a surrender - 35

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

Soon after I got back, I found out the young woman was now living in the neighborhood. We crossed paths a few times in the weeks that followed. I had started doing grocery shopping for a woman whose activities were limited by bouts of chronic pain, and one day when I dropped off the groceries, the young woman was there. Her name was Heather. She was helping the woman with her house cleaning and laundry. And then I saw her again at one of the weekly community discussions. I don’t remember the topic of conversation, but I remember making an incisive point, boldly—and not very politely—and then Heather, boldly and politely, explained that I didn’t know what I was talking about. That annoyed me, I’m sure. But I only remember being more interested in her.

Heather had also been cleaning the community church every week. Her uncle was the pastor. But then I heard she was looking for some help with that job, and I was still figuring out how I could help out in the community again. So I stopped by her house one day. When she answered the door, she didn’t seem too happy to see me. I started haltingly, and she looked a bit impatient, but I managed to explain that I was offering to do some of the church cleaning. When she realized what I was saying, her expression softened. “Oh,” she replied, with a small smile, “yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

As the weather got colder, I started combining my dog walking with the church cleaning. The border collie loved attacking the noisy vacuum cleaner while I worked, barking madly. It was fun for both of us. That’s what I was doing one day when Heather happened to come in to do her part of the cleaning. For quite a while, we each did our work quietly (except for the loud vacuum and the barking). Then the dog heard something and ran into the kitchen. And Heather came out with him. She was grinning and was apparently done with her work. So I said, “I heard you’re a writer. What kind of writing do you do?” And that question started a very long conversation. She had recently graduated with a degree in creative writing and was working on a novel. Like me, she liked the community and was helping out in various ways, and living in one of the shared households. She was younger than me, but we were closer in age than most of the other community members, the only two young people there at the time. And I had gotten more interested in writing lately. I’d even tried writing some short stories, though they weren’t very good. So we had a lot to talk about. We sat on the floor in the middle of the church for so long, both of us secretly needed to use the restroom badly, but neither of us wanted the moment to end.

Continued...