by Mary Adkins
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 4:11 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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No. I was wooing a prospective client in Nashville, a singer-songwriter who’d just won a Golden Globe for his score of that TV miniseries The Underlings. I really wanted to sign the guy (which didn’t happen). And Iris and I had only been working together a year, so I kinda figured she’d invited me out of obligation. The next morning I texted her congrats, and when she didn’t respond, I assumed she was having a great time honeymooning in Madrid. I was in Nashville through Monday.
On Tuesday I showed up, and there was a note on my desk. She wrote that she hadn’t gone through with it, and so no Spain, but she still needed the couple of weeks off. She didn’t respond to my texts later that week, or the following. Two weeks later she was back, saying she didn’t want to discuss it.
I always found it odd she came into the office to leave the note instead of just emailing me.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 4:24 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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I wasn’t there, either. I mean, I was there—in the park for the wedding. But I wasn’t there there. I was distracted by some kitchen drama from earlier that morning at the restaurant, wrapped up in my own world. I didn’t think to check on Iris beforehand. Until her friend—Nadine, something, maybe?—came out and announced that there would be no wedding, I had been entirely preoccupied. Who knows what the issue even was, surely something to do with my boss, Marcus.
It doesn’t surprise me that she left you that note. Was it handwritten? She was oddly fond of handwritten notes.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 4:30 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Yes.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 4:53 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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When she was in sixth grade, we moved midyear (not uncommon for us). We started at a new school just in time for the science fair. The winner got a year of free admission to the science museum, which was a big deal because there was an exhibit where you could make your own candy. Or was it your own soda?
Anyway, Iris really wanted to win, but she was insecure about coming up with a project. She was convinced she’d make a fool of herself. (When you move mid school year as a kid, especially multiple times, there are whole units of knowledge that you miss. In one state, US history is covered in fourth grade, but in another, it’s third, and so all the kids already know it—I made it to adulthood thinking the Boston Tea Party was an actual tea party.) It never bothered me that much to be behind in some subjects. We were ahead in others. But Iris got so embarrassed when gaps in her education were exposed—she was always bringing up that she never learned the US presidents, state capitals, or animal classifications, for instance. And this was pre-Internet, so it wasn’t like we could just look stuff up. Point is, she wanted me to come up with a science project for her. We made clouds.
And she won!
Which I learned . . . in a handwritten note.
That was the point of this long story.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 4:57 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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What are animal classifications? You made clouds?
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 5:00 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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You know, like animal kingdoms. Genus. Order.
Making clouds is less complicated than it sounds. It involves an empty glass bottle (my mother’s Perrier), steam, and an ice cube.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 5:02 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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I am 100% sure I never learned the animal kingdoms either.
“Making clouds” is kind of beautiful. When do I get to read some of your poetry?
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 5:06 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Ha.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 5:10 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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“Ha” is progress! Last time I asked, you just ignored me.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 5:12 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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[You never hear from me again.]
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 5:13 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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☺
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 9:43 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Did I say something?
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 10:59 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Sorry, I was on a flight.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:02 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Where to?
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:09 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Back to Virginia. Just for two days.
I wonder what would have happened between her and Richie.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:17 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Me too.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:19 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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How is he doing?
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from:
[email protected]
>
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:25 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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He still isn’t really getting back to me, so I don’t know.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:27 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Is that normal?
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:30 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Not really. Anyway, you’ve had a lot of change these last few months. Sister. Job. Re-re-break up.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:34 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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And I dyed my hair this morning. I’m a redhead now. It’s possible I look like a Disney witch, given that a few minutes ago, my mother described it as “purple.”
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:43 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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I liked your hair color before. But I’m sure it looks lovely now, too.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:49 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Thanks. That’s nice of you to say. Time for bed. G’night.
