Bobby's Diner
Page 16
After the doe took her morsel of food she did the sweetest most delicate thing, she nuzzled and she licked my hand. “You’re welcome.” Our eyes connected and the world spun away from me. I’d never had anything so pure happen. I was stunned but went back to pulling my weeds. She continued through the garden with me. But, she was making no visible decisions (that I could see, anyway) to eat just the weeds. She ate everything. Anything she wanted. And, you know what? I let her.
Looking back, I think the doe came to me because someone, God I suppose or whatever your version of God is, wanted me to understand that I wasn’t alone in Sunnydale. I had Bobby, yes, and Vanessa and Roberta, even Helen. We had some hard times, bumpy times, with each other. There’ll be more, you can bet on it. But, we overcame our obstacles. We hurt. We cried. We yelled at each other. We cried more. We tried to hurt one another with actions and with words. We realized so many things about each other but in the end we had no visible scars, no bruises, no long-lasting pain. We’re all scrawny does, hungry for something.
Our time together became mundane, everyday, pedestrian even. And, how can I say this, well, our normalcy became fundamental to our relationship. We became family.
Then another miraculous thing happened—it was slow, subtle, and took it’s time—but we missed each other when we were apart. I needed Vanessa so much and she needed me. I missed Roberta too, but with her it was different—more like a cousin. Not now, of course, now we’re closer than that but for a time Roberta and I were like cousins. However, Vanessa and I shared so much. Bobby, divorce, death, pain, loss, memories, the diner, cooking, business, shopping—we shared so much. And, our relationship settled into something beautiful, easy, soft to the touch, you know? Like that kiss from the doe—sweet, gentle, and perfect. Vanessa became my family and I became hers.
We talked endlessly about the course of our lives, how things happened, what we would do differently. But, we knew if we changed one iota on the road to where we were, we wouldn’t be the same. And, neither one of us wanted that. We wanted each other just the way we were—full of faults, errors, bad judgment, kindnesses, honesty, growth, compassion, willingness to explore. We new we had value—if only to each other—we had value.
Vanessa made me promise when she died that I would spend more time with Roberta. I gladly gave her my promise. See, God has this little secret. He knows that even when you’re alone if you have family you’re always loved. I think that should be the first commandment in the Bible, but I didn’t write that book. Can you imagine if I had? I think there would be only one rule if I wrote it. It would go like this: love every living thing.
Because all people, not only blood relations, can be family—it’s our choice to include or exclude people, to love or to hate—a conscious choice, a conscious decision. And, after these years I believe that a person has infinite space to tuck yet another somebody into their heart. A person can love many, many people and all at once. And, aren’t we lucky for that? Think about the exponential effect if we only took ten someone’s into our hearts. A net would be cast out from us, and from those ten others would be cast, and again and again until the web would be huge and buoy us and lift humanity hundreds and hundreds of rungs higher on the ladder of compassion. Now wouldn’t that be wonderful.
Tonight, as I remember Vanessa’s funeral, my eyes are fading. Tomorrow and for a week to come we won’t open the diner, out of respect. We’ve had a death in the family. We’re going to revel in our thoughts of life with her and without her. We’re going to suffer and celebrate, cry and laugh, hope and fear, and we’ll be more human for it. After all, I can’t help believing in humanity, that people will be born, will fall in love, and will die—all of it over and again. But, see, the future will be bright because we’ve built our family. We’ve built a catch net.
The End
ABOUT SUSAN WINGATE
Susan Wingate, born in Phoenix, Arizona to James & Amie Ajamie (a writer and an artist, respectively), tried to fly,, at age five off the roof of their family house using newspaper, wire hangers and scotch tape. She’s been dreaming of flying ever since. Oh, by the way, she never jumped. Her mother ran out in the nick of time to stop her from take-off.
Wingate realized her dreams when she entered the world of writing. At first, she wrote songs and poetry but then her writing blossomed when she tried her hand at fiction.
In 1997, she devoted her days to writing and in 2004, she began writing full-time. Since then, Susan has written several plays, one screenplay, one short story collection and seven novels. In 2008, she even started a memoir.
A lover of the arts, Susan draws and paints abstracts using oil as her favored medium. She has taken up playing the violin (it’s been a squeakly start) and she loves the theatre.
Susan lives in Washington State with a bunch of pets and her husband, Bob.