Content Just Being Us
It is a Sunday. I woke to the sound of rain hitting the roof like hard pebbles. I opened my eyes. It was pitch black. I turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. Not too bad. Later than my usual four o’clock wake up. It was six thirty. I curled up, trying to go back to sleep, but it was no use.Kelly had promised to take me clothes and shoe shopping today. I decided against it. Too wet. I decided to make a nice meal for us: chicken schnitzel, string beans, mashed potatoes, and salad.I went downstairs for my cup of tea, came up, and curled up in my chair, sipping my tea and reading my book. It is The Brothers Karamazov. Dostoevsky is a dark author. I’m two-thirds through the book, and the story is getting darker and darker.Finally, I decided to get on with my day. The book is depressing me. I dressed and came downstairs. I started to prepare for my meal. As I did that, my mind wandered, as it usually does these days, to the past. The radio was on Jonathan Schwarz’s old melodies then, just like it is today. Peter and I loved to listen to his programs.It was a bleak winter Sunday, as it is now a bleak autumn. I puttered around in the kitchen then, as I am now. Then I went to sit next to Peter. We each had a tray of food on our laps as we watched TV. We ate, we watched, we dozed. By early evening, Peter was getting quite restless. Finally, he said, “Want to go for a ride?” I did. We got into the car and drove aimlessly. The trees were bare of leaves but limned with icings of snow. The sun was setting and gave the sky and the snow a rosy glow. It was a beautiful winter early evening. We drove on and on. We were at peace with the serenity of the moment. He held my hand as he drove. He did that frequently. I sighed with contentment. What a perfect life we felt we had.We passed a supermarket. Peter remarked that we had no milk. The parking lot of the supermarket was virtually empty. We parked. Simultaneously, another car parked next to us. It was a beautiful, shiny red Jaguar sports car. Peter eyed it a bit enviously. Our car was an older, unwashed car. The man and woman who emerged were magnificent! They seemed to have walked out of the pages of L’Officiel, the French fashion magazine. She wore a black, full-length mink coat. Her hair, nails, and makeup were flawless. He looked like a modern-day Alain Delon. He wore a fur-lined suede coat. They both glittered with expensive jewelry. Peter and I felt and looked like country bumpkins compared to them. We had just put on warm, comfortable coats and old boots. As we walked to the dairy aisle, we commented about them. We both felt slightly frumpish the way we were dressed. We got our milk and headed back. There was the glorious couple just in front of us at the checkout. As they paid, our mouths dropped open. Out of his wallet, Alain Delon drew out food stamps. Food stamps? Food stamps? Peter and I looked at each other. Our postures straightened. We held our heads up high as we walked out arm in arm. We felt so much better about ourselves. We were who we were. We had no empty airs, and we did not take advantage of the system. We were content just being us…