crazy. Help! I never knew it could be so hard,” for there is no one better to call when the house is falling down.
I tugged my hair at the roots and covered my face with my hands, not knowing what to do. And because there was no one that I knew of watching, I started to cry like a little girl, catching each tear with my fingertips.When there came too many tears to keep up with, I cried more like a woman disenchanted with life, and what a serious thing it is to be disenchanted with life, so when my tears ran dry, my soul—it had to be, my bitter, weeping soul—took over, releasing cries of anguish I had never heard coming from my mouth before. With this, the forest and the house on stilts were no longer silent, and the sounds were haunting and frightened me.
And then there was a knock. I stopped and heard knock, knock, knock . I bit my lip and listened more. Knockety, knock, knock, knock . It was coming from my door.
“Go away,” I whined, tapping my heel, working myself into a dither. “Whoever you are, go away! Leave me alone.”
But the knocking wouldn’t stop.
CHAPTER NINE
I HEADED FOR MY front door, sniffing and sobbing, chugging along like a train ready to derail, hoping that whoever was knocking might stop and go away. But as I peered through the peephole, smudged as it was, I saw an older lady on my front porch. Her hair was red, her cheeks powdered white. She was wearing one of those cotton muumuu dresses—one size fits all, without buttons, elastic at the neckline. And she had on her head a flimsy, floppy hat.
I licked my forefinger and wiped the peephole, then looked through it again, catching a close-up of the woman who lived next door—Mrs. Aurelio, I heard her tell my boys the day we moved in. She had been pulling weeds and waved, but I was too busy hauling boxes and keeping track of children to give her more than a nod.
“Go away,” I muttered under my breath. “I will not open the door. I won’t. Get back to your garden where you belong!”
Unless she was bearing lasagna or eggplant, as one might expect from a neighbor with the last name Aurelio, I was not in the mood for this, for neighbors knocking at my door, stopping by without notice. There should be rules against this sort of thing, welcoming a newcomer months after she’s arrived.
But her knocking continued, and if there was anything I knew about the woman from watching her through my window it was that she had all the time in the world, and had to be lonely. Anyone who spends as muchtime as she out in her yard tossing seeds into dirt, waiting for them to grow, has got to be lonely.
“Goodie,” I muttered when her knocking stopped. “Now, go! Hobble away, old lady.” But she didn’t. She stood on her side and I, holding my breath like a rabbit hiding from a farmer in a carrot patch, stood on mine. It was then that I saw the look in her eyes, a look that said, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” and it had me shaking in my slippers.
I reached for my sunglasses on the console and put them on, not wanting her to see my sleep-deprived eyes, swollen from crying. As I grasped the golden handle of the door, I quickly changed the mask I was wearing on my face from “miserable woman whose life is in disarray” to “my life is astounding.” I was good at costume changing and did so daily. No one, except, now, my in-laws, knew of all the troubles in my life. I didn’t want to be a burden, to be one of those women who verbally dump their overwhelmed lives on others, and besides it’s simpler to pretend that all is fine. I wiped my nose on my shoulder, sniffed once more, and opened the door with a smile.
“Hi,” I said.
“I was about to turn and walk away,” she said. “Are you busy?”
“A little,” I said, thinking of all the crying I had to do, all the harping over my husband’s infidelity. “What can I do for you?”
“I don’t want to keep you,” she said.
“No, it’s fine. What brings you
I tugged my hair at the roots and covered my face with my hands, not knowing what to do. And because there was no one that I knew of watching, I started to cry like a little girl, catching each tear with my fingertips.When there came too many tears to keep up with, I cried more like a woman disenchanted with life, and what a serious thing it is to be disenchanted with life, so when my tears ran dry, my soul—it had to be, my bitter, weeping soul—took over, releasing cries of anguish I had never heard coming from my mouth before. With this, the forest and the house on stilts were no longer silent, and the sounds were haunting and frightened me.
And then there was a knock. I stopped and heard knock, knock, knock . I bit my lip and listened more. Knockety, knock, knock, knock . It was coming from my door.
“Go away,” I whined, tapping my heel, working myself into a dither. “Whoever you are, go away! Leave me alone.”
But the knocking wouldn’t stop.
CHAPTER NINE
I HEADED FOR MY front door, sniffing and sobbing, chugging along like a train ready to derail, hoping that whoever was knocking might stop and go away. But as I peered through the peephole, smudged as it was, I saw an older lady on my front porch. Her hair was red, her cheeks powdered white. She was wearing one of those cotton muumuu dresses—one size fits all, without buttons, elastic at the neckline. And she had on her head a flimsy, floppy hat.
I licked my forefinger and wiped the peephole, then looked through it again, catching a close-up of the woman who lived next door—Mrs. Aurelio, I heard her tell my boys the day we moved in. She had been pulling weeds and waved, but I was too busy hauling boxes and keeping track of children to give her more than a nod.
“Go away,” I muttered under my breath. “I will not open the door. I won’t. Get back to your garden where you belong!”
Unless she was bearing lasagna or eggplant, as one might expect from a neighbor with the last name Aurelio, I was not in the mood for this, for neighbors knocking at my door, stopping by without notice. There should be rules against this sort of thing, welcoming a newcomer months after she’s arrived.
But her knocking continued, and if there was anything I knew about the woman from watching her through my window it was that she had all the time in the world, and had to be lonely. Anyone who spends as muchtime as she out in her yard tossing seeds into dirt, waiting for them to grow, has got to be lonely.
“Goodie,” I muttered when her knocking stopped. “Now, go! Hobble away, old lady.” But she didn’t. She stood on her side and I, holding my breath like a rabbit hiding from a farmer in a carrot patch, stood on mine. It was then that I saw the look in her eyes, a look that said, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” and it had me shaking in my slippers.
I reached for my sunglasses on the console and put them on, not wanting her to see my sleep-deprived eyes, swollen from crying. As I grasped the golden handle of the door, I quickly changed the mask I was wearing on my face from “miserable woman whose life is in disarray” to “my life is astounding.” I was good at costume changing and did so daily. No one, except, now, my in-laws, knew of all the troubles in my life. I didn’t want to be a burden, to be one of those women who verbally dump their overwhelmed lives on others, and besides it’s simpler to pretend that all is fine. I wiped my nose on my shoulder, sniffed once more, and opened the door with a smile.
“Hi,” I said.
“I was about to turn and walk away,” she said. “Are you busy?”
“A little,” I said, thinking of all the crying I had to do, all the harping over my husband’s infidelity. “What can I do for you?”
“I don’t want to keep you,” she said.
“No, it’s fine. What brings you
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