At a Loss For Words

by Diane Schoemperlen

  Apparently, I have no refuge.

  Words fail me.

  Or I fail them.

  Write very slowly.

  Write very quickly.

  Write very large.

  Write very small.

  Write with red ink (or purple or green).

  Write with your other hand.

  Write on colored paper.

  Write upside down.

  Write in the dark.

  Write in invisible ink.

  I began to worry that all the horoscopes I was sending you might be becoming an annoyance. I asked if you wanted me to cease and desist.

  You said, No, no, please don’t stop…I love receiving them! I figure I need all the help I can get in understanding my own life!

  YOURS: All things must change. Nothing in life is permanent. Once you come to terms with this fact, you won’t be quite so concerned about maintaining the status quo, either in your personal life or at work. It’s okay to have doubts. It’s okay to wonder if what you’ve done with your life has been worth it. But don’t let those doubts paralyze you.

  YOURS: Life is too short to waste time worrying about what other people might think of your behavior. If you have a yearning to do something that is going to set tongues wagging, do it and to hell with the consequences. You don’t want to look back ten years from now and regret that you were not more adventurous.

  MINE: Your attitude is a bit negative at the moment. Why is that? Whatever the reason, you must trust that everything will work out for the best in the end, even though right now you cannot see how that is going to happen.

  MINE: It does not matter how many obstacles are placed in your path, or how tall they might be. You have what it takes to climb over them all. Fate will never ask you to do more than you are capable of, so don’t worry if the mountain in front of you looks huge. You will find a way to move it.

  Early on, I used to send you bits and pieces of articles I’d read in the newspaper. This happened most often on a Monday morning, as I found the weekend papers full of things I knew you’d be interested in or amused by. I knew you weren’t as much of a newspaper reader as I am: you said you never had the time.

  I sent you stories about Tuscany and other places we’d talked of visiting together someday: New York City, Mexico, Paris, Alaska, the Caribbean on a cruise ship.

  I sent you articles from the Careers section with titles like “Rules to win the networking game,” “Improving your presentation skills,” “What every employer really wants,” and “Leverage your natural talents for maximum success.”

  I sent you a piece called “House sparrow in Aisle 2” about the growing problem of birds taking up residence in big-box stores in North American cities. The article said that a hawk had moved into a Home Depot store in Ohio and was feeding off the pigeons that also lived there. And apparently there was a flock of barn swallows at a Home Depot in Minneapolis that had learned how to operate the automatic doors by flying in front of the motion sensors!

  I sent you the story of a Scottish woman with a lilting brogue who went to bed one night with a headache and woke up the next morning speaking with a South African accent. And there was the blind man in Romania who was arrested twice in one month for stealing a car. Not to mention the British pole-dancer who had to quit her job because she turned out to be allergic to the nickel in the pole. Or the Finnish man, already a father of six, who was so worried about impregnating his wife yet again that he put on a condom with super glue.

  I sent you the full text of an article about the mental and physical health benefits of laughter. It was called “A laugh a day keeps the doctor away,” and it discussed a new study which demonstrated that laughing provides much the same vascular benefits as aerobic exercise. The authors recommended thirty minutes of exercise three times a week plus fifteen minutes of laughter per day to achieve the maximum health benefits of both.

  I sent you the story of a couple who’d been reunited after sixty years. They’d been high school sweethearts but were separated when he went off to fight in World War II. They lost touch. After the war, they both married other people, both of these spouses now deceased. They had seven children between them (four for her, three for him) and thirty-three grandchildren. Two weeks after they were reunited, they got married. She was seventy-seven and he was two months shy of his eightieth birthday. Now they both said it was as if they’d never been apart.

  You said, That’s a very nice story.

  I said, Yesterday was a long day in which many things that should have been simple were complicated, many other things that should have been pleasant were frustrating and annoying, and still more things that should have taken ten minutes took two hours! It was one of those days. And apparently I wasn’t the only one. When I went downtown to the post office, I saw a young couple having a screaming argument on the corner. She was so mad she threw her bicycle at him!

  I said, I didn’t write to you yesterday because I wanted to spare you all my cranky whining. By the end of the day, I was headachy and exhausted and depressed by my own bad mood.

  But, I said, having yesterday allowed myself to sink down into the slough of despond where I felt very vulnerable and forlorn (O ye of little faith, why are you still so afraid?), today I’m going to perform a miracle instead! Today I’m going to sprout wings and fly up to that sublime utopia where a new furnace does not cost six thousand dollars, where there is never a lineup at the bank or the post office, where all drivers are competent and courteous at all times, where there is always a parking space exactly where you need one, where soul mates who were meant to be together actually are together. I am, through sheer force of will, going to be a positive and happy person all day long!

