Doors Close, Windows Open

Stronger than you Know

"Experience is not what happens to a man. It is what a man does with what happens to him."   Aldous Huxley

"Shorts are fitting loose," Mom said as I got back into the van after a Starbucks stop. My God, this Venti Cappucino tasted good I thought as Mom continued, "Maybe all that running's paying off?"

"Maybe." I had lost about fifteen pounds since moving back. For the first time since my teens, I was not obsessing my weight.  Seemed like the less I thought about it, the more pounds I lost.

"So, what did your sister have to say?" she asked.

I could hear the forced nonchalant air in her tone.  I answered,

"Not much. She had sent a birthday card that found its way back to her, address unknown. She wondered where I was, how I was doing. She and Stephen are attending a conference in Chicago next week and she asked about meeting for dinner. That won't happen this year."

"Well, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why she would call me, of all people, this morning.  Asked where you were. Did she say anything about Eileen?" Mom asked. She still had an inexplicable fascination with the woman who had poisoned my dad's heart, as she claimed.

"No. Last time we had a real conversation, two years ago I guess, she said that Eileen was rotting away in a state-run nursing home. Didn't sound like Gina visits her."

"I don't imagine she would. It's a shame, that whole thing. Darned shame, that's what it is," she said, shaking her head as she turned on the radio. I knew that mom felt bad about not having tried harder with Gina, but Gina was never going to play nice. I gave mom a quick rub on the arm and smiled over at her. "Nothing you could have done, Gina's life wasn't in your hands." She smiled back at me, nodded, and hummed along with some oldies song on the radio.

The question Dr. Soren posed to the class was taunting me, Consider how clinging to your wounds could be getting in the way of fulfilling your calling or potential. Also note anything that, for you, might represent the beloved, what which could serve as inspiration in times of crisis. I couldn't think of anything that represented a beloved. I had lost passion for my work years ago, didn't have hobbies, and didn't feel a calling to anything. I still felt bitter and betrayed. I have given up my best reproductive years to a man who didn't love me. I had wanted to be a mom. But that dream was gone. Now what?

"We're here," mom said, as we she pulled into a parking space. As if I could possibly miss it. As predicted, I had downed the entire coffee during the ten minute drive from Starbucks to Walmart.

Once in the store she said, "I've got to pick up some hardware for Max. Some food too. Could you go to the produce aisle and pick some fruits and vegetables? Then some deli meats you want. Let's meet at the checkout area in twenty minutes, okay?"

"Sure mom," I said and got a cart for my shopping list as she went the other way.

Suddenly, from behind, I heard "Mandy? Mandy Peterson?"

I turned around. It took a few seconds to put the face with the voice. Then it hit me, "Oh wow, Tracey Lindbaum!  How are you?"  There was little chance of shopping at the Walmart that anchored all the small towns sixty some miles northwest of Austin and not run into someone you knew or used to know. Tracey had been a year behind me in school. We had been in National Honor Society and had competed in UIL writing contests together. She was good writer, as I remembered.

"Its Tracey Woods now and I'm good. Been a long time. Are you here visiting your momma?" She asked.

"Sort of. An extended visit you might say," I answered, hoping the inevitable question wouldn't come up.