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She waves good-bye to one of the nurses and heads out of the hospital. Back at work a few weeks now, she still finds it easier to share pleasantries than any truth about her life. Her job is more interesting since she was promoted a while ago to work with hospital case managers. She’s learning a bit about medicine. Twice she’s been allowed to follow midwives making rounds in the maternity ward. Her supervisor has floated the possibility of a hospital-paid fellowship in midwifery. She hasn’t responded. She isn’t sure.
The evenings are lighter longer, and gloves remain stuffed in her pocket. People rush past, eager to get home. It’s where she’d like to go instead of to the corner bar. Nina phoned at work, said meeting was imperative. Thing is, she has no wish to be filled in on what’s happening politically. She said as much to Ben the other night when he phoned. Several times now, he’s offered to escort her on any outing of her choice. What that could possibly be, she hasn’t a clue.
The bar is crowded and noisy with hospital staff coming off shift, many still in scrubs. It’s hot inside and the rancid mixture of beer and cigarettes doesn’t help. Both TVs are broadcasting the news of endless war, but no one seems to be watching, including her.
In the dim light, she spots Nina and Maisie at a table in the rear.
“Shall I pour?” Maisie asks, lifting a pitcher of beer.
“Not for me,” Josie says.
Nina studies her. “You still look a little drawn but otherwise okay.”
“That’s a relief.”
Maisie slides an arm around her shoulders. “You haven’t let us say anything about Melvin leaving. It’s difficult because he’s someone we all admire. But here goes . . . You’ve been robbed of every woman’s right to shout, ‘Bastard,’ ‘Scumbag,’ and ‘Worthless piece of trash,’ because he’s not. However, he didn’t prepare you for his decision. If by any chance you’re blaming yourself, which women do all the time, stop. And you’re wrong if you believe that if you’d done such instead of other such, the relationship could’ve been saved. Point is men don’t go through the same process.”
“Why not?” Nina asks.
“A patriarchal society teaches men they’re too important to waste energy on emotions. Also their relationship to love is strange. I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Listen, I’m tired,” Josie says. “I really want to get home.”
Nina slides a cool hand over hers. “We’re in the initial stages of plotting something big, a women’s march on the Pentagon to coincide with the Vietnam vets who plan to throw away their medals. It won’t happen for a while, but it’s a necessary response to the everyday atrocities.”
“Women in several states have already committed to work on it. And men could attend but women would lead it,” Maisie says and begins to list the reasons why it’s such an important action.
She half listens, thinking Maisie is wrong. She doesn’t blame herself for Melvin’s leaving.
“And you, Josie, are the perfect woman to be its prime organizer.”
She gazes at her friends’ hopeful expressions. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But my political beliefs are floating around unattached to me. It’s a great action. It really is. But I want no part of the intensity.” On her friends’ faces, she reads, Isn’t it time to return to the self she was before Melvin left? Hasn’t everyone allowed her the requisite number of days to recover? The answer is yes, but it doesn’t change her response.
“Josie, you can’t keep hiding. You have to try to jump back in. It’s the only way to heal.” Nina’s tone unusually soft.
“I won’t be told it’s the only way to heal. Can I go home now?” Tears press at her eyelids.
Entering the apartment, she sees at once that Melvin’s shoes are no longer near the bed. When she checks, his clothes are gone from the closet as well. That he took only what was his and nothing that they owned together isn’t a surprise. She knew that one day he’d return for his things but didn’t imagine it would be today.