me once again of the foolishness of always being hopeful throughout my life, & then always being let down, in one way or another.
I was in the midst of contemplating this, when the strangest & most magical thing happened. & it felt to me as if someone really was answering my prayers. & for the first time since I was a child I felt close to God & blessed by His presence.
Charlene Turner Keller called me. Finally. When she did I nearly cried—despite my best efforts to persuade myself to move along, I still care deeply for her—& I buckled. I am very glad that I was sitting down.
This was our conversation.
ME: Hello?
CHARLENE: This is Charlene.
ME: Charlene. [You see I couldn’t believe that this was actually happening, for I had worried that she would never call again.]
CHARLENE: Miss you. How you doing. [Again it was clear that she was intoxicated. It was early afternoon.]
ME: Very well, Charlene. How are you?
CHARLENE: Not so great. [In fact she sounded teary & strange.]
ME: I’m so sorry to hear that. Is anything the matter?
CHARLENE: Just the usual. [A very long silence.] Have you been calling me?
ME: Yes, I have. Did you receive my letter.
CHARLENE: Yes.
CHARLENE: I’m sorry.
ME: That’s all right.
ME: I’m sorry too. Were you shocked?
CHARLENE: Has my son called?
ME: No, he hasn’t. Was he supposed to?
[Another long pause ensued, and I could hear her breathing, heavy and labored, & I could hear in it that she was upset but I did not know what to do. So I said nothing. Until finally she spoke.]
CHARLENE: I want you to call him.
ME: Me? [What I was thinking I cannot say.]
CHARLENE: Yes. On his cell phone. [Her voice: higher than it should have been.]
[She dictated his number in that same strange high voice, the wavering high voice she has recently used that sounds both like and unlike the Charlene I once knew. I wrote down each digit she gave me on the newspaper in front of me, taking a pen from my shirt pocket.]
CHARLENE: You’ll call him?
ME: I will.
CHARLENE: He needs your help.
ME: I certainly would like to help him.
ME: When should I call him?
CHARLENE: Today.
ME: All right, then.
[And there was nothing. For a very long time there was nothing. I heard her breathing and she heard me breathing and I did not want to say anything for her breathing comforted me. I could not tell if she was crying. Finally she spoke.]
CHARLENE: You’ll like him.
ME: That’s very good. I’m looking forward to talking to him.
CHARLENE: You will.
[Finally I could not take it.]
ME: O Charlene . . .
[& then she hung up. Before I could figure out why she was so upset.]
I sat with the receiver in my hand for several minutes, until its drone became part of the air around me, & then I placed it gently in its cradle. I picked it up again after taking several deep breaths, & then dialed the number she’d given me for her son. Before I lost courage.
It rang several times & then I heard not his voice but a song I didn’t recognize—like the one on Yolanda’s phone. Intimidated, I hung up before any beep could sound. It was just after 2 in the afternoon. A boy his age would be at school, anyway. Maybe in some fluorescent hallway, maybe clutching his bookbag and maneuvering through a crowd. I vowed to try him again tomorrow, at a likelier time of day. A thing I am looking forward to. Yes: old Arthur Opp has his hopes up, once more. That foolishness again.
Still. I feel different somehow than every time before. I have Yolanda in my life, & Yolanda has a child on the way, & Charlene has called again, & has given me a concrete task related to her son. I have a cupboard full of good things to eat & several particular favorites to watch on television tonight. I have a cleaner house than I have had in years & a more organized house. In all I feel as if my luck is turning, & as if some benevolent force has caused my life to explode, suddenly, fruitfully, to blossom into some ecstatic dream.
A Week
• • •
• • •
It is six in the evening on Monday and they are putting my mother in the back of an ambulance, hooking her up to an IV. The girl paramedic runs to the front of the ambulance to drive it. I’m in the back. The man asks me questions that