The sunlight streaming in makes the dust dance. Dust in the sunlight has fascinated me since I was a child; the way something so dirty can sparkle and become magical in the right light. I glance around my office, seeing the disarray and notice that my orchids are dying. The petals are wilting and the water has turned brown.
"No amount of sunlight can make that pretty" I sigh and pick up the vase to throw them away. The vase slips from my hands and lands, in pieces, on the floor.
"Shit!" I bend down to pick up the pieces and feel the sting as glass slices my hand. Blood pools and seeps onto the cuff of my white button-down. In that moment, it's all too much . . .
The dead orchids . . . .
The broken glass . . . .
The blood signaling another trip to the dry cleaner.
Just one more thing to add to an overflowing to do list.
"When did my life become so automatic?" I scream to nothing, feeling safe to lose it locked behind closed doors in a now empty office. I take a moment to wonder what my co-workers would think if they saw me lose it? Most likely they'd laugh and ask me if I penciled in a nervous break down on my calendar.
Just then the phone rings and I attempt to grab it while holding my now blood covered hand.
"We need to meet for coffee. It's been too long."
How is it, even after all these years, her voice can still calm me, bring me to some place close to level?
"I don't know. I'm so busy . . . . "
I let the words trail off, knowing from the tone of her voice she wasn't accepting no for an answer.
"Give me 20 minutes. I broke a vase, I have a mess to clean up."
I don't tell her that the mess is me.
"Twenty minutes. Don't be late."
I run to the bathroom, wash off my hand, thankful the bleeding has stopped, wrap it, and throw the shards of glass in the trash.
I walk into our favorite coffee shop, the one with the perfectly broken in leather chairs and she waves me over. She's ordered my coffee. I reflect for a moment how nice it is to have that one person who knows when you need someone to know how you like your coffee.
I plop into the chair, sigh, brush my hair out of my face and close my eyes.
"Bad day?"
"Aren't they all anymore?"
She sips her coffee and smiles. Her silence is reassuring.
It's also nice having someone who knows when to say nothing.
"My orchids were dead. I was going to throw them away, dropped the vase and cut my hand."
I realize I sound like a petulant child, but I can't help it. That's how I feel today. Cranky.
"Is that all?"
I blow on my coffee, take a sip and sit it down. I pull my legs under me, bending forward and putting my head in my hands.
"How is the family?" I don't want to talk about me, not today. I just want to listen.
"Great. That's why I called. We're moving."
I stare at her, no words to say, vaguely hearing references to promotions, across the country, three weeks.
"But you can't. I mean . . . what?"
"You know things have been rough around here with his company. The project he is working on is about to end. The offer is too good to pass up. I thought you'd be happy for us?"
"I am. I just . . . . "
I need you here.
I let the sentence remain unfinished even though I no longer feel like a petulant child but a toddler about to run head first into a temper tantrum. My inner child is screaming and kicking her little fists, but I reign her in and remain calm.
"Who will I have coffee with?"
She laughs at this and I want to be angry at her insensitivity. In fact, I am a little. But I realize how silly it sounds, wanting to hold her back so I don't have to drink coffee alone.
"Michelle, your co-workers, your neighbor, the people who are here, who have been coming here as long as we have. You're not near the loner you pretend to be."
But they don't get me like you do.
"Yeah, maybe. But my co-workers have lives of their own. Families, one just got married, another is on her way. I'm the one with no one to go home to. The one who stays late at the office. They probably think I sleep there."
"You've always done this, you know. Hide when you get hurt. Hibernate away. Then you get angry when people don't come to you. Have you ever thought maybe you need to go to them. What's the worst that can happen?"
"They say no."
"Is that all?"
I hate when she does that, minimizes something so large. I understand why she does it, but I still don't like it. Today, I just want to stew and she's not making that easy.
"Can't I just be pissy today?"
"Sure, if that's what you want. But is that how you want one of our last coffee dates to go?"
"I saw him yesterday, with his new girlfriend. Well, possibly fiance. She was wearing a pretty big ring. He was buying her orchids. Exactly like the ones he used to buy for me. He brushed the hair out of her eyes, just like he did with me. Almost everything was the same . . . except for the ring. I never got a ring. He never even asked me if I preferred gold or silver. But she got a ring. It's funny to me that I still buy myself orchids. Silly to buy a flower for the memories. Maybe I should buy a different kind of flower."
She smiles, "Tiger lilies are pretty."
I can't help it, I start laughing. realizing how ridiculous and spoiled I sound, mourning something, someone, that never actually was anything.
"I don't miss him; I miss what he did for me. And, I don't know, maybe I'm scared I'll never have that again."
I run my finger over the rim of the coffee cup, enjoying the silence; lost in my own thoughts. I've always appreciated how she lets me do that, disappear into myself, not pushing for words. I look up at her, tears in my eyes.
"You know you have to download Skype now. You're not getting out of our coffee dates that easy."
It's time to go . . . again. These times never last long enough even though I know two hours have passed.
She reaches out to grab my hand, a gentle squeeze.
"You're going to be okay. You are okay. You know that right?"
"Yeah, today is just a bad day. I'll be fine tomorrow."
We stand up and she hugs me. I squeeze a little harder this time, wishing for a way to keep her here, while also knowing I can't.
"Come by for dinner some night, please. I'll cook."
"You cooking? Oh definitely. Do you even know how to turn on the stove."
"Okay, I'll order in. But please, dinner."
"Definitely."
I look out the window, noticing the dust dancing in the sunlight again.
Even something so dirty can be beautiful in the right light.
I pull out my phone and send a quick text to my neighbor.
"Meet for coffee on Tuesday?"
I walk out into the sunlight and make a quick detour to the flower shop next door.
.
Ten minutes later, I walk out with a large bouquet of tiger lilies . . .
. . and one orchid.
