I awaken suddenly. It is somewhere between five and six in the morning; that wistful hour when the dark is fully committed; the dawning of a new day impossible. I miss you most, now. I dreamt we were at an event and friends came to see you. They were charmed.

I feel your crooked back and I know the texture of that blue and black checked flannel shirt because you wear it so often, no matter the season. I run my hand carefully over bruised arm skin and it feels like fine, dry cloth. While tightening my grip around your elbow, you press your left hand into my left hand as hard as you can manage and we step up one stair. You tell me, “You need a railing”.  I answer, “We are doing that soon”.

Your spine, the rough flannel, the bones lying reluctantly under wobbly skin; I feel them one solitary breath from touch. I am wide awake. My fingers feel these at this time of night when noise is stripped clean. Only one thin veil separates me from you and I am in an in-between place.

September winds along with spurts of rain; amber orange and early evening lamps; the days move reticently and the fields are brilliant and harvested in earnest. More deer edge the road. Your favorite season. My favorite season. My husband asks why I am crying. The night seems vaporous. And then I sit up and notice that it is gray and there is tender light at the window’s top.

The neighbors have a new fence. Our corner trees look taller. We talk about planting more. The sun rolls over our heads and there is strong coffee and sugared French toast; good conversation. What was not completed in night vapors, will not be finished now. I tuck one of your folded, white cotton handkerchiefs into a bag and we head out.

 

 

 

 

 

Frau Adelheid Richter lived at the corner of Southend Square and Southend Square in Berkshire Park; a comfortable neighborhood established at the edge of white picketed horse farms and the mighty northward flowing Genesee River; nestled partially on wetlands approximately fifteen miles south of the city of Rochester, NY. Her home sat on a large corner lot at the edge of […]

via Addie and Birdie Chat Indoors — 690 Saint Paul

Frau Adelheid Richter lived at the corner of Southend Square and Southend Square in Berkshire Park; a comfortable neighborhood established at the edge of white picketed horse farms and the mighty northward flowing Genesee River; nestled partially on wetlands approximately fifteen miles south of the city of Rochester, NY. Her home sat on a large corner lot at the edge of a gradually sloping cul-de-sac.

The builder of this neighborhood had found it suitable at the time of construction to place two street signs at the corner of her lot both of which were labeled Southend Square. “Just to be safe”, he explained when questioned by the local town board. “It’s tricky with a cul-de-sac” he continued. “People driving their cars see one sign and then become confused when there’s no other street sign because of the nature of the street’s shape. People feel more secure when things are labeled well”. Adelheid Richter approved. “I know it’s not a square, rather it’s a cul-de-sac, a circle actually, but I do so love consistency”, she stated firmly when friends queried as to how one managed to live at the corner of Southend Square and Southend Square.

Frau Adelheid Richter was known to her family, friends and neighbors as “Addie”. The name “Adelheid” came from an older German word meaning “nobility” and “Richter” meant judge. Her name proved difficult for many to pronounce when growing up so she had, as a young woman adopted the simpler form of Addie, remaining however, stubbornly loyal to her Germanic heritage. She strove to live up to the meaning of her name; “noble judge”. Her deportment was elegant, her vocabulary precise and unyielding and she was uninhibited in pronouncing judgment. “I judge”, she stated simply when chided by persons with whom she was close. “I don’t judge intentions but I do judge behavior. It’s what I do. Someone has to”.

It was the morning of an impending full moon and Addie found herself inside her home staring out at rain. “We are inside people, Birdie” she announced firmly as she turned away abruptly from what had turned out to be a rather lengthy time of staring out the window. She directed her gaze toward her companion seated nearby on the couch. Birdie, a frail looking woman and at the moment balanced somewhat precariously at the edge of the loveseat, occupied her hands with steadying a large coffee mug on her right knee. She glanced up as Addie spoke. She looked slightly puzzled and cocked her head to the right.  Addie waited for a response.  There was none and in the brief moment it took for Birdie to open and close her mouth several times, Addie felt led to restate with more emphasis. “I said we are inside people, Birdie. We enjoy being inside, as opposed to outside“. A relieved look of understanding swept over Birdie’s face and she responded with a gentle sigh, “Oh yes, of course Schatzi, we are indeed, we are indeed”. She stared at her shoes for a moment. “Perhaps the word indoors…?” she began as her eyes rose seeking Addie’s face, but her voiced trailed off as she saw Addie set her mouth firmly and give her head a slight shake

Addie and her closest friend Birdie, whose full and formal name was Zofia Bonk occupied the cozy living room of Addie’s large and well-appointed home on an August mid morning while sheltering from summer rain. They were watching the watery skies pour forth and commenting on the neighborhood after having retreated from the front porch with coffee mugs and a freshly baked raspberry Kuchen in hand. The morning had started off with breezy sunshine and then, almost without warning winds from the lake rallied sending silver sheets of rain blowing sideways while scattering tiny pebbles and road detritus down the quiet street and swirling around the corner of the gentle cul-de-sac. This summer was proving to be one of the wettest ones on record and the neighborhood of Berkshire Park at the corner of Southend Square was at this point in the season, soaked in its entirety.

It rained all over the city and suburbs of this fine city by the lake. Rochester crouched limply underneath an incredible number of days in a row of heavy, low hanging water laden clouds circling overhead and struggling against a growing general malaise in the neighborhoods, especially those hard hit flooded communities closer to Ontario’s reach. Everything felt off and delayed. Gardens had been put in several weeks late, curtains remained drawn later in the early morning hours as there was limited sunshine to let in and Frau Richter delayed changing all the bedding and towels from shades of eggplant and lavender to bright white. “Darker colors hold the warmth and keep out the damp. All this damp makes me want to curl up and read, in the middle of the day, mind you”.

Addie turned back and pulled the curtain back from the window’s edge. “Look there,” she exclaimed. “Our neighbor is walking in the rain.” Separated from the two women by only a thin pane of glass, a short, slightly stocky woman strode past the house as if a war was on; dressed in a bright lime green jacket, pushing her way through the gray mist. Addie shook her head, “Look at the color of that jacket, Birdie. She might be picked off by a drone. Or a sharp eyed eagle; an eagle could surely see her from a distance.” Birdie murmured assent and moving toward the edge of the curtain peered out the window. She watched the woman disappear around the corner. She spoke quietly almost reverently, “We are separated by glass; a thin wisp of cool glass, a wall which is given to holding memories and a simple pleated curtain…and therein lies all the difference. Our neighbor wishes to walk in the rain and we wish to dream of rain and remember…” “What did you say, Birdie?” queried Addie. Birdie withdrew from the window, starting slightly at Addie’s tone. “Nothing, nothing; I was thinking about being an “indoors” person”, said Birdie.  Addie wagged her index finger at Birdie. “Inside” person, you mean”, stated Addie. “We are inside people”.