  You said (as you’d said many times before), You are such a good writer! Words just seem to flow so easily for you. You are so lucky. I envy you that.

  I did not say, Luck has nothing to do with it. I spend hours and hours working on these damn e-mails to you.

  I said, Thank you.

  Early on, I used to send you poetry. I would often spend the whole evening searching for the perfect poem to send you first thing in the morning. Sometimes I sent poetry when I didn’t have anything interesting to write about. But sometimes, I confess, I sent you poems with a message, trusting that the poets could say it better and more subtly than I ever could.

  Twice I sent you these lines from “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver:

  You do not have to be good.

  You do not have to walk on your knees

  for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

  You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

  Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

  The first time I sent you this was in the fall on a day when I’d had lunch in my backyard with Kate and Michelle, and we saw six flocks of geese heading south while we ate black bean quesadillas and drank mango juice and marveled at the fact that another summer was already over. The sight of the geese filled me with the same lush mix of emotions that it always does. Kate recited this poem from memory, and then I sent it to you late that evening, so it would be there waiting when you got to work the next morning.

  You said, Thank you. I do so love all that you send me. You have reawakened my interest in all that is poetic…and romantic.

  You said, For all the thousands of words I see every day, it will be yours and the verses you dispatch to me that I will remember for all time.

  I sent you these same lines again one afternoon in the spring when I was alone in my backyard, cleaning up the mess that winter had left behind. The geese were heading back north. There were hundreds of them in two gigantic straggling flocks, one behind the other, and the sound of their calls as they flew over made my heart ache with loneliness.

  I said, Remember when I sent you this poem in the fall? Now the geese are back again. Time goes by and life goes on…

  You did not reply.

  You said there
was going to be a political protest in your city, when the president of a country known for its human rights violations came to visit. You said you were planning to participate. I’d seen news of this planned demonstration on television. They said they were afraid there would be violence. A thousand extra police officers were being called in.

  As it turned out, you weren’t able to attend after all, because of work demands that day.

  In response to this information I said, I’m relieved that you couldn’t go. I would have been so worried! I’ve never been involved in such a protest myself, but I think the potential for things getting out of hand was very great in this instance. Big crowds, strong emotions: a volatile combination.

  You said, I’m very disappointed that I could not go to the protest. It may be true that the pen is mightier than the sword, but writers need something to write about and sometimes action needs to be taken, statements need to be made physically. I have been active in such matters of civil disobedience since I was sixteen years old and that will not change. In fact, as time goes on, I will probably become more involved than ever. You need never be concerned about me…I always keep my feet on the ground. I would take safety precautions, certainly…but I fear no situation.

  I did not say, You should.

  I said, Your implication that writers sit around on their asses all day doing nothing, while people who really care get out there and do something, is insulting to me. I feel as if you were putting me in my place in no uncertain terms. If the protest was that important to you, why didn’t you just take time off work and go…instead of lashing out at me?

  You said, I certainly did not mean to insult you or to infer that you are not involved in important issues. It seems that one of the problems with communicating by e-mail is that sometimes the tone comes out all wrong. In this case, it’s this tone thing that has caused you to think I was lashing out at you.

  I said, Yes, it’s true that e-mail communication does have its limitations.

  I did not say, If you were a better writer, you’d have a handle on this “tone thing” by now.

  I said, Sometimes I’m confused. My “hotel lover” is so very different from my “e-mail lover.” I like the hotel lover a whole lot more…he lavishes all his love and attention on me, and he makes me feel so special and loved. But the e-mail lover all too often feels like a complete stranger to me, not like a lover at all. He frustrates me because he doesn’t answer my questions and his voice is very different and not so loving. I must figure out how to keep these two lovers together as one person in my head!

  You said, It does trouble me that I cannot always express myself properly and freely to you. But the point being is that I am in an open-concept office here, stuck in a warren of gray cubicles with people wandering in and out. I am always conscious of this being a work e-mail that should not be used for personal correspondence. Plus there is some sense that e-mails are not entirely private, but I am not certain about that.

  You said, All the more reason to look forward to your next visit…when we can talk freely, without interruptions or constraints.

  You said, I know that for you and I, expressing what we truly think and feel is so very important…essential.

  I said, I’m so afraid of losing you again.

  You said, You are never going to lose me. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I will always be here for you.

  I said I would always love you, no matter what happened. I said I would never turn my back on you, or wish I didn’t love you so much.

