On his bad days, he warned me against having hope. He needed company in his desolation and I walked down dangerous steps to meet him. He made me scones and coffee. He watched me eat and drink and brightened when I said the scones were good.
I bought the raspberries at the farmers' market because I know you love them, he said. I thought to tell him I do not love raspberries, but blueberries, but he did not attend to the things I loved. His bad days became mine. He no longer needed to warn.
On his good days, he did not call. He found more good days. He found a girl and took her to the farmers' market, where she chose raspberries. He made scones for her and invited me over. She was tall with brown hair; some thought her pretty, including her. She looked like me.
He told me about her and we both listened to things she knew. She was a pediatric nurse, she grew up in Maryland, she used to dance ballet. They laughed about her ugly feet. I liked her. I felt lonely and went home.
We met awhile before at a café where he watched for the few minutes it took me to complete Thursday's New York Times crossword puzzle. I thought guys only spoke to girls in cafes when they were interested. I thought when he asked me to get together, it was a date.
We didn't go on a date. He pegged me as a caretaker; I took care. I listened to him talk about girls. Sometimes he cried. He likes selfish ones. He introduced me to a few. They looked a little like me.
I entered a crossword competition I learned about in a documentary. I practiced. I timed myself. I was close to the winning times from the year before. I didn't tell him.
On a good day, I told him. He said he wondered why I hadn't been around as much. It was too close to turning into his story. I was on flat ground. I didn't want to descend.
He said be prepared to lose.
Waiting was unnecessary. Good or bad, they were his days. They had little to do with me when they didn't have to do with him.
I thanked him for the caution. When we parted, my love for him halved. I stopped for ingredients. By the time I arrived home, it was halved again.
I made blueberry scones. They were the best scones I ever had.
The girl who looked like me — the ballerina — left him. He called me, crying. I listened to voicemails while doing crosswords. I had two weeks. I did not have time to take care. I was lighter, safer. I got better, faster.
I did not prepare to lose. I did not prepare to win. I did neither.
After, he didn't ask how it went. I didn't offer. I told him I liked blueberry scones. He made me blueberry scones. I told him they were good. They were not as good as mine.
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Appeared in Necessary Fiction (June 2010). Thanks to Roxane Gay, Writer in Residence.
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"The girl who looked like me — the ballerina — left him. He called me, crying. I listened to voicemails while doing crosswords. I had two weeks. I did not have time to take care. I was lighter, safer. I got better, faster."
Very straight-ahead with the writing. Very direct. And very good. Enjoyed this piece, Lauren.
Wonderfully well done, the theme that tells so much about the characters and the relationship. Love this: "I made blueberry scones. They were the best scones I ever had."
This was the first thing I read this morning, Lauren. I had read it before, of course, at Necessary Fiction. It's such a sad piece, full of a sort of relentless longing. I love that you stay with the emotion here, you are a brave writer that way. You make the reader stay and look, really look, and be brave too. Great.
Maybe I'm callous, but I read this story as being a victory for the narrator--she comes to refuse to be a supporting character, refuse his selfishness, insist hat he understand she is bluberry,not raspberry, not just a listening post and when he offers his small recompense for her attention and care, she understands that she is better alone. Unflinching love story. Affections keep halving. I missed this before so it made a place in my morning.
I very much like the sadness of this story. The sadness is sweet not bitter or boring or lonely because the narrator realizes the distance; she imagines what could be and moves toward it.
*
Sam: You are among the most gracious people I have come across. Thank you for reading and your kind comments.
Susan: Thanks so much. I like that this character likes her scones. I'm trying to like my scones, too.
Kathy: I miss you on Facebook! It's so good to hear from you. You are someone I've learned a huge amount from, so if I'm brave, please take some of the credit. Thank you.
Jim: As always, you tell me things I don't even know about my stories. And you're absolutely right -- she's better off alone. I am proud of her for ditching the dead weight. Thanks.
Ann: Thank you for your kind words. I'm glad you like her. The sadness will leave. Maybe I'll revisit and see what happens. I think no more lost puppies for her.
Fine story, fantastic ending. "They were not as good as mine." Yes!
I entered a crossword competition I learned about in a documentary.
Thanks Jack!
Nicolle: Watch the documentary Wordplay. Jon Stewart and the Indigo Girls do crosswords. In ink.
I remember reading this in NF: l.o.v.e. this.
*!
The more I read this, the more things I notice. Hallmark of art. Well-crafted, thought-provoking story, Lauren.
You really capture a mood, a place, moments, and all intricately paced. This somehow felt very San Francisco/Oakland to me. I kind of felt myself watching your characters in that coffee shop.
Thanks Marcelle, Bill, and Isabell. Such nice comments.
Isabell: I've pictured it as taking place somewhere else, but I think you might be right about San Francisco. Definitely not Oakland (where I live and is awesome, but it feels more SF or NY to me for some reason ...).
Thanks all for the read.
Luaren, what a wonderfully written piece. Something about the line, "...we both listened to things she knew." I just really like...things she knew. Love halved and halved again. Really nice. *
thanks for the read and the niceness, michael!
Yes, longing, sadness, but really, everything hinges on those scones. I'm so cheered by the line that her scones are the best she's ever had. Love the strength in that, Lauren, very much. Masterful story-telling here.
so much of life is letting go---
that, and letting out the damn cat
but this is fine work, fine--
i like the spaces, the white spaces sing
thank you so much, julie. mutual admiration here (as well as for everyone else who commented.) it's important for people to like their own scones, don't you think?!
gary: thank you!! i'm so glad you liked the song. you rock. and make me like poetry (as do sam and jim! am i missing anyone? 'cause you all rock, poetry or not!) nice to be back in touch.
When we parted, my love for him halved. ll always remember this story. Peace... *
many thanks, linda. i won't hold you to that, but i'm glad it stayed with you for now.
he needed so many caretakers. Glad she finally took care of herself, and those blueberries.
I remember this, and I remember being impressed. What I like is how simple it is and yet how much is conveyed through that simplicity.
Thanks Estelle. Thanks Jon.
A sad and moving journey to freedom. *
thanks kim -- you summed it up nicely. i appreciate the read!
(and from estelle and john -- i was sort of overwhelmed and no longer know what to say. really lovely comments from all that i appreciate more than you know.)
I loved this! So concise and beautiful...