11:15am, Monday in June, getting up to 95 degrees
"Really good to see you again!"
"Yeah, you too!"
One neighbor to another, former, neighbor. As they pass each other on the street. They are both heading to their cars. She will drive back to a new place in NJ, a long commute after 2 apartments so close by. Homes that don't exist for The Mom anymore.
If he is feeling good, he may drive to the grocery store. And be back in time for alternate side parking to end so he can get his favorite spot in front of the entrance to the courtyard. He is tall. He is a Blond Superman. He doesn't leave his apartment when he is sad.
Almost a year ago, he had started confiding in a Girl. He told her about his diagnosis. Mixed Bipolar. The worst. He was diagnosed 25 years ago, after a bad episode.
Within a few weeks, he would have the worst episode he had had in 25 years.
During that Sunday day of 350 emails, the world was shifting for the woman with the car. She had never been so depressed. She tried to pick up some meds, but the place was closed. A mixture of self medication (beer & pot) and pills (Prozac or something like it). The kind that can trigger a worse episode if you don't have the proper diagnosis.
The Mom was so sad and alone. Except for the Little Boy. And the Cat.
Instead of buying pills, she bought antifreeze. That midnight, she sent a text to her ex-husband. "By the time you get this, all three of us will be gone"
The ex-husband didn't get it til Tuesday morning, when he was driving back from a hiking trip. By then, the crisis of the moment had been averted. The Girl who was on the other end of the 350 emails had called the suicide hotline for her friend. She was just "The Roommate", but had gotten custody for a few hours of the Little Boy.
The Girl heard this exchange between neighbors, knowing that sometimes it is easier to just say hi than to have a real conversation. They are people connected through the Girl, she knows both of them very well. Or rather, she USED to know them. Used to recognize similar symptoms. Saw the same sadness between them.
And they walk the street easily, saying hi.
The Girl hears this conversation from her window. And her heart races to see these people. Wanting them to be happy. In friendship, wanting the friendship to extend to her as well. Unaware of how to be friends with them anymore. Superman and The Mom don't want to be connected through the GIrl anymore. They have moved on from that weekend in August, that end of the summer.
Here it is, June, and they have moved on, however.
The Girl is still grieving for the loss of the friendships.
"Really good to see you again!"
"Yeah, you too!"
One neighbor to another, former, neighbor. As they pass each other on the street. They are both heading to their cars. She will drive back to a new place in NJ, a long commute after 2 apartments so close by. Homes that don't exist for The Mom anymore.
If he is feeling good, he may drive to the grocery store. And be back in time for alternate side parking to end so he can get his favorite spot in front of the entrance to the courtyard. He is tall. He is a Blond Superman. He doesn't leave his apartment when he is sad.
Almost a year ago, he had started confiding in a Girl. He told her about his diagnosis. Mixed Bipolar. The worst. He was diagnosed 25 years ago, after a bad episode.
Within a few weeks, he would have the worst episode he had had in 25 years.
During that Sunday day of 350 emails, the world was shifting for the woman with the car. She had never been so depressed. She tried to pick up some meds, but the place was closed. A mixture of self medication (beer & pot) and pills (Prozac or something like it). The kind that can trigger a worse episode if you don't have the proper diagnosis.
The Mom was so sad and alone. Except for the Little Boy. And the Cat.
Instead of buying pills, she bought antifreeze. That midnight, she sent a text to her ex-husband. "By the time you get this, all three of us will be gone"
The ex-husband didn't get it til Tuesday morning, when he was driving back from a hiking trip. By then, the crisis of the moment had been averted. The Girl who was on the other end of the 350 emails had called the suicide hotline for her friend. She was just "The Roommate", but had gotten custody for a few hours of the Little Boy.
The Girl heard this exchange between neighbors, knowing that sometimes it is easier to just say hi than to have a real conversation. They are people connected through the Girl, she knows both of them very well. Or rather, she USED to know them. Used to recognize similar symptoms. Saw the same sadness between them.
And they walk the street easily, saying hi.
The Girl hears this conversation from her window. And her heart races to see these people. Wanting them to be happy. In friendship, wanting the friendship to extend to her as well. Unaware of how to be friends with them anymore. Superman and The Mom don't want to be connected through the GIrl anymore. They have moved on from that weekend in August, that end of the summer.
Here it is, June, and they have moved on, however.
The Girl is still grieving for the loss of the friendships.
