“Because she’s old and alone, and she could use some company,” I replied.
Dad sat quietly, considering. He’d been weird around me ever since my office visit. I don’t know if what I said hurt his feelings or forced him to confront the truth. I felt loads better after saying it out loud, and it didn’t hurt the way I expected. I thought I’d just be another one of those girls with Daddy issues, and I was fine with it. I think part of me was tired of trying to prove my goodness, so I stopped. But I made sure to tow the line carefully. I wouldn’t be overtly rude or disrespectful. I couldn’t risk my parents taking my car away. But I decided I simply wouldn’t share my life with them anymore.
“I suppose you could visit her, if she wants,” Dad said finally.
With Dad’s blessing, I started visiting Fanny Burken. I know that sounds weird. Why would a seventeen-year-old want to spend time with an old lady? Truth be told, I had few friend options at the moment, and I also wanted to check up on her and her light bulbs. And if I’m being completely honest, I wanted someone to talk to. I quickly learned that there was nothing little old ladyish about her. She was sharp and witty and spunky.
On this particularly low Monday afternoon, I decided to spill my guts.
“Fanny, I’m an ex-con,” I began.
“That’s fantastic!” she cried. “So am I.”
“Excuse me?”
“I had a bit of a shoplifting problem in my thirties,” she explained.
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all. I shoplifted everything. Cigarettes. Magazines. Diapers. Gum.”
“Diapers?”
“It was a whole big mess. I was lonely and mad at my husband.”
“Did you actually go to jail?” I asked.
“Well, no. I could have, but I got community service instead. Who’s gonna put a sweet, pretty little thing like me away in a nasty old jail?” she asked, then mumbled, “Suckers.”
“Fanny!”
She giggled and poured my tea.
“I hate tea, by the way,” I said.
“Well, a social grace you’ll just have to get used to. You drink tea when it’s offered, and you serve tea when people visit.”
“That’s an English thing,” I argued.
“That’s a good hostess thing, missy,” she replied. “Sugar? Milk?”
I shrugged, and she plopped three sugar cubes in my teacup. No milk.
“Well, I really did get put behind bars,” I said.
“For what?”
“Holding up a convenience store with a tranquilizer gun,” I replied. “While I was high on cocaine.”
“Cadence, drugs are bad,” she said. She didn’t reprimand me for the robbery.
“I know. It was one time. And I wasn’t holding the tranquilizer gun.” I took a sip of tea. It was so sweet it made my teeth ache.
“Then why did you get in trouble?” Fanny asked.
“Because I was there. And high as a kite,” I replied.
“Dear me,” she said. “Did they hurt you in jail?”
“No, but there was an officer there who hated my guts. I cleaned a lot of toilets.”
“How long were you there?”
“Ten months. I was pretty much there my entire junior year of high school,” I said.
“What about the other girls?” Fanny asked.
“I kept to myself. The tattooed, pierced broads really scared me,” I said, and Fanny laughed.
“You said ‘broads’,” she chuckled. “I like that.”
I attempted another sip of tea. My teeth screamed.
“I’m sorry, Fanny, but this tea hurts,” I said, grimacing.
“Well, I’ve never heard that used to describe tea,” she said.
“My teeth. The sugar,” I explained.
“Ohhh,” she said. “Another cup? No sugar?”
I shook my head. “Got any water?”
She left the table and filled a glass with tap water.
“We’re not fancy in this house,” she said. “No bottled water. No filtered water. This is what you get.” She placed the glass in front of me.
“I’ll take it,” I said, smiling, then took a sip. “Fanny?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think love is a choice or a feeling?”
‘That’s a peculiar question,” she said. “Are you in love with someone?”
“I don’t know yet. That’s why I’m asking you,” I replied.
“All right then. I think love is both,” she said.
I furrowed my brows. “Can you explain?”
“Well, I think that initially, it’s a feeling. You’re attracted to certain people on a more chemical, emotional level.”
“That’s deep,” I replied.
“Oh, just wait. I’ve got more,” she said, chuckling. “But once you declare your love for that other person, and vice versa, the real work begins, because butterflies don’t last forever.”
“They don’t?”
“Honey, if butterflies lasted forever, do you think there’d be divorces and breakups and heartache?”
“I guess you’re right,” I said.
“And that’s when love shifts from a feeling to a choice,” Fanny explained. “I remember a time in my marriage when I had to confront that realization.”
“You do?”
“Vividly. I was cleaning my husband’s piss off the toilet, and I thought to myself, ‘Okay, the butterflies are definitely dead, so now I have to make a choice to continue loving this man.’”
“That sounds so . . . depressing,” I replied.
“No, it’s not. I’m sure he came to that realization one day when he discovered that all of a sudden, I’d gained thirty pounds.”
I giggled.
“People grow and change. You have to choose to grow and change together. It doesn’t mean the feeling isn’t still there. You just have to work at it a little harder.”
“Like giving CPR to the butterflies?” I asked.
“Precisely. And some will come back to life. But it isn’t easy,” Fanny said.
“Why go to all the trouble?” I asked.
She smiled. “Well, I guess you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Some people are serial daters for life because they only want to experience love as a feeling. Never a choice. I can’t fault them for that, and I don’t think badly of them. But there’s something about sharing your world with one other person, growing old with him, making memories. I guess you call that intimacy. You can’t really have that if you bounce from person to person.”
I nodded.
“Now, who are you in love with?” she asked.