  I said, Knowing that you love me has changed how I am in the world.

  I said, You enhance and enrich my life every single day, even on the most difficult days.

  I said, The connection between us is eternal and indestructible.

  I said, Although we’ve often said that nothing ever stays the same, there is one thing that will never change and that is my love for you.

  Later: I said, It seems that many of the things we’ve said to each other have turned out to be not entirely true. I guess we were right when we said nothing ever stays the same.

  Again, we were writing back and forth about my next impending visit, another business trip.

  I said, Isn’t it amazing how suddenly all roads lead to your city? Sometimes it seems that the universe is working in our favor!

  You said, Yes, it’s so wonderful. Hopefully I won’t have to go to a meeting that night.

  I said, If they do attempt to foist something on you for that evening, I trust you will politely but firmly explain that you have other pressing business that needs tending to (that means me!).

  I said, Should I wear my fancy-dancy high-heeled black boots, which are quite fetching, or should I wear my sensible low-heeled boots, which are quite warm but not nearly so cute???

  You said, There is still snow on the ground here.

  I said, I think I’ll wear the fancy boots anyway.

  Afterwards you said, I’m really glad you wore those sexy boots.

  I said, I’m really glad you didn’t go to that meeting tonight.

  I am thinking about all the times you said you would call me and you didn’t.

  When I complained, you said you had to finish the quarterly budget report by the end of the day. You said, I have been chained to my desk here! I closed off my e-mails and my phone, shut my door, put my head down, and cranked out this material!

  Or you said you’d been called away to a meeting that lasted all day and then you had another meeting in the evening. Or you said you’d been ensconced in a dimly lit room with your colleagues for an information session that lasted all day. Or you said you’d been hunkered down in a planning seminar that lasted all day. Or you said you had to finish a funding proposal by the deadline, which was the end of the day. Or you said there’d been a parade of people and phone calls there all day, and you hadn’t had the luxury of an opportunity to be in touch with me. Or you said you’d been sequestered for four days charting out the next few weeks of work. Or you said you’d been called in for your annual job review and it had taken all afternoon.

  You said, I’ve been out working in the field, trying to stay away from my desk as much as possible!

  You said, An essential part of the week has been impacted because of external demands.

  You said, I am now tasked with more stuff, have been told to really focus and push everything else off to the side.

  You said, I have been really inundated here with people dumping more work on me!

  You said, I am under the gun here, trying to catch up on some important matters that need my immediate attention!

  You said your building had lost its water supply. You said there had been freezing rain there all day. You said you had food poisoning. You said you had been unexpectedly required to attend an out-of-town symposium for three days. You said your dog died. You said you had the flu. You said you had been facilitating a conference for a day and a half. You said you had to have dental surgery and it took all week to recuperate. You said you’d thought about calling, but by then it was so late and you didn’t want to wake me. You said your uncle died. You said you had the flu. You said you’d been doing home renovations all weekend (drywalling, sanding, priming, painting, painting, and more painting!). You said you fell asleep.

  You said, I have been very ill. I was smitten by the horrible flu that is going around here, a most virulent strain of the virus! I felt like I just wanted to crawl under a rock.

  You said, This is the first time all month that I’ve felt somewhat normal…that was the worst flu I’ve ever had! For gosh sakes, make sure you take your vitamins…this one hurts!

  I did not say, I have not had a serious case of the flu for ten years.

  I did not say, You get the flu more often than anybody else I’ve ever known in my life.

  I said, Get a flu shot.

  You said your cat died. You said your aunt died. You said a friend you’d known since high school died. You said a former colleague had died
last week.

  For months it seemed that I was always sending you letters of sympathy and condolence and support.

  I said, I wish I could be there to comfort you.

  I said, Please remember that my heart is always with you.

  I said, You’ve had so much loss to deal with in the past few months. I wish I could do more to help you.

  When I told Michelle about all of this, she said, The theme of this whole relationship is death.

  I said, Good God!

  When I asked Kate what all this death could possibly mean, she said, impatiently, It doesn’t mean anything…it just is.

  When I asked you if you had developed some kind of aversion to calling me, you said, Noooooo…no aversion…I’ve just been so busy.

  You said, I fully intended to call you last week, but I was all over the city attending meetings and doing site visits. These days there just aren’t very many pay phones around anymore…and they’re all outside! They’re either stuck to the side of a Tim Hortons or in some flimsy Plexiglas booth where the doors swing open and the wind whistles right through!

  This was in January.

  When I told Kate this, she snorted and said, Doesn’t he have a coat?