fiction – Glade Road Living

Credit: Jonathan Castaneda on Unsplash

I made Cindy cry

Over 30 years ago in graduate school, I took a class where everyone had to work in pairs. I think that is accurate.

I can only remember one project, our last—a 50% of our grade project, well maybe.

What sort of subject had we researched, if indeed it was a research project? No idea.

There is so much I no longer remember about the class or even the last project except I made my partner cry. Yes, I did, perhaps.

Cindy cried. I don’t remember her last name.

But I remember those tears. Tears visible only to me. I brazenly interrupted Cindy’s part of our presentation and “stole the show.” I saw the tears dammed up in her eyes, eager to overflow down her cheeks, down her chin, and to reprimand me. Overactive imagination? Don’t think so.

She turned away from me. She apologized to the class for an alleged allergy attack, for having to wipe her eyes. Or did she?

What was I thinking? Maybe that she was doing a poor job with our presentation? That my 4.0 GPA was in jeopardy? Probably not. Well, maybe. Memory is such a trickster.

That I could do a better job and needed to step right up! But to what? That reason niggles at the back of my brain—that I had to make it right! That I had to outshine her? Probably.

She cried. Not so publicly, but so I could see.

We got an A, but I got guilt, guilt that I still carry around, well sometimes.

Those sometimes often were at Christmas when I had pulled out my tree decorations. At the bottom, tucked away was a sand dollar, painted white, hanging from a red ribbon, carefully tucked away in a Ziploc^TM bag. Cindy’s gift. That I do know.

Cindy gave me another gift. My son has the sand dollar because I parted with all my Christmas decorations during a move. (Or did I throw that sand dollar away?) Could have.

Cindy’s gift? An understanding that an A in a graduate course was not worth the F I received in human relations and compassion. (And yet, the 4.0 GPA was a resumé gold star.)

Her tears taught me the “let me succeed at all costs” philosophy you learn in this fast paced, competitive world should never humiliate or hurt anyone. But is it realistic?

Can I live up to that ideal? Can anyone? My heart still frowns when I see a sand dollar or when every now and then I see the name Cindy. Did I ever apologize to her? Probably not.

So here it is Cindy, wherever you are—I am truly sorry for being such a narcissistic, holier than thou human. You made me better. Well, mostly. I still have a way to go.

Last night was a very still, quiet night at our house. We share a driveway with our neighbors. Often we see their headlights shine into our kitchen as they return from eating out or a Hokie football game. Sometimes we hear them calling their cat Pippi to come home. All comforting sounds verifying that our world was continuing as it should. Routines soothe, calm, reassure the soul, erase anxiety.

Summer nights could bring their laughter spilling into the yard. “Hey come view the Northern Lights—quickly before they fade away.” “Join us for drinks on our new patio.”

A crisp fall afternoon brought a frantic call from our neighbor. A skunk with an orange stripe down its back was chasing him from his mailbox to his front door. Quite a distance for an afternoon jog. As he passed our front yard, I beckoned him to run inside our house to safety. But he, the neighbor, made it to his front door without being sprayed. The skunk disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Even animal control couldn’t find it. Order returned to our world. The neighbor was safe, no idea about the skunk, but the disruption was welcomed. A little chaos makes you appreciate order.

But last night was different—no headlights beaming onto our yard and sifting through our windows; no laughter drifting over to us; no anxious calls for Pippi. Often she would be at our house stretched out on our deck that the sun’s eastern rays had warmed as they traveled westward.

Pipi headed for our deck—Photo: Grace Youhas

The neighbors are traveling, too. Not west but east to North Carolina, away from us. Ciao my dear neighbors.

Cha-cha-changes have broken the circle, disrupted the routine, prepared us for a new circle, a new order.

Welcome new neighbors!

A different circle is forming, another order is in the works until the inevitable cha-cha-changes sweep over Glade Road once again.

Illustration: Unsplash–alona-savchuk-mkpSV2-_-Es-unsplash.jpg