Her friend, Denise, was coming over for tea. It was times like these that she most dreaded. Sipping, sitting at her kitchen table, chatting about William and Bill Jr. and their Tire Company or about Diane and her three young boys. It was times like these that she became most aware of her old age, the scarcity of time that remained. It was ever more troubling because she knew why it made her so aware. Hadn’t she talked with Denise over tea hundreds of times, hadn’t she mentioned Diane each day this week. Her whole life had become habit. She knew what she would do at every moment of the day and she knew exactly how she would respond when Denise inevitable brought up Bill Jr.’s expensive new car. This, once she finished her bit of gossip about her new neighbor who had just rooted new, young evergreens into the earth that would inevitably stretch their bristling arms out into uncharted, previously unknown space. The sapling would grow into this world bravely, yet not without confrontation or rejection, for its arms were already intruding over Denise’s property line, or so she said. It was at these times that she felt a lack of free will, a death of her creativity. There were limits to what she could say, to what she could bring up, and not just with Denise. She hadn’t conversed about anything meaningful since her husband died ten years ago. Denise had wanted to talk to her then, but she just didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of talking and getting excited about life and trying to make it better when she considered herself so near to death as well. So she stuck to agreeing with her friends, saying what they wanted to hear, bringing up topics that she despised talking about just because she felt obligated to do so. She even stuck a smile on her face, no sense letting her friends in on her misery. She felt trapped within herself, and for this she blamed her choices throughout life and the ways she had shaped her personality. She didn’t have the energy or the motivation to see anything in a new light anymore. She had been growing weaker; getting a shower had become exhausting. She had been skipping them lately and since then she began to detect all the more a sour scent of decay.
Denise would knock on the door soon, three light taps. Until then she would continue to sit at her table and clip the Sunday morning coupons. She was not looking forward to Denise’s arrival, but she allowed herself, as she had been doing more and more, to imagine how her life would proceed over the next hour or so. She wished that she wouldn’t do this because it made her feel somewhat sickly, like she was messing with God’s business, or throwing a wrench in Nature’s intricate design, but she couldn’t restrain herself. It was the only thing left in her life that made her feel something even if it wasn’t a particularly good feeling. She imagined Denise sitting across from her, dunking her tea bag and clanging her cup with her spoon. The image came into her mind so clearly she was startled. It felt so realistic that she was unsure if she hadn’t really just seen her friend or glimpsed the future. At the same time, however, it felt so fake and dreamlike that she wondered if she had drifted off. Her body had continued to cut and sort out the coupons on its own. Maybe she had gone too far this time, pushed her mind over the edge. She began to feel nauseated and considered resting in her bed. But she didn’t want to call Denise to cancel their tea because it would cause her to become curious, concerned and all the more eager to chat than ever. So she struggled up out of her creaking chair and began to wash a dirty plate, a glass and a bit of silverware.
****************************************************************************
Denise was talking about Bill Jr.’s rude demeanor when he was on the telephone. Denise asked her if she had ever noticed. She answered with only a neutral look and raised her eyebrows. Denise continued her talking. The tea with Denise was as she knew it would be. There was nothing new to see or hear. This was what she dreaded. She began to become as aware of her own presence, sitting in her chair, blowing on her hot tea, as she was of Denise across from her. The painted white walls seemed to close in on her and she felt muggy. But in the next moment they spread far away creating a cold, quiet atmosphere. The air seemed to gain substance and gravity pulled at the skin on her face. While Denise talked, she had ample time to look around and observe her kitchen, her white and black stove, her glass fruit and even the outside through her glass sliding door.
She had reached her final point of view or mood or whatever you want to call it, she didn’t know. But she did know that she was done changing, her self had finally settled. She wasn’t sure if she had given in, given up, in some way failed or if she had finally accepted life for what it always had been and always had to be. She was struck with a question and in this final condition she was in it seemed that only one question and only one set of opposing answers could occupy her attention. The questions could change and of course with them the answers but there were only ever the three things in her mind. There was no conflict, no frustration. Her mind no longer harbored the sense of fear. She truly was living at each moment.
She looked at Denise who was still talking about Bill Jr. and his future in the Tire Company, his benefits package, some prospective new business. Every facial expression Denise made appeared to her as absurd, full of contortion, rejection, denial. Every time she looked at Denise she found herself surprised to see her move like seeing a person dead in a casket suddenly open his eyes and roll them at you, as if he found you silly for standing over him with your hands locked. And so she stood up and left the table and without saying a word to Denise went outside through the glass sliding door and took a walk under the summer sky and the bird-song green trees.