Miss Kitty

 Miss Kitty 

Hamlin Moody’s wife Kitty is one of the kindest people I know. She just wants to help; and she knows just what you need.

     She called this morning to invite me to her centering prayer group. “I know I asked you last year, or back in January” - this was right after I’d gotten out of lock-up but, I think, before Uncle Albert left Paradise to come keep an eye on me.* She said, “I know I asked you back in January, but I sensed you weren’t ready then.”

     I nodded, then realized I had a phone in my hand, and said, “No.” It was more a nervous than a persuasive “no.”

     “So, I put it on my calendar to ask you again. For today: it was on my calendar for today.”

     “I see.”

I forgot again I was holding a phone; I lost the thread of the conversation for . . . I think just a few seconds. Then,

     “So?” she was saying.

     I wanted to say that I’d tried centering prayer once and I just didn’t get it. I didn’t even get what there was to get. But I didn’t want to invite an explanation.

     I said, “How’s Hamlin? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

     “He’s fine,” she said. She sounded unhappy. To me she sounded unhappy.

     “Good,” I said. “Tell him I miss seeing him.”

     “But . . . ,” she said. I knew she was going to say it, “But” and then something else I didn’t want to hear, so as soon as she did - say “But” - I dropped the phone.

I counted to seven, slowly, and picked it up.

     “I’m sorry,” I said. “I dropped the phone.” And before she could start again, “I’ve got to go,” I said. “Sorry.”

to be continued

12.20.17

_______________

 * The story beings here, and Uncle Albert enters here.