The True Story of a Woman.

 

It would be fairly accurate to say that no one is starting to feel even a bit desparate. Why? Because, when people visit her, they go out of their way to let her know that her version of events is what really matters. For all they know, one of the chairs they sit on during these visits could be due for a major repair. But this is a detail she'd prefer to keep to herself. A particular friend of hers was out of town during a recent stretch and therefore could provide no guidance when it appeared that word got out. Normally she would stay cooped up in one of the smaller rooms, the one which usually smelled like real fur. This was a troubling characteristic for which someone would have to pay dearly, or not at all. The fact is, I'm with her about one or two mornings in your average year. This is when I help her form a not-so-vague idea about something which we're too proud to discuss. I have it on good authority that her late brother used to do work out of Chicago. Still, though, there have been major difficulties that a lot of us have had making things 'add up'.

It's when she calls me, obviously out of breath and in need of a rare skin treatment that I ask her to hold off, for her own good if nothing else. In more 'normal' times, she'd carry small bits of paper with her on her daily rounds, and, if she received any disappointing news, she'd leave one of the paper bits on an outdoor call-box so that future generations would know the meaning of true suffering. I was often required to submit black and white photos of her hands and testify to their accuracy under threat of financial sanction. The way I handled myself gave those in charge the (false) impression that I was an 'unlettered behemoth'.  The night that she was found in a Scarsdale, NY homeless shelter living an alternate life somehow made up for the fact that one of her dishes at a recent affair didn't live up to expectations raised in a local write-up. I used to take her Dad to the movies when he was just a boy. You'd swear that he just wasn't the type of lad to be involved in something like this. I'd swear that he had it coming from the get-go. Major experts in the field have opined that someone in my position could have a significant blind spot when it comes to ceding control to qualified expats.

The one and only time that she threatened to exhibit the telltale signs of remote candor reminded me to question whether I'm really cut out for this kind of hand-holding. And of course, I only meant that metaphorically, since I was repeatedly warned to avoid any actual physical contact with her due to unbidden ramifications. 'Litigious' isn't even the word. There's another one. Word, I mean. But no, I'm just not 'going there', if you don't mind. It's when we settled in to focus on her real problem that I noticed the swelling around her right eyebrow. And, not only that. She seemed on the verge of avoiding a gripping account of her time in the Altoona, PA Veterinary League. Why does it always seem that people who live near major bodies of water have a hard time controlling their functions? Because that's what hit me upside the head as we sat there, feigning interest in foreign policy quandaries. Other than that, there's just no denying that we have a remarkable chemistry, her and me. And, you know what? I think I'd like to make a go of it! Would you be willing to serve on my Committee? The costs are strictly perfunctory. You'll be very sorry if I end up at a secure way-station. That's what they all say. Excuse me.

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