A Flash

(March, 2012: Working on indexing/categorizing pieces I've blogged. Transferring this piece from my once-public blog, versions.)

non-subject:  "like it didn't happen"
AWW ~ october 9, 2009
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I feel small.  I want to hide.  I want to cry.  I want to pretend my damaging actions never happened.  I want to rewind this afternoon and tape over my dumb, stupid rudeness.  How could I be so insensitive?

I was sitting on the back deck in the blue lounge chair.  The sky was crystal clear blue, crisp and heavenly; that magic Carolina blue sky that I have grown to love.  The temperature must have been around 68 degrees. A breeze blew, stirring the air, reminding me again that autumn was here.

I noticed the figs on the fig trees that grow right beside the deck.  Some hang heavily, awaiting harvesting.  One fig is split wide open, its inner meat exposed, the insects enjoying it.  I set my laptop down, arise from my chair, and go over to pluck one of the ripened fruits.  I thought it would fall off easily; instead I have to work with it. I twist and pull on it. Most of the fig detaches; the stem with a bit of fruit flesh clings to the tree.  "Oh well, the bugs can have that part."

Helen seems to be having a good day, seems carefree.   Last night she'd asked if I had any children's books around.  I'd shown her my closet filled with children's play items: stuffed animals, puppets, books, wooden train track, pattern blocks, drums, percussion instruments, board games, and more.  I love children's literature and playthings.  The closet contains my leftovers from homeschooling my children and from years of teaching preschool music.

Helen's mood today seems similar to last night, carefree.  She's been having more good days; I'm glad for her and for us.  Earlier she said that she'd had a good session with her counselor today.  I know she has plenty more layers to go and a lot more work.  I have compassion for her; I can feel her pain but can't take it away.  I don't try to take it away.  I simply sit with her during those waves.

As she sat on the built-in picnic-type bench that is attached to the deck railing, she began to peel a grapefruit.  I paused a youtube music video, Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall."  I was listening to and looking at it deciding whether or not to embed it on a blog post I was writing.  Helen and I exchanged some cordial conversation.

I wanted to return to my blog and the youtube, but didn't want to be rude and wanted to respect that Helen might appreciate the beauty of the outdoors more than hearing Pink Floyd. "Do you mind if I finish listening to this song?" I asked.

Helen chuckled and replied jokingly, "No Carol.  You cannot be yourself at you own house."

The line caused me to chuckle.  I thought that when I am really myself  I like to walk around in the nude.  Helen and I had had that discussion at least once, the how-it-feels-good-to-walk-around-in-the-buff-in-one's-own-home discussion. I jokingly replied to Helen, "Here!" and flashed my naked breasts.  Point being, I'm really myself. 

Helen's eyes got big.  "Oh!"

"It was a joke, a stupid joke,"  I said realizing how very dumb it was.  I had made her uncomfortable.  I had only flashed one other person in my entire life, and that was in the woods at a photographer, who laughed.

Helen nodded and picked up her cell phone and began to look up a number or text someone.  I went back to my youtube and she walked inside.  I finished typing my blog, embedding the video.  I should go check on Helen.  How could I be so stupid.
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Part Two: Flash Recovery