As I walk to the Bumbys’ house for breakfast this morning, I hear the faint sound of music. My grogginess makes me think I’m hearing noise that isn’t real. After all, it’s not that far-fetched these days, and I received a lot of mind-clogging information yesterday. Seems like all I do lately is try to make sense of new details, past and present.
I don’t see anyone playing an instrument, but the music grows louder with every passing second. Where’s the action? I keep turning my neck side to side, but there’s still nothing in sight. I’m unsure what I’m waiting on, but feel I have to stop walking and see what the hoopla’s about over here. Listen to that intuition, Mary. Always listen.
Yet, I continue to fight myself on some messages from my inner voice. The rest of lunch with Nate was…pleasurable. I know, I also can’t believe it. How could a get-together with him be anything but torture? But see, once I left and his charming stories from our past together weren’t in my face, I kept harping on how he impacted my life until this day. We can’t be friends again after all that’s happened—all that is happening.
Oh, I finally see people in the distance, so I take a seat on the bench and wait, playing with my crossbody strap. I should have known what’s developing by the hints of brass sounds. The tubas and trombones and the hootin’ and hollerin’ joy from the marchers can only be one event. It’s a Second Line.
The people high-step, clap, and ring cowbells as they approach. Celebrating this person’s death has brought out more people than I remember seeing in a long time. Ahh, look at the little boys with their tambourines and a strut in their steps. Their probably-five-year-old faces show their beaming spirit. What a great way to start today. New Orleans traditions are the best, I tell you. We even make funerals a party.
The rest of my walk to the Bumbys’ home features me humming the sounds of the parade. Passersby getting serenaded brings smiles to some mouths. I walk to the rhythm in my head and ring the doorbell, continuing to hum until it’s answered.
“Hi, Mary,” Betty greets me, patting her hands on the apron around her waist.
“Hi. Thanks for the invite.”
“Come on in. I set out a few of your favorite tea bags on the kitchen table and have the calas ready.” She moves aside to let me in.
I walk toward the kitchen. “Oh, Betty, your calas are the greatest. Thanks for making them.” My mouth waters with the thought of the powdered-sugar-covered rice fritters. I plop into the chair in her pale-yellow kitchen and stare at her creation on the plate.
“It’s just nice we finally got together.” She sits at the circular table and slides the dish of calas toward me.
“Agreed.” I push the recent pits of our relationship into an imaginary drain between us. Wash away, you yuck. I want to feel how I always have about the Bumbys. We need to be on track. I need the stability! And that’s why I’ll be keeping my group quest out of our conversations as well. I love them, but I need to fight for my business no matter what. They need to do what they need to do, and so do I.
“So, how’ve you been, Miss Mary?” Betty pours hot water into my blue flowered teacup.
My mind races between Patsy, Nate, and images of my beautiful store. Where do I start? What do I hold back? “Um, I’ve been okay.”
“That’s convincin’.” She laughs and sips her tea.
“You know me too well.” I place a mint-chocolate tea bag in my hot water and swish it around to liberate the flavor. “I saw Dale a few nights ago.”
“Oh yeah, he told me. He’s off now fishin’ somewhere.”
“Good for him. It’s a gorgeous morning.”
“Any word about your love life? It’s been a while since your ol’ friend got her update fix.”
“Oh gosh. That’s a loaded question. Let’s see, two exes, one recent and one ancient. Neither are needing much discussion.” I push my mouth to the side, not even believing myself.
“That seems unlikely. Now spill.”
“Well, Ian and I aren’t a good match. That’s all. Now, remember the developer guy from the town hall meeting?”
“I think I can remember a certain man you exploded on.”
Crap. Why do I have to be such an idiot sometimes? “Uh, yeah, that guy. Well, we dated in high school, and it ended badly.”
“Those breakups aren’t fun. And, oh no, now you have to see him again.”
“Yeaaah.”
“We did that to you. I’m so sorry, my dear.” She pushes strands of hair behind her ears.
“That isn’t your fault. What were the odds, you know?”
“Well, still, gosh a’mighty. My poor Mary doesn’t need that on top of everythin’.”
“Thanks, Betty. Yeah, so I met up with him and still am hurt from years gone by, but would like to move on. It’s just nearly impossible when he’s trying to ruin my future.”
“Oh now, I don’t know if the man deserves that kind of credit.”
“I don’t want to go back to the emotional place from high school. It’s a challenge, though. For all these years, he’s been my enemy…and now he’s a new sort of enemy.”
“That’s strong language, young lady.”
My heart drops. She’s right. He may not deserve to be called names at this point in my life. Maybe. “I know, Betty. It’s just so much to sort out.”
“The matters of the heart always are. You know what I like to do?”
“What?”
“Forgive.”
My heart drops again. “Oh.” He can’t think he can walk into my life, explain some things from years ago, and gain forgiveness…can he? And can I forgive? “I don’t know if I’m quite ready for that yet. Once we talked about the past, I felt relieved, but thinking about it more last night, the pain was back. I keep wobbling.”
“Give forgiveness a try. I know you can do anythin’ you want.”
I smile. “That’s some faith in me.”
“Well, it’s the truth. That’s all. Cut the man some slack.”
But where does that leave me in judging him? Okay, okay, I shouldn’t judge, I know. I just do. And this is N-a-t-e! I don’t know how to unlearn judging him and disliking him. It’s a pattern by now.
Sinking my teeth into my first cala, I ponder her words. After I swallow the sweet goodness, I say, “Maybe,” and giggle.
What I am sure about is that my soul feels full, along with my cala-filled stomach, for spending time with my old friend. I wish I could spread this loving heart completely over an old boyfriend’s mistakes. Cutting slack remains to be determined.