“We’re going to begin today on a positive note. I want everyone to share something about their loved one that always made you laugh, whether it be something they said, or did, or maybe something that happened to them. Let’s go clockwise around the circle.” Joel nods his head at the barely-senior man to his left, whose scribbled nametag says “Dave.”
“Oh, um, Susan, my wife, she uh,” Dave pauses to quietly chuckle to himself, “she made this teriyaki noodle stuff and I hated it. It was…bad. But I pretended to love the stuff. I just wanted to make her happy, so I dealt with the one meal that I didn’t like. So she kept making it. Years passed and finally our son ratted me out. He told her that no one liked that teriyaki stuff and she just looked at me with wide eyes. I thought I was in the dog house for sure, but she just smiled and slumped her shoulders forward and said, ‘Thank God! I hate that stuff too! I only made it because I thought you liked it!’ We laughed so hard that night over pizzas that we had delivered.” He sighs and wipes the mix of happy and sad tears from his eyes. Quiet laughs comes from the circle in all directions.
I regard Caroline from across the circle; she is unmoved. She doesn’t smile or laugh, just stares at the floor in front of her. The woman sitting next in the circle begins to tell her story. Everyone laughs at something she has said and I watch as Caroline gets more and more agitated. She’s ready to walk out.
She stands up and dismisses herself from the group without explanation. I glance over to Joel and hold up a finger, letting him know that I’ll be right back. With my purse hanging on my shoulder, I find Caroline leaning up against the building just outside the door. I don’t ask to join her, I just walk over and claim the space beside her. I don’t necessarily need it, but I dig through my purse for the emergency smokes that I’ve made sure to keep around. I pull one from the pack for myself and then flick one out towards her. She glances down at it and then to me.
“Thanks,” she mumbles.
“No worries. It’s my emergency pack. I’ve made sure to keep a fresh pack in my purse since my husband died,” I explain as I cup my hand and light her cigarette for her.
She inhales deeply and relaxes against the brick. That looks familiar.
“People suck,” she mutters. I know it’s her way of explaining why she ditched the group therapy.
“Yeah. They do. Most of the time. But,” I lift my cigarette to my lips and take a drag, letting it burn my lungs before I exhale the smoke, “sometimes people get it right. You know?”
“No.”
“You will. I have a friend named Dawn and she was the first person who didn’t suck after my husband died. It took a while, but I don’t think everyone sucks anymore. Life can suck. People can suck too, but it’s equal parts shitty and good.” I nod, content with my explanation, and we both take another puff of our cigarettes. I dig for a pen and scribble my cell phone number down on the pack of smokes then hand them, along with the lighter, to Caroline. “Here. Just in case,” I explain with a knowing, rueful smile.
Just in case she needs an emergency cigarette.
Just in case she needs an emergency friend who has travelled the same road she’s on.
Just in case.
Her eyes give all the thanks needed and I flick the cherry from the end of my cigarette then toss the filter into the trash can by the door on my way back in to therapy. I can’t really even decide who helped who just now. Seeing her that way, in such a familiar state of being, bolsters my courage to press on. It gives me even more resolve to focus more on the good in my life instead of the parts that suck.
***
July 1, 2013
“Okay, Mrs. Parker, since you’ve already paid in full for this month, service is scheduled for disconnect at the end of this billing cycle, which is in four days. Is there anything further that I can assist you with today?”
“No, that will be it. Thanks.”
“Thank you for calling Go Mobile. Have a nice day.”