The Window Was Ajar

And the words seeped from their mouths

Photo by Chris Barbalis on Unsplash

It was a reasonable suggestion considering the way so-and-so spent time, always talking about others. A gossipy nature, framed in, “I get along with everyone.” It had me mildly irked, despite my positioning which was to leave everyone alone. A nest of niceties was the surface glow. I gently plodded back and forth, to avoid a clash of animal instincts.

Some things are better left untold, was my motto. I did not need to share the grit or grime of my circumstantial qualifications, never knowing how they would be received — or used against me. What seems is often not what becomes and I have too much at stake to throw that towel into the ring. I prefer to use my most polite manners and swing with the image that I, too, get along with everyone.

The window was ajar and the words seeped from their mouths, on the deck, into my bedroom granting me the gift of third-ear eavesdropping. One of them knew and tried to hush the other in case they were to leak a posture of opinion they would not want disclosed. I listened carefully so as to not trust things not for safekeeping.

After all, a gossip is a gossip. If she can complain about her offspring to me, she can comment on me to them. So I keep to my shadows and play as dumb as a thumbtack. The happy-go-lucky camper who is as easygoing as strawberry rhubarb pie.

This morning I cursed thinking it was something you would enjoy — since I remember you sliding down that pond a few months ago. Then I recalled you denouncing that kind of behavior — two days ago — when complaining about some folks you hung with over the weekend. I immediately apologized but reminded you you used the word “bitch” twice (not about me) when we first met. You denied that, with a grimace on your face, which hushed me back into my corner of steaming vegetables and slicing fruit.

You know what they say, “The customer is always right,” and so it is no skin off my back playing pretend games of this and that. I would not want to be in your eighty-nine-year-old shoes, although some would be as grateful as sugar to have climbed your mountain of age. Life is a tricky tournament even in the best of times.

People can be itchy and all in all, I think you are doing pretty fine. An old woman with a tough attitude as reflected in your words, “No use cryin’ over spilled milk.” You have had your share of loss so I understand the tears that periodically creep through your eyelashes. I just stay away from the depths of sharing, since we come from different tracks and I suspect would not generally ride the same train.

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A place I used to live.

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Thank you for reading!