I’m sitting here in front of my garden, and two women come up to me

on

“I’m sorry, but you’re the ones that are sorry,” I say to them.

“No, you’re sorry,” they say. “You’re the ones that are sorry. You thought
your poor Rick was a real jerk, and you’re sorry, for your own selfish
reasons. You don’t know how sorry you are. You didn’t know him anymore than
I did, and yet here you are, apologizing to the one soul you know better than
anybody else, because you just want to make up for lost time.”

I stand up, look them square in the eyes, and say, “You have your opinions,
and I have mine.”

The two women laugh, and I feel my heart flip-flop in my chest. Not that I
really care one way or the other, but still.

“You’re still just the girl that sits alone and thinks,” one of them says.

“Yes, I’m just the girl that sits alone and thinks,” I say. That’s not
it. I’m not even just the girl that sits alone and thinks. I sit alone. And
I think. Sometimes.

I’m not sure how to think about that moment. I think about it for a week
straight, and every second of that week feels like it was a day that I’m
losing when I could have been winning. I think about it every single day.
Every single day I try to figure out the exact right thing to say to the
woman, and every day I don’t say it. Every single day the word “sorry” gets
tacked onto the end of everything I say. I don’t apologize to anyone.

I don’t think anyone needs my apologies, because they don’t really want
apologies. It’s not that they don’t want to hear them, but they don’t want to
hear them because they think they will make them feel better. They think,
probably correctly, that if they do me the kindness of apologizing, then when
it’s time for them to actually apologize to me, they will have to really
apologize, because the fact that I don’t want to hear them is not an apology.

The fact that I don’t want to hear them is not an apology.

The fact that I don’t want to hear them is not an apology.

And I sit here in front of my garden, and I am just sitting, and that’s all
I do. Every day I’m not here, I’m not talking to my son, and I’m not sitting
alone. I sit alone. I really do.

Do I sit alone thinking about what I want to say?

I don’t know. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what to say.
I’m in the garden doing what I do, and the garden is a place that I just
kind of make from my mind, and I don’t know where it comes from, and really I
don’t know how it’s made, and it’s like a plant. I put water and sunlight
into the ground, and it grows. I eat the fruit, and it dies. I see the
flower, and then it dies.

“You’re not thinking,” that woman says to me.

I’m not thinking. I just don’t know what to think.

I don’t know how. I sit alone in my garage, and I’m thinking of things to do
with my garden, and maybe I’ll plant a rose. I’m not sure. I don’t know if
there is a rose, or not. I’m sitting on the bed, thinking of a rose, and I’m
sitting on the bed, thinking of a rose.

“You should buy you a garden,” the woman says.

That makes me laugh.

“You should buy a garden and have a rose,” I say. Or, “What are you doing
now?”

She laughs, and I laugh, because I’m not sure why I’m laughing. It’s sort of
a funny thing to think about, but I don’t know why it is funny.

I know what I’m not doing. I’m not doing anything. I’m sitting here. I’m
sitting on the bed with a rose. I’m standing here. There is nothing. I’m
thinking of nothing. I’m just sitting here. I have nothing to do with it.

“Hey, Rick, wake up,” my son says.

He’s on the bed, sitting up, and he’s yelling, “I’m sorry,” in his
sleep. The first time he did that. The next morning he did it again, but I
didn’t know it was the first or the second. I just knew he would wake up and
it was time for breakfast, and I went down stairs and made him breakfast after
the yelling, but he wouldn’t eat it, and the yelling escalated into more
yelling, and I made him breakfast anyway, after lunch and after dinner, and I
felt so bad for that kid, but I couldn’t have him not eat anything. My old
mom was a good cook, and I’m glad she didn’t know to make something for
Rick, because I would have.

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