THE WOMEN

Saturday afternoon was chilly and raw. Our emotions perfectly matched the weather.

Iris had been missing for more than twenty-four hours. We knew from television cop shows that after that point the chances of a missing person being found alive went way down. A few of us googled it, to check out the statistics. Turned out the twenty-four hours was most accurate for missing children, but the statistics still weren’t good, and it didn’t make us feel any better.

Those Azalea Court residents who had joined the search party felt particularly despondent. We had entertained cinematic hopes of being part of a joyful discovery, a celebratory rescue, an emotional reunion of an old woman with her family. Finding nothing and seeing little police presence on the Court made us feel even more sad and demoralized.

Many of us began to feel that the situation was hopeless. Iris was lost to us. We wished we had been better friends to her. Once we heard she was sick, we could have brought casseroles, offered to spend time with her, maybe read aloud her favorite classic novels. We could have accompanied her on her daily walks by her beloved Mill River. Some of us shared these regrets with each other and started talking to each other as if we might become friends as well as neighbors.

Our selfishness accused us. Shamed us. We resolved to be better in the future. Be better friends, stronger allies for each other.