one else has this car. A 1974 Mercedes in mint condition and painted burnt orange, just making a slow, laborious turn into our apartment neighborhood.
Immediately, my vibrations shifted into top gear. I scrambled down an embankment and ran through yards and yards of pine trees, pine cones, and pine needles that covered most of the interior part of our circular complex. I wouldn't have gotten there quicker if I had flown.
I banged on Suki's door and told her to help me get ready for Tiffany. Pitcher, where's the tea pitcher? She claims she knows the difference between fresh brewed and instant, but I found an instant that fools her. Hah! Straighten, straighten, straighten. Throw on the fluffy leopard-print robe and slippers she gave me for Christmas through the mail.
"Suki, get the door! Suki!" Suki was a forlorn little statue in the middle of the living room floor facing the door, eyes wide and unseeing, still wearing her threadbare floral print PJs she would never give up and a sky blue cotton robe that was 3 sizes too big for her. "Never mind, you boffin." I opened the door, and there was Tiffany in all of her over-priced glory. There was the usual greetings, nervous from me and silent from Suki while Tiffany took my favorite chair and the tea I offered, electing to keep her coat on which I took as a good omen toward a short visit. As I took Tiff's hat and gloves from Suki's clammy, trembling fingers, I steadied her and guided her down onto the sofa. She sat there staring at Tiffany for the next 10 minutes as though she were watching a fascinating and frightening TV show.
"I had Dusty follow me in his truck, " Tiffany was saying.
"You did?"
"Yes, that's what I said. . . . Well, I couldn't carry all those boxes in my Mercedes, could I?"
"Boxes." Why were conversations with Tiffany always like this?
"Yes. I detest putting discards in garbage bags. So inappropriate and scrappy-looking."
"Oh. You've been cleaning out your closets again."
"Sharp one, you are. Ah, there's Dusty now. Zoe, give him a hand, will you? Just set the box there by the fireplace for now. That will do."
"Suki, you want to help?" I asked as Dusty and I went toward the door for more. Maybe some fresh air would do her some good. But she was just staring with big doe eyes at Dusty, who broke his usual thick silence with "Hi, Suki. Doin' okay?" She still didn't say a word, although her mouth was open, so I rushed Dusty out in case some of her dignity could still be saved. I could see Tiffany up and wandering about, peering at our bookshelf and nick-nacks. The quicker we got this done, the better.
There were 14 more boxes still in Dusty's pick-up. Tiffany had brought us 15 large boxes of her discarded clothing and who knows what else. I didn't know why I was not seething inside. It could have something to do with my peaceful morning which seemed a week ago by now, but I think it had more to do with being on the fence between feeling sorry for Suki and feeling extremely exasperated with her. Usually, I would have just felt the exasperated part.
Dusty was back to being totally non-verbal while we hefted the boxes inside. Neither of us felt the need for small talk in general, so we gave up trying to chat with each other years ago. Just a quiet and comfortable understanding was enough for us two. Sometimes I wondered about him, though, with Tiff expecting him to always be at her beck and call. He never complained, though; he just said no if he didn't want to. Everyone, including Tiffany, seemed to know that it would be a mistake to try to push Dusty past his "no".
After the last boxes were inside, and Dusty and I had guzzled down some fresh water, he walked over to Suki who was still sitting on the sofa, and said "Well, Suki, it's been awhile. I hope you are feeling better than the last time I saw you. I think you had a sore throat then . . ." His voice trailed off, it being a bit of a long speech for him. It could also have had something to do with the fact that Suki was still just sitting there blinking, her mouth open.
Tiffany had had enough. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Dusty's glass, set it on the table, and said her good-byes. I remembered to collect her hat and gloves from the closet. On her way out the door, I heard her say to Dusty over her shoulder, "Come on. There's still those other boxes to load up and take to Good Will on your way home." Dusty was looking over his shoulder at Suki again, but I couldn't read his expression. Never could. Then they were gone.
And it was back to Suki and me. She was still in her speechless mode, so I got busy with emptying glasses and stowing them in the dishwasher. Finally, she stood up. Her blank expression was giving way to something else. She looked bewildered and sad. Clutching her heart, she ran from the room, saying, "I think something's wrong with my chest. I -I'd better look it up."
I sat on the sofa and tried to catch my breath and remember that lovely peaceful feeling I had earlier. I supposed my vibrational level had not elevated enough to maintain equanimity through the events of the day so far, and it was only lunch time. Suki came out with her mobile phone to stand in the special spot where reception peaked in our apartment. Soon she was telling her Doctor about the funny feeling in her chest and asking for a check-up appointment. As she talked to his sympathetic ear, I could hear her working herself up into a big drama fit, finally convincing herself of an eminent heart attack. That's when I pried the phone from her death grip and had a talk with Doctor Wilbur myself, letting him know that I would like to talk about Suki, but would call on my phone later.
For a while after that, Suki took turns between railing at me and whining about her symptoms which were increasing by the minute. Finally, I could take no more and insisted on finishing my walk. Alone. I made sure I had my key -- and my phone -- with me as I closed the door on my strange little friend.
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