Background
Thirty something, Jameson, and seventy something, Iris, meet and form a special friendship.
|
This is a novella that is written in two first person points of view. Each chapter focuses on the point of view of one character. It is labeled at the beginning.
So far, thirty something Jameson Petry lives alone after his wife, Claire, leaves him. He meets seventy something, Iris, by chance and it's the start of a very beautiful friendship.
******************
IRIS
Gertrude and I have lunch at The Patterson Deli once a week. She orders the pastrami on marbled rye, and I order the club on whole wheat. We meet at eleven forty-five to beat the lunch rush. We are predictable creatures. The older I get, the more I latch onto routines.
"Did I tell you I met the nicest young man the other day?"
Gertrude looks up, as if she has just heard something scandalous. "How much younger?"
"Calm down. He's young enough to be my grandson."
She looks slightly disappointed.
"His name is Jameson. Very sweet young man. Had a breathtaking Irish Wolfhound."
"Who makes that? Is it one of those foreign types?"
I laugh. Gertrude doesn't do well outside of her bubble. "It's a dog. A very big dog."
"Like a lab?"
"Much bigger. Makes a Great Dane look relatively small."
Gertrude shakes her head, her lips pursed. "Oof. No thank you."
I take another bite of my sandwich. "He was a sweet boy. I think he had some personal issues going on, but he didn't say."
Gertrude dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin, then she leans in close. After looking from side to side, she whispers, " You need to be careful, Iris. People look for older folks. Try and scam them. I've seen it on television."
"Oh, please. We had coffee and talked for a bit. He didn't ask me for any personal information or ask for money. As a matter of fact, he paid for the coffee. Who knows if our paths will ever cross again." An undeniably sad reality comes over me as the words leave my lips.
"You just be careful. You didn't tell him you live alone, did you?" Gert is like a dog with a bone right now. All that's missing is the naked bulb swinging from the ceiling as she grills me.
"No, and he really didn't ask."
"Good. I worry about you."
"Well, stop. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
Gertrude goes back to nibbling her pastrami on rye. I know she has more to say on the subject, but she knows it's pointless to argue with me. She tells me I'm stubborn, probably the most stubborn person she's ever met.
I sit back, suddenly winded from God only knows what. I just hope Gert doesn't notice. She knows minimal about my health issues. And I'd like to keep it that way.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Just full."
"Ask the waitress for a to go box. Have the rest later."
I nod, trying to remember the breathing exercises the pulmonary therapist showed me. I have an inhaler in my purse if that doesn't help.
Gert watches me, suspicious now. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"It's my damn allergies."
She goes back to eating and starts telling me some gossipy rubbish she heard at choir practice last night. After a few minutes I excuse myself and take my purse with me to the ladies room. Locking myself in the stall, I pull out the inhaler. Two hits and I'm breathing normally. Dr. Chalmers has already told me that I'd be using the inhaler more often as this thing progresses. It'll work ... until it doesn't. I just hope I have the strength to face that day.
*****************
I want eggs for dinner. Today is my late son's birthday. Daniel would have been forty-three, had he lived. I try to imagine what he would have looked like as an adult, but all I can see is the sweet, freckle face eight-year-old in his baseball uniform that day.
That one day that ended the old Iris. And a new one emerged from the cinders.
****************
I set my purse in the top of the small cart at the Piggly Wiggly. These carts hold no more than a handful of items, but that's all I need. I exist on salad, eggs, and the occasional Weight Watchers frozen entree. It's pointless to make a regular meal for one.
Rounding the corner, I'm pleasantly surprised to see Jameson. He's got a hand basket filled with canned goods and a six pack of beer.
"Well, hello," I say. I'm truly happy to see him.
"Oh my gosh, Miss Iris, how have you been?"
"Since Tuesday?"
He grins, a blush coming to his cheeks. "A lot can happen in two days."
"I'm good. Is this dinner?" I point at his basket.
"No. My brother-in-law is coming to my house tonight. We're going to catch up. I haven't seen him in over a year."
"Does he live far away?"
"Far enough, but he and Claire's sister divorced last year. So, he hasn't been around."
"Well, I won't keep you. Have fun."
He shifts the basket to his other hand. "Thank you. Um, are you free for coffee tomorrow?"
"I suppose so," I say.
"Would you like to get together around 10?"
I'm flattered. It's been a while, and I mean a while, since anyone of the opposite sex has asked me out for any reason. "That sounds delightful."
He smiles broadly. "Great. It's a date then."
I fan myself. "I haven't heard the word date in several decades, Jameson. Be careful, I have a weak heart."
He says his goodbyes, then hurries towards the checkout counter.
Too bad Gertrude wasn't here for that little exchange. I'll bet her jaw would have dropped to the floor.
I should probably check the floor for my own jaw because even though it was just a turn of phrase, hearing it made this old broad feel good.
|