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Wed, Sep 9 at 11:54 PM
subject:
re: ☺
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Good night, Disney witch.
http://dyingtoblog.com/irismassey
February 2 | 10:44 PM
I’m in love. It hit me this weekend. I didn’t see it coming. For, well, a number of reasons. First of all, he’s beefy. Hugging him is like holding four people crammed into the skin of one human. He gels his hair, reads Nicholas Sparks novels, and believes in The Secret. And yet every day, he surprises me. He’s a powerlifter passionate about global warming. He’s thoughtful in small ways, like noticing I’ve stopped putting lemon slices in my water (because of mouth sores, a fun chemo side effect). He smells like a combination of mint and that body spray teenage boys wear—but I actually like it.
It feels like it did when I was fourteen: I miss him after forty-five minutes; I read and reread his texts. His arrival is an event I prepare for, my preparation a ceremony. For once, lately, it’s not a ceremony of death, but a ceremony of life.
And even though I have the mouth sores, and I’m self-conscious my hair has finally started falling out, and I have no idea why he’s attracted to me at the moment, we’re happy.
This past weekend we went upstate. For years I’ve slept with my suitcase by the wall next to my bed, rather than stowed. The reason in my consulting days was that I always figured that I’d soon be packing it again, so why bother? But the habit stuck even after the traveling stopped, and for years now it’s sat collecting dust. Last weekend, however, it finally got some use. I lugged it down my building’s four flights even though we were only going for three nights. My few outfits and bag of toiletries/meds slid around inside.
I returned from our trip upstate with four dresses, two skirts, a faux fur shrug, and a pair of sequined stilettos. It’s possible that I will never wear much, or any, of this outside my apartment. These days I don’t have much energy to get out, apart from work. (If Jade had her way I wouldn’t still be going to work at all—I’ve tried explaining to her that I actually like it, and besides, I’m only part-time since chemo started.) I won’t be showing up to either of those in glamour wear. But when Richie and I found ourselves wandering into a thrift store in Saugerties, New York, and I started ogling garments, he convinced me that only-inside-my-apartment is good enough. Later that night, we said the L word. And who knows, maybe I have a whole lifetime of parties ahead of me. I haven’t given up yet. So, $113 poorer, here I sit, wearing pink fur and sequins, typing on my couch.
I left for Saugerties with a half-empty suitcase and a fling, and came back with one full of shiny things and a boyfriend. Not bad for a weekend, I think.
COMMENTS (2):
DyingToBlogTeam: Happy Groundhog Day!
AnikaMommyof3: Iris, we’ve been calling you. No need to hide, we know about the cancer. Clara ran into Jade at Whole Foods, and then someone in Morgan’s Facebook mommy group posted a link to your blog as the Friday Morning Gratitude Read. Imagine Morgan’s surprise when she saw it was by you, and it was about having cancer, not mono. Point being, we are here for you and praying for you, sweetie. And can’t wait to meet the new beau! Xo
Thursday, September 10
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Thu, Sep 10 at 10:12 AM
subject:
A “Hairball” Idea: Grooming Salon for Pets and Their Humans
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Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing with an idea that I am 100% confident will revolutionize the grooming industry. This is your one and only opportunity to be a part of it, should you so choose.
Picture: A salon . . . for both pets, and the humans they call parents.
How often is it that you want to get a haircut but you also need to get your dog groomed, and you feel you must choose? No longer.
At The Groom Room we will do both, simulcraneously.
I have some investment already. Sure, I need more. I’ve applied to be on Shark Tank, and that will prove helpful once I’m cast.
Please respond at your earliest convenience, as this is not the kind of idea one should “sit” on. I must establish a brand and identity.
Harvey Washburn
Bloomington, Indiana
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from:
[email protected]
to:
[email protected]
date:
Thu, Sep 10 at 10:15 AM
subject:
Fwd: A “Hairball” Idea: Grooming Salon for Pets and Their Humans
* * *
Morning, Boss!
What do you think? “Hairball” indeed, but not all hairball schemes are bad . . . I once shoved a futon out of a second-story window to spare my father from having to haul it down the excessively narrow stairwell of my dorm. Given that he was later diagnosed with a triple hernia after merely transferring some urns of sweet potato vine from our east veranda to our west, it was clearly the right choice.
CVS
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