Too Long Among the Dead

Chapter 3: Walking Granger-2

Guy Sanford (GS): When we ran out of time last week, you wanted to talk more about why you’re here, and also about Sam. Do you want to continue today?

Hilary Colbert (HC): I’ve thought about that question a lot. I suppose there are several reasons for my being in therapy, but I think mainly it’s all bound up in grief, a sense of loss that…that’s with me now constantly. I thought I was past all those feelings, but they’ve come back the past few weeks. With a vengeance.

GS: Feelings of grief and loss.

HC: Yes, and some other things.

(Long pause)

HC: I’ve had plenty of opportunity to make new friends but often preferred my solitude, even when Sam was alive. I always needed time to myself. Being alone, at least for me, wasn’t always being lonely.

GS: But now?

HC. Now it is.

(Pause)

GS: Can you go on?

HC: Yes. Several weeks, maybe months after Sam…I started noticing things around me again. I took a fresh interest in dressing up my apartment with new rugs, pictures, and knicknacks I brought home from street fairs. I truly believed my life was getting better, that I’d turned the proverbial corner. I began to feel confident in my ability to manage the day to day without the depression and anxiety I’d felt since…Sam’s passing. Looking back, I can trace the problems I’m having now to a fall afternoon and an ad I placed in a local free paper.

(Long pause)

HC: I remember I was off work. One of my TAs needed more hours, and to be honest, I was beat, so I said fine. I could use the down time at home. Too many late nights spent grading midterms. I’d just brewed a cup of tea when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and a young girl stood there with what seemed an even younger boy. “I’ve come about your ad,” she said.

(Pause)

HC: I remember saying something about how difficult it had been finding someone to walk Granger. I introduced myself and led them into the living room.

(Long pause)

GS: Tell me something about your home. I think you said you were quite proud of it.

HC: Yes, as I mentioned I’d busied myself sprucing up the place with a few mahogany tables, a Tiffany lamp I could barely afford, and a plush and comfortable sofa. The kind that springs up to greet you and envelops you instantly. I told them about Granger, said he was used to his regular times: eight in the morning, then noon, and a quarter to three just before his afternoon snack. She said that would be fine. It was then, I think, I caught the little nippers looking at the Gauguin hanging over the fireplace. I’m sure you know the one. Six Tahitian women sitting on a bench and talking casually. The girl smirked, then poked the boy in the ribs, who wrinkled up his nose as if at a bad smell. I wasn’t keen on either of them, but I was desperate—”

GS: To find someone to walk your cat, Granger, while you worked.

HC: Yes. Their actions spoke volumes about their appreciation of decent art. I asked them where they saw the ad. She said they were having lunch at the Brownstone and saw it in the Free Press classifieds. The boy asked if I knew the place. The Brownstone. I said I passed it mornings on the way to the bus stop. The place often looked dark and forbidding. I remembered the grease fogging up the windows. I felt my stomach turn over at the thought of actually having to eat there.

(Long pause)

GS: Do you want a glass of water? I can have Ms. Lansing bring in some coffee or tea?

HC: No, thanks. I’m fine. It’s just…difficult to talk about.

GS: Should we save it for another time?

HC: No, let’s get it over. I told them they needn’t worry about Granger doing his business. He has his box in the service porch. The outings were strictly for exercise.

I think the boy smiled at me then, but said nothing. The girl had her hand inside one of those knit Greek bags, the kind you sling over your shoulder, and I remember wondering if they were in fashion again. Some fads never die out.

GS: Is the Greek bag significant?

HC: No. I just remember they were popular when I was a teenager.

(Pause)

HC: Originally, one of my neighbors, Miss Haverstock, had volunteered her cat-walking services. If only she hadn’t met that mealy-mouthed millionaire, Edwin something, something the third, and agreed to marry the jerk. I can still see them sitting in my kitchen, wearing those shuffle-off-to-Buffalo smiles, telling me I’d have to find someone else to walk Granger. People have no sense of responsibility these days, especially when they…Miss Haverstock swore she’d always be there for Granger. I suppose that’s one of my failings, among many.

(Laughter)

HC: The inability to forgive, and to be so easily disappointed. I asked the girl if she was sure she could handle the job, and she said it was a piece of cake. Said she could walk anything that had four legs. She jabbed the boy with her elbow and added, sometimes three. The boy guffawed as if this was the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. She asked where this precious puss was, and the boy started in to laugh again. I hated them both then. They kept laughing and calling out, Kitty, Kitty. I saw Granger peeking around a corner, and it must have been then that it happened.

(Pause)

GS: Are you all right, Hilary?

HC: Yes, it’s just…I’m not sure…it happened so fast. Granger jumped up on the girl’s lap, and I reached over to pick him up. My hand accidentally slipped and brushed against her thigh. She screamed at me. Said she wasn’t like that. Told me to back off. I think in an attempt to apologize, the boy said she didn’t like being touched, and then, as if to explain further, said, by strangers. Then I walked to the door and asked them to leave. The girl just shrugged her shoulders, and the boy followed her out. I felt numb, hollow inside, my feelings alternating between guilt and embarrassment. I felt…chilled even though the afternoon sun was streaming in through the living room blinds. For a moment I wondered if my hand had slipped, or if I’d wanted to touch the girl, to feel a connection again. I kept hearing her words: I’m not like that. I’m not like that. I’m not like you. That’s what she really meant.

GS: Do you want to rest a moment?

HC: You’re very kind. No, let me finish. I didn’t think anyone—least of all a stranger—had the power to make me feel so instantly ashamed. Intellectually I knew I was over all those archaic labels, thoughts, and reactions. My twenty-three years with Samantha put all that to rest. I was happy about who I was, who I loved. I’d understood and accepted those longings since adolescence. Do you believe me?

GS: It really doesn’t matter whether I do or not. This is about you and your feelings. It’s what you believe that’s most important.

HC: But I couldn’t stop thinking about my momentary lapse, this journey back to the Dark Ages. I knew intellectually they were only words, but they still had the power to cut and hurt.

Guy finished reading the transcription, wrote a brief summary on his note pad, and then added a short postscript: “Loss of life partner, difficulty moving on.” Seven words that didn’t come close to describe the pain Hilary was feeling, or the sadness he felt for her loss.