Walking and talking

While I wait...

The first time I met my neighbour, she was leaning on my garden fence and staring at me with intense curiosity. I felt guarded and I judged. The nosy neighbour. At first, she did fire off all the required questions (are you married, do you have children…).

When she asked if I had ever been married and I answered no, she concluded out loud: Good, you are still a virgin. Great, I thought, now I will be known in the village as the 40-year-old virgin.

In this past year on our daily walks, we have filled up my shed with firewood, stuffed the freezer with mushrooms we gathered from the forest, and buried beloved pets.

When Api died and she told me not to cry, I again judged. I thought she was being harsh, like most people here. It was the opposite: If I see you cry I can’t bear it.

When Lolli died she said nothing and let me cry.

When Mami died we talked about her for hours and cried together.

My neighbour taught me: water runs, macaroni stays.

I just need to find out what I want to be. Water or macaroni.