She made her way to my office with her usual confident air. Miriam is the kind of woman to make a whole room gasp as soon as she steps her pinky toe inside. I have always craved that same kind of power, but somehow, it has eluded me. I've heard people say similar things about me, but I do not feel it; I cannot stop a room the way she can.
"Hey, girl," she says, strolling into my office as if she owns the place. Some people would be jealous of her ability to make any place she walks seem like home, but not me; I'm happy to have someone like her in my corner.
"Hey." We embrace; she holds me a little tighter, somehow sensing my distress.
"How about we skip the shopping, grab some ice cream and head out to the park?"
"I thought you wanted to buy a television."
"I did, but I changed my mind. I'm a woman I can do these kinds of things."
When we were children, Miriam and I always went to Central Park during the summer. We would walk around for hours in our skimpy clothing, talking about men and crying on each other's shoulder. It seems most appropriate that we go there on this day, when everything in my life seems to be spiraling downward at a rate that would rival the speed of light.
She grabs my arm without waiting for my answer and drags me out the door. Before I know it, we are out on the streets; we are salmon walking against the rush hour crowd, "excusing" our way west. Finally, we reach our destination and I instantly feel a sense of relief wash over me like a new layer of skin.
"Italian ice?" she asks.
"Sounds good."
After a minute or so, she returns with our refreshments. "Here."
"Thank you."
We walk down a path, which leads to the body of water in the middle of the sea of green surrounding us. There are children holding remote controls, ramming their miniature boats into any and everything in a six inch radius. They look so free and happy; I wonder if I ever wore an expression similar to that, or if I wear the story of my life in the wrinkles on my face?
"I always said you'd be a great mom."
"What?" I ask; amazed that after all this time, she seemed to be able to read my mind.
"You're staring at those kids; you'd make a great mom, you know," she states matter of factly.
"Thanks."
"Your ex had a little girl, right? I bet she was an unholy terror."
I let out a slight giggle because I'd heard about Starr's recent behavioral problems and "unholy terror" seemed to be an understatement. It's been so long since I've seen her; I doubt she'd want to have anything to do with me at this point. "When her father and I were together, she was the sweetest little girl; we worked so hard to keep from spoiling her."
"By not spoiling her, you mean not giving her what she wanted the first time she asked, right?"
I put my hands on my hips in faux irritation. "I'll beg your pardon. We did not give her everything she wanted no matter how many times she asked."
"Uh, huh. So, tell me, what drew you to her father in the first place? And I'm talking about after he paid you the five million."
I do not want to talk about that aspect of our relationship. I sometimes forget that he and I originally married because he wanted custody of his daughter and I wanted to be rich. Somewhere along the way, I fell so deeply in love with him, my soul became a part of him and vice versa. Even after all this time, nothing has changed; feelings have not dissipated. In fact, I don't remember a time when he wasn't an integral part of my life, so much so, his essence coursed through my veins.
"What, you at a loss for words?"
I run my fingers through my hair repeatedly and sigh. "No." I pause. "There's just so much going on in my life right now." The tears spring suddenly in my eyes; my life is an out of control train, swerving through the dark tunnels.
"Hey, okay, shit. This must be serious of the woman of steel is about to cry."
"My career, love life and health are all fucking failing me and I feel like I'm about to lose it!" I blurt out, as if it's a secret I'd been holding onto forever.
"Okay, just calm down. Let's start with your health. What's going on with that?"
I take a deep breath, preparing myself to say the words that I've uttered to so few. I can be completely honest with Miriam; that's something I can't be with anyone else, not even Todd. He tries to pretend that he isn't, but the fact is, he's so sensitive, I often find myself tip-toeing on eggshells around him. Miriam, she is strong enough to handle my burden, and honestly, it's getting too heavy for me to carry alone. "I've been having these symptoms-"
"I've had temporary paralysis and migraines; I feel like my body is falling apart and there's nothing I can do about it." I cannot stop myself from speaking. The words, they tumble forth, gladly leaving the confines of my mind.
Miriam's arms envelope me, and I cry into her shoulder. "Girl, please tell me you've been to the doctor."
"I have."
"And?"
"She said I have a mitochondria myopathy."
"What the hell is that?"
"It's so much of a mystery. There are so many symptoms and so many "degrees" of the illness. For some people, it's fatal. For others it's not. I just don't know what's going to happen from one day to the next and it's just…and it's so damned hard."
She just listens to me as I allow my weaknesses to be seen by someone other than my reflection. I never allow myself to be seen, never, and I know that's a serious flaw within me. But, but, it's something I don't think I'll ever change.
I tell her how difficult it is for me to get out of bed in the morning, knowing that I might not have the energy to make it to the bathroom. I might not be able to hold down my breakfast. It's the not knowing that makes this damned disease so powerful. I tell her that, and she listens without saying a word. I tell her how I'm afraid of how I look in public; how self-conscious I am. I am going to become a recluse; I know in my heart that the day will come when I will not leave my home.
She calms my restless soul by being the good friend that she's always been. When she interrupts, which is not often, it is to talk sense into me. No, you are not going to die, she says; you're too stubborn to let anyone or thing else win, she proclaims. According to her, I will not become a true recluse because I am too damn nosey to let the world go on without me.
It is Miriam who forces me to smile through the tears when she says Todd's name. Somehow, she works his name into the conversation and intuitively, she knows why I have been pushing him away. I tell her the complete truth, that this man is someone I knew I was destined to love from the first moment I lay eyes on him. His is beautiful to look at, but what's even more beautiful is his soul. I tell her that I love him in a way I have never been able to love anyone else, including myself. I say that life without him is so difficult sometimes, I feel as though I am going to lose my mind. I say all of these things freely, letting the tears fall when they want, with neither shame nor inhibition.
She listens to me without passing judgment and I appreciate that more than she knows. When we finish, dusk has surrounded us and I feel as if a great burden has been lifted from my shoulders. We walk back to my apartment silently, both lost in our own thoughts I suppose.
We arrive at my apartment just as Rachel exits the elevator. She is carrying two bags of what looks like fresh vegetables. "Hey, girl," she yells from down the hall.
"Hey." I try to peek inside her bags, but she snatches them out of my view.
"No cheating."
"Fine, be that way," I pout.
"Since Tea's gonna be rude, I'm gonna introduce myself," Miriam says, pushing her way around me. "I'm Miriam."
Rachel extends her hand to Miriam. "I'm Rachel. It's good to meet you."
"I would've introduced the two of you. Miriam and I go way back, Rach."
"Yup, all the way back to the poor house."
We all start laughing and it feels good. It feels really good to be that lose with people; to let that façade fall to the wayside. I look around me at my friends, and suddenly, I feel so blessed to have been given time with them.
"Miriam, you wanna stay for dinner?" Rachel asks, breezing around the kitchen as if she's familiar with it. For all of her virtues, of which, there are numerous, Rachel is a disaster waiting to happen when it comes to the kitchen.
"Don't do it," I say, smiling at both of them.
"What? She can't cook?"
"Not a lick."
Rachel puts her hands on her hips in righteous indignation, "Wait a minute, who burned chocolate chip cookies from the tube?"
"That only happened one time and that was because I was distracted."
"Yeah, right."
We all burst into laughter. It seems to echo off the walls, bouncing from one room to the next. We are a cave of laughter; the tension of the day just fades away. And we're left with fun, the kind we used to have as children. Somehow, I know everything is going to be all right.
