Page 66 of Pity Parade

Two hours pass in what feels like the blink of an eye. Ten minutes outside of the city, I get off at the Oak Park exit. Jess was a design major and loved the idea of living in the middle of so many Frank Lloyd Wright homes. We obviously didn’t have one of them being that we were just starting out, but we had dreams.

Driving through the tree-lined streets of our old neighborhood makes me feel like I’m living someone else’s memories. The person I was then is not even close to the person I am now, but we’re still so connected.

Pulling off on the side of the road, I park about a block from our house. As I move to the sidewalk, I have the sensation I’m stepping back in time. The past starts to bubble to the surface with every step I take. I remember the smell of this neighborhood in the summer—particularly the subtly sweet fragrance of the Japanese lilac trees, and the cooler breeze as the day gets ready to head into evening. I feel the same serenity I felt when coming home here.

Walking by the neighbor’s house, I’m surprised to see the familiar face of Jess’s friend, Emily. Emily was ten years older than us, but she made it her mission to help us adapt to our new neighborhood.

Standing on her porch, she calls out, “Charlie, where are you? Come on, boy, I’ve got a bone for you.” A white Labrador pops his head out of the shrubs and runs toward her. That’s when Emily turns her head and sees me. I immediately know that she recognizes me.

I take one step toward her which seems to help her make up her mind. “Heath.” That’s all she says.

“Hey, Em.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking a little trip down memory lane.”

“Why now?” She sounds hostile.

“Why not now?” I counter.

“I left you about fifty messages after Jess died,” she says. “You never called back.”

“I wasn’t in my right head, Em.”

“There were things I had to tell you.”

I have no idea what she could possibly have had to say other than the same thing everyone else was saying. I’m so sorry. Life isn’t fair. Can I bring you a casserole?

“I’m sorry, Em. I guess I didn’t deal with things very well. I didn’t want to stay connected to people that Jess knew. I felt like the only way I was going to survive was to cut myself off from the life we shared and become someone else.”

She puts her hands on her hips and demands, “How’d that work out for you?”

“Truthfully, not great,” I tell her.

She motions me toward her. “Well, come on. I’ll put on a pot of tea.” She’s not asking.

I hurry to her porch and stop to pet her dog on the way. “This is Charlie,” she says. “I got him last year after Paul left me for his pedicurist.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How could you? You fell off the face of the earth.”

I follow her into a house that seems as familiar to me as my own used to be. Emily and Paul had us over to dinner regularly. I stop walking when I notice Jess’s white desk in the entry. I reach out and touch it like I’m connecting with an apparition. “You kept it,” I say.

“Of course I kept it. I was with Jess when she bought it at the swap meet. I always told her that if she got tired of it, I wanted it.”

My head moves up and down in a robotic fashion. “I remember. That’s why I gave it to you.”

“One might think you would have gone through the contents first,” she says gruffly.

“I didn’t know how to lose my wife. I’m sure I did more things wrong than not sort through her desk.”

Emily turns around and strides into her kitchen. Following behind, I hear her say, “She left something for you in there.”

She has my attention now. “What?”

Emily points to the kitchen table. “Not yet. First, we drink tea. I want to find out what’s going on in your life.”

---