Monday was my first day back at the office. It's the last place I wanted to be, but my co-workers have been fantastic throughout this ordeal. Loving and supportive even when I was stumbling around the office like a stunned robot, a fake smile pasted on my face to get me through the day so that I could make it to the hospital. Despite the usual pre-holiday crush of work at the office, many of them came to the funeral, which was gratifying and comforting. Everyone, from the president and my supervisor down to interns and temps during this period, did their best to embrace, distract, encourage me...whatever was needed.
I actually felt very guilty when one colleague revealed that he had lost a loved one over the holidays as well. I've been so self-involved with my own grief that I was not even aware. Hope he understands and forgives me. I suspect others may have shielded me from this news as a way of protecting me.
Anyway, the day was so busy that it went fairly quickly and it was dark when I walked home, remembering how many times Lionel had come to the office to accompany me. Especially towards the end, when he had delusions that the (harmless) neighborhood homeless guys were stalking us and was trying to protect me from imagined dangers. Monday the short hill up Connecticut Ave onto Columbia Road, seemed especially steep, as I trudged alone, past the bus stop benches outside the 7-11 where he sometimes waited to surprise me, past the bus shelter in front of the little grocery store (one of the spots where he bought his precious beer) where he also sometimes waited. I half expected to see him sitting on the wall of the apartment building next to ours, where he would hang out on summer evenings, smoking and waiting for me with that lopsided grin.
Retrieving the mail from the lobby, I wondered how long I would leave the sticker that reads, "Sharpe & Jaggers"...remembering when I typed and put it there. It was touching how surprised, and how pleased, he was when he noticed that change. I climbed the stairs to our second floor apartment, pausing at the door to fumble with my keys, as usual. Sometimes, he would hear this and fling the door open, laughing. But not this night. Not anymore. I opened the door and paused, staring at the empty room that served as the living-room, diningroom, kitchen...and with the couch let out -- Lionel's bedroom. It was still and sad. No Lionel standing at the stove fixing dinner. No Lionel sprawled on the couch, television blasting...or curled up in the recliner listening to music with his headphones, flicking his cigarette in the ashtray nearby.
I wasn't ready to face the empty apartment and decided to go for groceries. It wasn't an entirely made-up trip, since I'd had to throw out all the food in freezer, after accidentally leaving the door ajar as I rushed to catch my flight home for the holidays, the day after the funeral. It was a mistake though, which I must've realized on some level, since I instinctively avoided our neighborhood Safeway. Everyone knew us there.
One of the few places Lionel liked to go was the grocery store. Since he ate and cooked so frequently -- due to his illness and fondness for the Food Network on cable, respectively -- we were in there nearly four times a week, sometimes more than that. Now, I never could see it, but many of the staff there constantly insisted that we favored each other...and must be brothers. To me, Lionel and I look nothing alike...beyond being two old men. Especially since the family resemblance he shares with his younger brothers and nephew is so strong. But, I guess it was just another instance of people living together so long, they start to merge in appearance, probably more because of mannerisms and familiarity that for any other reason.
Instead, I took the short bus ride to the "new" Giant in Columbia Heights. Another favorite haunt of LBJ's...but not one where every other employee would be asking me "Where's your friend? That guy you're always in here with?"
As I said, grocery shopping was a mistake. From the moment I passed Giant's pastry department, where Lionel would always stop first for a couple of doughnuts, the process was awash with memories: the hot food bar, where we occasionally treated ourselves to fried fish, the seafood counter where he would longingly gaze at fresh lobsters, scallops and crabs that we usually couldn't afford, the applesauce that he always stocked up on and the marked-down meat bin, where he would carefully study each selection and triumphantly snatch up any bargains for our shopping cart. He always brought a pocketful of coupons...that we frequently forgot to use. As I strolled the aisles to avoid going home, I kept catching myself reaching for various things he would like and/or usually bought. Most of those I put back, but by the time I checked out, I still had two heavy bags. I will have to learn how to shop for only myself again.
No comments:
Post a Comment